Marvel: Upgrading Death 27 - Hollywood Fame, A Blonde’s Dream, Invasion?

Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1esMyavQzo3vyQYs6y2YMI34g-BXlOwVVBxiGqf34Wbg/edit?usp=sharing

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The mammoths seemed to know who Marshall was as they didn't fear him at all, and let him play with them and their children. Both Marshall and Marty seem to have been written into their genes as non-threatening, friendly creatures. 

So, after rehabilitating the furry elephants, Marshall flew south to Hollywood. Marty stayed behind, playing with the mammoths. 

It was close to home as Dinosia sat just off the coast. But clearly, LA of 1951 wasn't even half as developed as Dinosia. Yet, the city felt familiar to him. He had never been there, yet he could recognise some of the streets. Seeing the Hollywood sign on the mountain felt nostalgic for a time he didn't remember. 

"Man, my brain's fucked up. I swear I remember taking a piss in that alley." 

Uncaring of all the gazes on him from passersby, he followed his instincts to roam. He was in his usual First Man attire, and in that era, he stood out like a whore in a church. And he was damn curious about the world since he didn't interact with it much. 

"Ice cream? You folks take gold?" Marshall walked into a random shop. "Hold the fuck up. Pretty sure that Helvar stuffed some Dinosian paper in my pocket like the generous asshole he pretends to be now."

Marshall stuffed his hand into his pocket, many random things clanking inside. At the same time, he stared at the large paper menu, picking a flavor he wanted. Though perhaps it wasn't the best thing to stroke your hand while shoving it in your pocket. 

"Excuse me, sir! You can't do that here!"

"..."

"The fuck are you talking about. I'm gonna pay you good folks. Just let me… grab it first."

"Sir! There are children here!"

Marshall nodded, looked around, and waved his free hand. "I ain't blind."

Getting annoyed, Marshall rummaged through his spacious pocket harder. It actually was pretty spacious, since it was like a portal to a different dimension where he'd thrown random things. It was a pretty convenient way of using the powers gained from the tesseract. 

"Uh… almost."

"Call nine-one-one!" 

Woosh!

"There it is!" Marshall barked and finally pulled his hand out. In his hand was a thick stack of Dinosian dollars, a currency that was completely backed by physical goods and First Man's existence itself. "How much is the cookie dough flavor? Add some chocolate chips, will you?"

"..."

"That'll be… twenty cents."

Marshall frowned and looked at the stack in his hand. He didn't understand how much that was, or how much it was worth in Dinosia. He just grabbed a single bill from the stack and handed it over. 

"Keep the change."

"That's… a lot of change."

"I know. Give me the damn ice cream."

He waited for a while, ignoring all the women hiding their kids from him for some reason. Not caring one bit, as soon as he got the big ice cream cone in hand, he walked out of the shop and flew away. 

He heard gasps behind him, the people wondering if he was the real First Man. 

Yet, at the same time, he heard some strange voices. These didn't seem to be coming from his surroundings. He couldn't pinpoint them that easily. And they were mental voices, not physical. 

Please! Please! Please! God, help me win this. 

Fuck, what do I gotta do to take her home? 

Licking the ice cream, he intently looked at the city below him. It was already night, and the lights were bright. The cars moved like little insects. However, one of the buildings was shining brighter that day. A lot of cameras were flashing in front of it. A lot of cars were lining up at its entrance. 

Curious again, he flew straight down to it. It was a theater of all things, and the words written on its board said 'Academy Awards'.

"Nerds inside?" 

Marshall blurted and fully landed on the sidewalk where a large red carpet was set. Both sides of the carpet were crowded with people, many at the front holding cameras. The flashes were nonstop, and once he landed, it turned into a frenzy. 

Some men and women dressed in fancy clothes froze in front of him and behind. He wasn't much bothered, more focused on eating the ice cream and looking around to find the nerds. After all, the Academy meant a place of study, didn't it? 

"First Man!"

"First Man! Here!"

Marshall looked around as almost everyone started shouting his name. But he ignored them and walked into the building. The security standing there didn't even bother moving; they were like statues with mouths open. 

"Don't mind me, folks. Looking for some nerds to take." Marshall passed by some more fancily dressed people. But then he stopped in front of a beautiful, slender woman in a flowing black lace gown. What caught his eye was her blonde hair. 

"That's a wig, isn't it?"

"..."

"Natural hair my ass, nothing shines like that. Mine looked dead for a thousand lifetimes," Marshall muttered, shoveling ice cream mid-sentence. "You a nerd too? Damn, so many hot nerds here. What the fuck happened?"

"..."

"First… Man?"

"Odin's ballsack! You sound just as pretty, smooth, and kind of… hot. Luck to you anyway. I hunt older nerds. You look damn young." Marshall shrugged and marched off, deeper into the building until he entered the massive auditorium.

He saw the well-lit stage and a statue on it. He wasn't so dumb and realised it was an award show. So, he walked to the front and grabbed a seat. It was best to see the awards being given so he could pick up the winners and take them to Dinosia. He was always in the market for nerds, after all. 

Marshall sprawled on the chair lazily. It wasn't that he was a fool or a rogue. His way of life had made him uncaring of most things. Shame and embarrassment didn't exist for him. Besides, he was too busy ogling the many beautiful nerds walking past him. Many of them smiled at him. 

A few men tried to talk to him as well, like that fellow on the stage, Fred Astaire, as the man said. Marshall just grumbled lowly, and that was enough. Nobody disturbed him after that, and nobody sat beside him. Two chairs on each of his sides were left empty. 

"Eh… May I have a seat here?"

Just when the lights on the stage intensified, Marshall heard that familiar, smooth female voice. At a glance, it was the same shiny blonde with a mole on the cheek, and a gown with a neck so wide it gave him plenty to imagine. 

"Anyone else? Fuck no! You? Take the damn lap if you want," Marshall replied shamelessly. 

The woman didn't take his lap, however. She gracefully sat right beside him. Somehow, unlike everyone else, she didn't seem that scared of him. Heck, she even seemed flirty, flashing him her cleavage with little movements. Brushing her shoulder against him as she sat in the theater seat. 

"Welcome to…"

And just then, the lights in the hall dimmed, and all focus was on the stage where a man started to blabber. In moments, someone appeared and sang a song with a live orchestra playing. 

"Mm… Are you truly His Holiness, the First Man?" 

Marshall turned to look at the blonde. Then, he raised his arms and sniffed his own armpits. "I don't smell prehistoric? Could swear Marty's stench passed onto me."

The woman laughed gracefully, "Not at all, your—"

"Fuck that Holiness. Too wordy."

“Then I’ll choose First Man. You’re the god of the fourth-largest faith in the world… and to me, you are the largest. The moment I saw you standing there outside, something inside me knew. I couldn’t walk away without sitting right here, beside the one I dream about and pray to on my knees. Please forgive me if I’m being too forward.”

Marshall eyed the woman intently. The way she said that last part, the knees and praying part felt… fucking sensual. Or maybe it was her natural way of speaking. It sounded like an open invitation. Old Marshall would have gotten up and dragged her away with him. 

"Easy there, nerdess. I don't bite, just make ladies sore. In any case, when in Satan's sweaty ass is this freakshow ending? Where the shit are the nerds at already?" Marshall asked, already bored with the singers and dancers on the stage. 

“Nerds? I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re looking for here, First Man.”

"Isn't this whole circle-jerk supposed to be for egghead academics? You folks handing out awards for inventions and shit?"

"..."

She gave a tiny frown, and it only made her lovelier. “I… I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong, my beloved First Man. This evening is for the dreamers, the ones who act, who write, who direct.”

"Fuck me sideways, no wonder every bastard here's prancing like a peacock on meth. Ah, Hollywood… yeah, some foggy brain cells just flickered. You got the acoustic couch and those kiddie diddlers? Shit, I'm surrounded by the opposite of nerds."

"..."

"No, I don't believe so. But we do have communist problems."

"Communists? Hold the fuck up, is Stalin still breathing? That shit-stache still owes me a hundred high-IQ Russian beauties, the bastard," Marshall snarled. "Anyway, you said movies? Shoulda dragged Marty’s ass here. Wait. Holy shit. I need to make a goddamn movie. Baby Jesus on water, listen! Batshit alien invasion, cowboys, dinosaur, balls-to-the-wall action insanity."

"..."

The woman lost count of how many times she was left speechless. 

"That sounds…"

"Hell yeah!" Marshall barked and rose to his feet. The entire theater thundered into silence, the same for the stage. 

"I'll make the most badass movie. I'll do every single stunt myself. Shoot me square in the face with live rounds, I dare you! No fake CGI horseshit, everything real. Shit, I need Gamora to kidnap some actual space freaks too. Throw in my goddamn mammoths! Hela can float shit around with her mind and… Holy fuck, this is gonna be a blood-soaked masterpiece!"

The woman smiled and stood up as well, not looking around as everyone's gaze made her nervous. "If it's you, I doubt it'll be a problem."

"Damn right. Who makes the best movies these days?" Marshall asked. 

“MGM, I believe. They’re the top of the heap right now. But I happen to be signed with Twentieth Century Fox.”

Marshall hummed, rubbing his beard. "MGM. Why'd I picture a fucking lion? Fuck it, doesn't matter. From now on, the logo is Marty's ugly mug forever. I'll buy it… What's your name?"

"I'm Marilyn Monroe, First Man. The pleasure's all mine." She gave a sweet, graceful little bow.

Marshall nodded and patted her naked shoulder. "You're gonna be the lead actress beside me. Don't worry, I'll throw you in the sky, we'll do all the stunts, crazy ones. Wait, you got a manager or something—"

"Yes, I accept! I’ll do it, First Man. Honestly, I’m just starting to be noticed. Fame hasn’t quite found me yet. I still have so much to prove, so many years ahead. Working with you would be an honor, both because I follow the faith of the First Man and because it would mean everything to my career."

Marshall clapped his hands so hard that the people around him covered their ears. "Done! Fucking done! I'm gonna hunt down someone to be my assistant. Clear your goddamn calendar, you're about to become world-famous… Shit, maybe galaxy-famous. Wait… can I just beam this crap to other planets? Fuck it, why not? See you around."

With that, he flew away, over the seats and towards the exit. He quickly got out and walked the same red carpet. The cameras started flashing instantly, but he didn't leave this time. He kept looking at the photographers. 

Soon enough, one of the young photographers stopped clicking pictures and voiced. "F-First Man? Can I help you with something?"

Marshall grinned. "There's my little good boy. Come here, son."

The nerdy boy couldn't have been older than twenty. But that didn't matter. Marshall saw the boy struggling, so he just levitated him and brought him over. 

Pat!

Finally, he smacked the boy on the shoulder.  

"Listen up, you glorious little meat-sack, you're my assistant now. And together we're gonna shit out the most batshit, universe-crushing, popcorn-gargling blockbuster the multiverse never asked for. Let's fuckin' go."

"W-What?"

Honk!

Before the boy could ask him anything, a horn rang from the road. He turned and found a roofless car, driven by a thin man with an equally thin mustache, looking all intelligent. Marshall’s nerd radar was working. In the passenger seat was the tall, strong, one and only Captain Rogers. 

"Right on time! I needed a ride." Marshall barked and dragged his new assistant with him. "Steven, son, will you invest in my movie?"

"..."

While Captain America was speechless, the driver chirped. "I will! I'll fund it whole!"

"Who the fuck are you?" Marshall asked.

"Sorry for the intrusion. I'm Howard Stark, founder of Stark Industries."

Marshall frowned and scratched his head. "Did you build something with scraps in a cave?"

"Not that I can remember."

"Hmmm… my goddamn brain. Let's go."

####

Marshall didn't plan to, but the Stark boy drove them to his mansion. Being a sucker for new tastes and foods, he eventually accepted the invitation. Strangely enough, the cooks had prepared everything already, as if they knew that he was coming beforehand. 

"You're a Dinosian? The hell are you doing here then? Seems to be a waste of a good nerd." 

"Ha. Guilty as charged, I'm a nerd. The difference is, I'm the kind of nerd who turns ideas into cash. Those boys on Dinosia? Happy just running experiments and writing papers. Me? I build things that shake the world, put them into production, and yeah… make a fortune doing it."

Marshall just nodded. He never understood the concept of earning money. He just had whatever he wanted at all times. Dinosia was rich on its own as well. 

"And you?" Marshall looked at Steven, sitting stiffly in civilian clothes and not that tight ass-clenching uniform. "What have you been up to?"

"Got married, have a son, serving the country still," Steven replied. 

"Sweet. Who did you marry?"

"She fought alongside me in the war. Name's Peggy. That's what everyone calls her. Her full name is Margaret. She received the serum after me."

Marshall hummed, frowned, and then shrugged. "Can't remember."

"What's this movie you want to make?" Howard chimed in, as if trying to change the topic. "Never figured a god would be interested in that."

"Why the hell not? I'm bored out of my goddamn skull. This time I've got a real vision and a story. Just gotta scrape the shit off it and bam! Instant blockbuster. Might even drag some Asgardians in for cameos. Odin already looks like a grumpy old war-god prick. Zeus could play a solid dickhead villain. And Lady Death, hold the fuck up, didn't that pale-ass goddess get knocked up by me? What the shit happened to our kid?"

"..."

Howard Stark and Steven Rogers watched the ancient god speak to himself, riddles that got answered by the god himself. 

"You have a kid with who?!" Howard exclaimed.

"Pale chick, pretty hot, old, I guess, but still hot... You wouldn't know, not before dying."

"You fucked death?" Howard asked further.

"I sure did. Hela is also called the Goddess of Death, though. What does that make my kid? Half-death? Death ultra?"

"..."

The two men seemed to realise there was a level to a man's insanity, and this level was too high for them. 

"Sir, First Man… What happened before you vanished? Who was that in the sky?" Steven asked, getting back to the topic. "We know it was someone powerful called an Aspirant. But we don't exactly know what that means. If such a threat comes again—"

"You're fucked. Kid, that thing is older than this whole universe and six more before it," Marshall replied nonchalantly. "Judging by Stark's dumbass gaping mouth, you had no goddamn clue, huh? The universe is just one long circle-jerk that eventually blows its load and dies. That sky-thing is a leftover from Universe Numero Uno, and it's itching to drag the original big-dick cosmic asshole, personification of the first universe, back into play."

"W-Wha-What? What? Huh? Personification of what now?" Howard exclaimed. "That makes no sense."

Marshall laughed at their dumb faces. "It ain't supposed to."

"Please, Sir. Help us understand it, at least," Steven pleaded.

Marshall nodded and looked at the upright man. "Weird. The whole planet's out here chanting 'First Man' or 'Your Holiness' like I'm the second coming with better hair. Then you stroll up and drop a plain old 'Sir' on me."

"There is only one true god, Sir—"

"Ah? Jesus?" Marshall blurted, leaning back in the chair. "Hah, who'd have thought that little snot-nosed gremlin would turn into a goddamn legend? Kid was cute as fuck, though."

"..."

Howard Stark and Steven Rogers exchanged glances.

"By 'that kid' you mean….?" Howard asked, curiously leaning in. 

Steven Rogers was the same. 

Marshall shrugged. "Jesus, who else? Fine kid, didn't cry much. His mom and dad came to me to hide from some retard king. I couldn't be bothered to babysit, so I just killed the king and his kingdom. Marty was caught fucking a house there, never gonna forget that shit."

"You know Joseph and Mary?" Steven exclaimed. 

"T-Rex fucked a house?" Howard was the same, for a different reason. 

"Yes and abso-fucking-lutely yes. Heh. Marty’s carrying this embarrassment to his goddamn grave. Sucker."

Somewhere, out there, a certain T-Rex sneezed on a poor baby mammoth.

####

Marilyn Monroe, despite all the glamor and glitter, wasn’t living a happy life. Yes, there was fame, but she considered it more infamy than the other way around. A rising sex icon, they called her. She wanted to be more than that, yet those around her believed she should stay where she belonged, half-nude in front of cameras and completely nude in their beds. 

Every director, producer, and studio president she'd met offered her the world, and a cock to go with it. She had learned pretty early that Hollywood was an industry where you had to loosen your morals. 

She did just that. She played the script. She became a mistress to a connected man in a top talent agency. She got some small roles, then better, and eventually a rotten contract with 20th Century-Fox. The contract bound her for seven years, but Fox kept the right to not renew the contract after each year. 

That pushed her. Pressured her to curry more favors. To maintain buzz so the studio wouldn't discard her. She worked in comedies, but always remained a sexy ornament, nothing more. 

Yes, she saw the rising fame. She saw things moving in the right direction. But was she happy? Not at all. The insomnia had gotten worse. Dependence on medicines kept increasing. It scared her to think where this journey would end. 

But now, she felt content if it ended after this project. Going to the Oscars that night was the greatest blessing of her life. To meet that God in the flesh was even greater. She hadn't discussed it with her manager or Fox. She had accepted the First Man's proposal. 

Of course, Fox refused to let her go. Even before a god's wishes, the greed of those men blinded their eyes. They tried to scare her. She knew what they wanted; to replace her with a different actress of greater fame and name than her. 

Then one day, news came that MGM sold itself to the nation of Dinosia. Not to the First Man, not to a company, but to the holy nation of Dinosia. After that, Fox's top management mysteriously disappeared for a week. When they returned, they not only let her go but also gave her a severance package. 

She signed a new contract with MGM right away. This one was far more lenient, rewarding, and satisfying. Other than two studio movies a year, she was allowed to pick one script of her choice. As long as it was worth it, she'd be allowed to work in it. 

All that happened a week ago. 

The studio made her busy with pre-production of the new movie, titled Project God, at the moment. She was taken to countless costume trial sessions. She was given speech training, accent training, and was trained physically in low-level acrobatics. It was the most fulfilling time of her life as she felt how nobody bothered with her body, her looks. Nobody asked her to show her breasts or legs on camera. 

Yet, she was upset because she never got to see the First Man again. The staff said that the First Man was scouting locations around the world. The entire filming crew will be traveling through teleportation everywhere. It would save on cost. 

Under Dinosia's management, MGM was assigned a 'nerd' who reluctantly had to work as the studio's president for three years. She never understood how such a system worked. How could someone reluctantly end up doing a good job? 

She never asked questions. Though she did get to have a private recorded viewing of MGM's new logo. Instead of the lion, now there was a T-Rex, and the dinosaur roared so majestically. 

Finally, after two weeks, the day of the film's shooting arrived. She had read the script; it was something new for sure. The movie was going to be shot in two parts, each containing chapters. It was based around an alien invasion. 

She had a significant role in the story. It was also mostly action-based. And the new thing was that the movie was being shot in color, not the usual black and white. Strange new cameras were brought, developed by Dinosia. And as the movie was being shot, MGM took over the global movie screening business, introducing color projectors and larger screens. 

Finally, on the day of the shoot, she was told to wait outside the studio's building. Moments later, a Chevrolet Deluxe convertible stopped in front of her, the driver's seat occupied by the one true god. She nearly yelped in excitement. 

"Get in."

Oh, the speed with which she jumped inside the car. But she also felt shy and made her clothes proper. However, her control faded as soon as the car, instead of moving forward, flew up in the sky. 

"Ah!"

First came a little scream. That turned into awe as soon as she looked down at the city. Before long, she eased into her current situation and just stared at the First Man's face.

Nestled on the leather seat, her blonde curls flowed softly around her nape. A wide-brimmed hat rested on her head, and her lips curved into a subtle smile. The white sundress hugged her curves, with thin straps on her shoulders and a deep neckline. Its golden floral pattern shimmered like silk. The fabric fell to her knees, draping over her toned legs, which were crossed demurely as she leaned back.

"I can't believe this is happening." 

"Hah! Be prepared to have your mind blown, Marilyn. We're gonna have a T-fuckin-rex in the movie. He's very cute and intelligent, so don't be scared."

"Marty? Your supreme steed?"

"He's like a son to me, not a steed." 

"I… apologise."

"Chill, I ain't the old me. I won't eat you, although I'd love to, but you get the meaning. Anyway, tell me more about yourself. I gotta know you properly before we start filming. My damn assistant insisted."

Marilyn nodded, pursed her lips, and looked outside. They were above the clouds, and the beauty of it was otherworldly. This was so magical that words couldn't describe it and… yet… she felt greedy for more. 

"If getting to know me is… the goal, then…" masking her face with bravery, hiding the nervousness, she let her left hand gently land on the First Man's lap. "I would… like to know you more… intimately."

Marshall jerked his head and looked at her. Marilyn was a gorgeous woman, no doubt about it. "No need to tongue-polish my ego like a desperate hooker. You got the fucking job already. Relax."

"No! No, no… Please don’t think that. I know all about the Dinosian rite, the one where you claim a girl and she’s yours for life. I may not be Dinosian, but the faith of the First Man lives in me too. Mmm… could I feel what that’s like? Just once?"

Marshall stared at her with a raised brow. He eyed her succulent lips, that little mole, her drunk eyes. There wasn't arousal or filth, but worship somehow. A different kind of worship. 

“Ritual picks are always fresh-out-the-wrapper virgins. You one?"

Marilyn's face turned red. She looked down. "N-No… I—"

"Bah! Joking. Who gives a fuck? Here, go ahead, have fun." Marshall howled in laughter and, with a single snap, made all his clothes disappear. He sat naked behind the flying car's steering wheel. “Lick it, sniff it. Taste the whole damn buffet.”

Oh, Marilyn did just that. Like an obsessed devotee, she threw away her hat in the back seat, removed the seatbelt, and sat on her knees sideways on her seat, facing him. The next moment, she leaned face-first and smothered herself. 

Marilyn didn't use her hands at all. No, she literally planted her entire gorgeous face on his fat, godly cock. 

She pressed in like a worshiper collapsing at the altar, her soft cheeks flattening against the thick shaft, nose buried right at the root where the scent hit her hardest. Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin as she inhaled so deeply her lungs ached, greedy to drink him down. 

This was no mere man’s scent to her; this was the First Man, the one her family had whispered prayers to in the dark. 

This was everything to Marilyn. No, this was more. This was the greatest moment of her life, possibly ever. More than acting, her career. This was like the greatest pilgrimage possible. 

"Mmmmmmmmh…" 

Oh, she wanted to mark her mind with this masculine, godly scent. She wanted to etch this holy texture into her mind forever. She wanted this sensation to never leave her lips. 

Still kneeling sideways on the leather seat, wind whipping her blonde curls wild above the open roof, she kept her hands braced on the cushion for balance and simply moved her face. Her lush lips parted and dragged along the underside of his length in worshiping glides, painting him with the glossy sheen of her mouth. 

She nuzzled the heavy base, kissed the fat vein, then slid upward inch by inch, leaving wet pecks that made tiny smacking sounds. 

She kissed the base again and then up to the tip, feeling the silky texture of his skin glide against her mouth. She moved one long, lapping lick from base to the tip, collecting every ridge, every throb. When she felt that first rich tinge of precum bloom across her taste buds, she shattered.

“Ooooooh! So… perfect and more!”

Her whole body shivered, rolling from her scalp down to her curled toes. Under the white sundress, her pussy clenched on nothing, suddenly slick and hot, seeping into the cotton of her panties. 

But then, the First Man reached across with one lazy, powerful arm. His fingers caught the hem of her dress and dragged it up over the generous curve of her hips, bunching the floral fabric around her waist.

She was wearing underwear, sadly. Yet somehow, with nothing more than a flicker of his will, the delicate scrap of lace was gone in a whisper, leaving her nude and glistening. Then she felt it.

"Aaaaaaah! I'm going to—!"

She tried to keep herself upright, noble, a worthy vessel for her god. But now she came undone. The First Man’s long fingers slid between the pale asscheeks, brushing the tight ring there before curving down to part her soaked folds, and sank knuckle-deep into her dripping pussy with casual, possessive ease.

She came hard right away. Her pussy spasmed and fluttered around that single thick digit like it was trying to pull him deeper.

Her thighs locked, back arched, mouth falling open in a broken cry as pleasure detonated through her core. Clear nectar gushed over his invading finger, dripping down his wrist, pattering onto the leather seat in obscene little splashes.

Yet she still seized her chance. One trembling hand finally flew to his cock, and she rammed it straight down her throat in one frenzied motion. The fat head punched past her tonsils; she gagged instantly, tears spilling over her lashes. Saliva flooded her mouth, drooling in thick strings down his shaft and onto his heavy balls, but she didn’t pull back. 

She forced herself deeper, choking herself stupid, throat working in desperate swallows that milked him. Her other hand clawed at the seat for leverage as she fucked her own face on him.

She cursed her mortal body for its limits, for not being able to take every impossible inch of the glorious phallus.

"Hufff… F-First Man…" she pulled her face up and pleaded. "Push me… down… please!"

"..."

Marshall stared down at her, one brow cocked. Marilyn wasn't a thick, curvy, tall woman. She looked rather fragile to him. But when he looked down at her shining blonde hair. 

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, then planted one massive hand on the back of her golden head.

Fucking… tight! 

The thought hit him like a slap as he pressed. Inch by brutal inch, he pushed her down, feeling her lush lips stretch wide around his girth, cheeks hollowing, throat bulging as the fat cock invaded deeper. She didn’t fight it. Didn’t tap out. 

He felt her throat ripple around his iron-hard cock, squeezing like a fist. Her lips clamped tight at the base when she finally bottomed out. He felt every frantic flutter of her gag reflex trying to milk him, every desperate swallow working to please her god.

Marshall kept her there, buried to the hilt, letting her lungs burn while her body shook. "One… devoted follower you are."

Slurp! Slurp!

Marilyn replied with action. As soon as Marshall moved his hand, she started bobbing her entire head. 

Both her hands flew to his shaft. One twisting at the thick base, the other spiraling up the middle in slick, corkscrew strokes that matched the rhythm of her mouth. Her tongue slithered in circles around the flared rim every time she pulled back, lapping at the sensitive underside, slurping up the mess of spit and precum.

Marshall felt it all. The hot, wet suction, the way her throat opened up for him again and again, the sinful spiral of her palms milking him from root to tip. Fuck, he was already teetering. The First Man, who’d railed goddesses until they screamed for mercy, was being edged by a trembling mortal in a sundress. The absurdity of it only made his balls draw tighter.

Plop!

Right as the pressure coiled unbearable, he yanked her off by the hair, strands tangled in his fist. Her mouth came free, lips swollen and glistening, drool dripping. She looked wrecked.

He didn’t like the mess on her face. With a casual flick of thought, he wiped it clean. Her skin was pristine again, lipstick somehow restored, eyes bright and eager.

"Don't got too long. Decide. The whole thing, or you fine with just sucking.”

"I can?!" Marilyn chirped, disbelief and joy crashing together, "I thought because I'm no virgin—"

Marshall grinned and leaned back against the seat, cock jutting proudly and slick. "Hop on."

Marilyn felt like she’d be insane to refuse. Her hands shook as she grabbed the hem of her sundress and yanked it over her head, blonde curls tumbling free. The white fabric fluttered behind her before she clawed the bra off, completely nude at last. 

She caught the way the First Man stared at her breasts. Round, full, proud, tipped with tight cherry nipples already aching. Pride bloomed hot in her chest. He liked them. Her god liked them!

Marilyn couldn’t wait another second.

She swung one leg over his lap, straddling him face-to-face in the wide driver’s seat. The leather was warm under her knees, but all she could feel was him. His heat, his scent, the girthy shaft of his cock brushing her inner thighs. This wasn’t her first time having car sex, but nothing had ever felt like this. Her heart hammered so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs.

As she lowered herself, the blunt head of his cock kissed her soaked lower lips. She flinched; even that first nudge was overwhelming. Too big, too perfect. 

Her hands flew to his face, clawing obsessively at his jaw, his cheeks, fingers digging. Her eyes were blown wide, irises trembling with something very close to ecstasy. She felt his tip part her petals. Her pussy lips stretched wide around the fat crown, clinging, straining. 

And then she felt the thick rim punch past her entrance, stretching her open in one merciless glide and snapping her petals back around his shaft. And she came already.

Her whole body seized, walls clamping down in frantic, fluttering spasms around just that initial invasion. Clear nectar gushed out in a hot rush, soaking his shaft and dripping down his balls. Her thighs locked around his hips, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure ripped through her.

"So-ooooh much and so…. Goooood!"

Marilyn moaned harshly when she felt First Man's large hands reach behind and grip her soft, marshmellowy asscheeks. His wide palms made her feel dwarfed; made her feel tiny, breakable. He squeezed hard enough to bruise, lifting her just enough to control her body. And then his face dipped. 

She could feel his hot mouth closing over one jutting nipple. He sucked greedily, teeth grazing the tender peak before his tongue lapped it in wet circles.

"Yesssssss! So better than what I imagined!"

Of course, she had imagined it. Night after night, before the spotlight found her, she’d pray that the First Man would one day descend, claim her, and keep her forever. That didn't happen, but now, at last… the dream had come true. 

She swayed her hips and sank lower until she felt his tip kiss her cervix. Insistent, pressing right against her deepest wall. Balls deep and then some. The stretch was ecstasy; every nerve in her pussy splayed wide, sensitive to every touch. It ached bone-deep, but utterly blissful.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her body locked rigid, muscles trembling, spasming in tiny, helpless flutters around the thick cock lodged inside her.

"I-I can't move… ah! I'm coming again!" 

It was insanity. His cock so deep she swore she felt it in her lungs, rearranging her insides. Another orgasm crashed through her without warning, ripping a scream from her throat as her walls milked him in frantic waves.

Marshall reacted to her sultry moan, clawing her ripe peach until her pale flesh spilled between his fingers. He used that grip to move her body, lifting her up his length, then slamming her back down with savage force. At the same time, his mouth attacked her breasts again. Nibbling, sucking, biting just hard enough to sting.

Marilyn went feral. Head thrown back to the open sky, and screamed her heart out. “Ugh! Ah yes! Yes!! Fuck me, use me! Make me helplessly… pleasure you—ooohh!”

Marshall was already on the edge, balls tight, cock throbbing angrily inside her spasming pussy. He didn’t bother holding back. They were close to the location now; he’d eased the flying car into a slow, lazy glide so he could focus on her.

Plap! 

Each slam of her body against his lap sent wet, filthy slaps echoing. She’d come so many times his thighs were drenched, a musky mess of her nectar coating his skin, dripping down the leather seat in lewd streaks. The entire car reeked of sex. She was so light it felt like throwing a puppet around, a filthy little well-oiled puppet that squelched each time.

"Come here." He yanked her forward by the ass and claimed her mouth in a plundering kiss. Lips crashed, tongues tangled, teeth clacking in messy hunger.

The moment his tongue plunged deep, claiming every corner of her delicate mouth, Marilyn shattered again. Her snug walls squeezing around him, fresh gush soaking his balls.

“Ungh! Uuung!” she moaned helplessly through her nose, body jerking as he rammed her insides with every brutal upward thrust.

Then she took over, slamming herself down onto his cock with desperate, greedy force. Her walls throbbed nonstop, so tight it felt like she was trying to strangle his cock. For him, she was impossibly tight, impossibly hot. 

Something strange flickered in Marshall’s ancient mind. Fucking her felt… significant. Monumental, and that it should make him greatly happy. 

He didn't know why. He didn’t question it, and he did enjoy sex with her. 

"Huh… Take it then… what you always wanted!" Marshall grunted against her lips, tongue fucking her mouth in the same filthy rhythm his cock speared her cunt. 

Squelch!

And at last, he slammed her hips down hard. One final, bone-rattling plunge that buried him to the base. His cock pulsed violently, swelling thicker inside her stretched channel, and he burst.

Thick, scalding ropes of cum erupted deep in her core, submerging his cock in warm batter. Creamy white instantly flooded back out around his shaft in messy gushes, painting her flushed pussy and splattering his lap. It dripped down his balls, soaking the leather seat until it glistened dark and sticky. The excess frothed out with every tiny twitch of his cock, ruining the pristine interior of the car.

Marilyn’s eyes rolled back. Her body went utterly limp in his grip. Head lolling against his shoulder, mouth slack and drooling, limbs heavy as if every ounce of strength had been fucked out of her. She was barely conscious, floating on the edge of blackout as wave after wave of aftershocks rolled through her.

His cum inside her felt thick, alive, kissing every inch of her womb with heat. This was everything. Being filled by the First Man was being kissed by her god himself. In the hazy, pleasure-drunk corners of her mind, she prayed fervently that something miraculous would bloom in her belly.

How beautiful that would be.

Tears slipped from the corners of Marilyn’s eyes. They weren’t tears of pain or regret; it was the disappointment that she could never be claimed forever in the ancient Dinosian rite because she wasn’t a virgin. Yet, she was happy that this happened. 

"Mmmmh… I’m grateful…"

Marshall nodded once, lazy and satisfied, leaning back against the seat with his arms draped along the top edge. His cock stayed rock-hard inside her, buried in that snug, fluttering heaven of her pussy. Seeing her flushed face, strangely confident and intelligent eyes, he decided right on the spot. 

Keeping her. 

"Let's keep this going."

"Yes, yes! Please, I'm yours. Devoted mind and body. Find me anytime during this filming."

"Filming? I was planning more… lifetime."

"..."

If pure euphoria had a face, this was it. And… Marilyn did, at last, pass out, somehow coming yet again on his half-hard cock. Her body was completely limp, head lolling back until it thumped gently against the steering wheel.

Marshall chuckled. One big hand drifted up to cup her breast, thumb brushing lazily over the stiff, cherry nipple. He squeezed gently, feeling the soft weight settle into his palm. 

Should pick a virgin from Dinosia as well. Been a while. 

####

Somewhere near Jupiter,

"My lord, sensors show unusual activity beyond the system perimeter. Thirty vessels approaching, led by one mothership."

Ronan frowned and looked at the large holographic screen. "Dino Corp."

The large beastly sigil on each ship was recognisable by half the universe by then. 

“My lord, the ships are heading straight for Terra. Shall we prepare for battle?”

Ronan’s eyes hardened at the projection of Terra. “No. We observe. If they set foot on that world, we answer with force. Terra belongs to the Kree.”

"To invade… my lord?" 

Ronan just hummed and didn't bother to reply.