Marvel: Upgrading Death 18 - Mile High, Blueberry Cheesecake & Delayed Consequences

Doc - https://docs.google.com/document/d/1vhnA3FBcS-hohiPrt_1d_s2VcWsojiWDA41eF1F-FAw/edit?usp=sharing

___________

The Declaration of Independence was a very significant piece of paper in America's history. Of course, in the grand scheme of the world, it was nothing. It meant nothing outside the borders of the United States. 

Yet, as the nation of Dinosia sat right off the western coast of California, the matter of the First Man's words on the declaration was personal for every American. And to understand that, one had to see closely how the First Man was seen in America. 

In every religious text known to mankind, in every known and historic Hieroglyphics, in every prehistoric inscription, in thousands of cave walls across the world, the mention of the First Man was clear. Sometimes in words, at times in clear art showcasing Marty the giant T-Rex and the man atop the beast god's head. 

Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, the Americas, he was everywhere. Throughout history, for as long as humanity could trace itself, the First Man had always been there. Before any religion. Before any angel. Before any sage. There was always the First Man. 

To the people of America, he was like a moody father whose presence itself was calming, no matter how chaotic the man was. To the people, he was the guide of humanity, a savior, and a teacher. 

Sure, it wasn't easy to make sense of the First Man's actions often. But he was the god, his actions were supposed to be an enigma to their feeble minds. 

So imagine their surprise when the new President appeared on the radio and gave an official address to the nation, revealing that he had recently found the real Declaration of Independence, hidden right behind the one they all knew.

He went into the details, revealing that the First Man signed the original with some additions made to it. But the signatories didn't like the addition and made a second declaration. 

After that, President Theodore went on about how his father had found it in his time, but was forced not to reveal it. Now, he was fulfilling his father's dream. 

Theodore spoke about what the addition by the First Man was, and it was rather… degrading. 

"It says 'First Man wouldn’t sign because we were a bunch of spineless clowns who thought 'all men are created equal' was some punchline, and we still backhand slavery like it’s a tradition. The First Man said we crawled out of apes, but we’re too thick-skulled to grasp it' he signed that." Theodore’s face warmed with shame, but he read on. “Later, a few notable men added their remarks beneath the First Man’s words. George Washington wrote that the First Man was angered by the disregard for race and gender. In the First Man's words, all had come from apes. Benjamin Franklin, too, stood with the First Man’s sentiment…”

It was a very long speech. Theodore made sure to leave nothing unexplained. No hidden meanings that could get misinterpreted. 

When his address ended, it left more than a hundred million people confused. Of course, slavery had ended, but many minds hadn’t changed yet. Segregation was still a thing. Women got voting rights just two or three years ago. 

And as it was the proud, roaring 20s, an era of wealth and unrestrained spending. Half of the people didn't care, too busy with their own lives, spending their days in success and excess. Half felt touched by the First Man's actions. 

It was a strange time as nobody knew what to do with this new information. Did it even matter? Does it change anything? 

####

1932, Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean,

"Uh! Uh! Ooooooh! God!"

It was very cramped and hot. Marshall wasn't sweating, since his threshold was pretty high. But the woman sitting on his cock sure was soaking in sweat, her pale red nude back marred with his soft nibbles. His meaty arms hugged around her waist to fondle her sizable breasts, pinching her nipples. 

"Fuck!" Marshall groaned, ready to burst. He'd been at it for so long already. And the cramped space was getting annoying. But the beauty on his lap, quite tall for a human of that era, was so much fun. Listening to her moans as she tried her best to fly her plane was exciting. 

"Ooooh! N-oooooo-oh… Not the neck!"

She moaned, and Marshall just did that, kissing on the back of her neck, uncaring of the salty sheen on her body. His hands mauled her breasts, his hips did all the moving as she was too weak to do it by now after her third climax. And she didn't have space to jump. Only he moved his hips back and forth.

"Close!" He warned, and without much thought, leaned a little back, pulled her against his chest. He moved one hand up from her breast, grabbed her face, and moved it sideways to give her the most passionate kiss of her lifetime. 

Their lips crashed together, a kiss that started as a gentle press but bloomed into something fierce. 

Her hands flew to his wrists, nails digging in as panic flared. She was flying, the yoke trembling under her slack grip. But his tongue had slipped past her teeth, curling against hers in a slow, deliberate dance that melted every protest. 

“Umph…” She moaned into him, her body surrendering as the plane’s engines roared.

Deep inside, his cock pulsed like a living heartbeat, stretching her slick walls with every involuntary twitch. The sheer audacity of it, this impossible man, buried to the hilt while she piloted them across the Atlantic, sent electric thrills racing up her spine. Her pussy clenching greedily around him, milking the thrill and pleasure in equal measure.

She moaned again, her tongue now chasing his with reckless hunger. The cockpit spun away; there was only the wet heat of his hips, the throb of him owning her from the inside out.

Marshall drank in her face; sun-kissed, framed by that short, tousled blonde mop plastered to her forehead with sweat. She wasn’t delicate; it was the beauty of wind-burned cheeks and storm-sharp eyes, the kind that laughed thrillingly at fear. He could’ve stared forever, but the clutch of her cunt dragged him back to the moment.

“Ummmphhh~” The moan spilled from her throat into his. Her hips ground down instinctively even as her hands fumbled for the yoke.

His hands slid up, fingers circling her throat with gentle pressure. He squeezed just enough to make her gasp, her back arching flush against his chest.

Her body seized, pussy spasming in violent waves, gushing slick heat around him as her fourth climax tore through her like turbulence. She flattened against him, every muscle locked, a silent scream caught behind clenched teeth while her cunt fluttered and sucked at his shaft.

Marshall groaned, low and guttural, hips snapping up one final time. 

His cock erupted. Thick ropes of cream blasted against her cervix, flooding her depths with scalding heat. Every spurt painted her insides white, so much it overflowed, creamy rivulets seeping around his buried length to drip and pool beneath them, turning the cramped cockpit into a humid den of raw, musky sex.

Their mouths found each other again, tongues tangling as his spent cock softened and slipped free with a wet pop. 

“Umh…” She moaned at the loss, feeling his load trickle out in warm pulses, coating her folds, marking the leather seat beneath them.

Woosh!

"Ah! Fuck!" 

Sadly, she realized too late that she was flying a plane. That the stick she was meant to hold was a different one from the one probing her insides. When she tried to pull the plane back up, it vibrated violently. It was daytime, and they nosedived straight into the waters of the Atlantic Ocean. 

"No, no, no!" She panicked. Both of them were butt-naked. 

"Ugh, don't worry about it."

Marshall's words rang, followed by a loud boom. They crashed into the water. A small fire erupted, then was quashed by the water. Yet, none of them even touched the water. Marshall hovered in the air, the woman in a bridal carry. 

"That… That wasn't supposed to happen. I'm headed for Ireland. I…"

Marshall shook her until he had her entire attention. He really found her daringness for taking risks hot. "Screw that plan. How about I toss your hot ass on Dinosia’s shiny ship heading to the Moon? You’ll be the first woman, hell, first human up there. Amelia Earhart, the gal who flew so damn hard she smacked right into the glowing rock, hah!"

"..."

Amelia Earhart stared at the living God's handsome face, his laugh honest, his beard masculine, and his words so shocking. There she was, trying to cross the Atlantic solo to set a record. Then came the living god flying out of nowhere, and before she knew it, she was on his lap, living in the moment because it was once in a lifetime's opportunity to sleep with a god, dammit. 

"To the moon?"

“Damn straight. The Dinosian geeks have been breaking their spines over books for what, centuries? Now they’re fixing to chuck a bloody ship at the Moon. This year, next week, whenever the stars fart right.” Marshall mumbled, trying to remember. "Helvar's helped them with it, last I heard. Fuck knows what he did, he's out looking for Inhumans now. Anyway, you want in?"

"Fuck yeah!" Amelia cheered, forgetting she was hovering in the First Man's arms. But hell, she loved it. Not only did she get to fuck a god, but she was going to be the first human on the Moon. 

"Congratulations on getting Dinosian citizenship then." 

And she got the most coveted Dinosian citizenship. The land of the myth where all were equal. She fucking loved it. 

Truly, the best sex of her life.

####

Dinosia,

It was hard to reach Dinosia. But for Mobius, it was just a portal away. And it was rather easy for him to vanish amongst the people. He wore a period-appropriate suit and walked the fine streets of the largest city of Dinosia, the Firstland City.

Where the hell am I?

Yet, he found himself mostly amused when he walked into a rather interesting bar and restaurant. The entire establishment was luxurious, massive, and run by an all-angel staff. Those women, all tall and gorgeous, wore beautiful Victorian maid dresses, their beautiful wings visible behind. They served with a smile, sometimes flirting as they went about their work. 

Mobius… felt aroused. He was still a man, after all. The TVA hadn't taken his balls. 

"Oh my, you're rather handsome."

Yeah, Mobius loved that damn place. But he wasn't there to play around. After eating, he left the place and tried to find a way to meet the First Man organically, not like an invading terrorist breaking and entering. 

He was there on a friendly mission. Well, it wasn't as if he could be violent anyway. The First Man couldn't be killed. 

And that was when it happened. In that alley, clean yet dark, unused by the masses. He was just passing by when she appeared behind him. 

"You're not Dinosian."

Mobius quickly raised his hands in surrender, turning around. "What gave it away?"

"Walking around like a tourist, gawking at the breasts of those Angels." 

She sounded confident, powerful. And Mobius sighed when he realized who she was. Dressed in a fine suit, her human skin turned to blue, her eyes yellow. He'd read her file. Raven Darkholme, another being whose life story was altered by the First Man. Now she heads Dinosia's intelligence agency. 

"First of all, I wasn't gawking. I was admiring."

"Sure." Raven folded her arms. "Who are you?"

"I'm Agent Mobius of the Time Variance Authority, TVA for short. An organization created by He Who Remains. It's located outside of time and space and serves as a temporal law enforcement agency, tasked with preserving the Sacred Timeline by preventing the creation of alternate timelines." 

"So you're the time police?" Raven asked. 

Mobius sighed, like he’d explained this a hundred times already. “Yeah, something like that. We’ve had eyes on the First Man since before humanity even showed up. He’s an anomaly, plain and simple. Doesn’t follow any of the Sacred Timeline’s rules, but the system says everything’s fine. That’s what’s got the higher-ups nervous—your First Man isn’t just bending the timeline, he’s rewriting it.”

"And?"

"..."

Mobius scratched his head. Honestly, he didn't know what to even say. Since systems showed no error, why even bother? 

"Well… we don't understand what's going on. I'm here to meet the First Man and ask him if he can enlighten me or something."

"You're here to interrogate the First Man?" 

"What? Who the fuck can even do that? Man's insa—I mean, unpredictable," Mobius clarified. "Look, I'll go back as soon as I've got any clue. If you can help me speak with the First Man, I'd help a lot."

"What makes you think I can help you?" 

"Come on, you’re Raven Darkholme. You’ve got a thing for the First Man, and you’ve got access to the temple. That about covers it."

Yes, that got the woman to shut up. Her code name was Mystique, and only a select few knew her true name. Him knowing that meant he was either a spy or really a time policeman.

"Follow me."

####

Temple of the First Man,

"Hah! She's got my hair!" Marshall admired the little creature he had made with Hela. His daughter at last. A month old, tiny, cute, her blue eyes so curious. While she inherited Hela's beauty, she had his blue eyes and his blonde hair. He loved her so much that half the time he was in Dinosia, he held her in his arms. 

Hela softly smiled, so faint that it was hard to notice. "Kael is… rather strong. She knocked out Logan yesterday."

"She did what?!" Marshall exclaimed with excitement. "That's my girl!" 

After pecking the little baby’s cheek a few times, he handed her back to Hela. Over those past few months, he had decided to settle on a rule. 

"I'll try my best to keep my head under control around her. But it's hard to keep up," he said, longingly looking at his daughter. "Keep her clear of my mess. Don’t let her turn out like this disaster of a man I am."

"Must you do this?"

"Come on, Hela. Think of Helvar and tell me you want our daughter to turn out like him."

Albeit with a frown, Hela ended up nodding. She loved her son dearly, but something had clearly gone wrong while raising him. He was careless and somewhat similar to Marshall, despite not having any mental degradation. Helvar had an Asgardian body, even better, actually. Still, Helvar's personality mirrored Marshall's. 

"Marshall, once Kael is older, let us go out there and see if we can find you some help," Hela suggested. She, for one, knew that Marshall was trying hard to be better. He wanted to be a loving father. A responsible man. But he was a hostage of his own mind and biology. His life wasn't dictated by his wants and needs but by the randomness of the voices in his mind. That sort of life… she hoped to change for him. 

"Oh, you mean some slick freak who can gut me, patch my sorry ass shit brain pudding, and keep whistlin'? Fine by me. Maybe Marty can snag himself a damn lizard lady while we're at it."

Hela sighed and just nodded. Too used to that way of speech, constantly shifting topic and focus. 

"We can do that for Marty. Now, I see you have guests. I shall take Kael to rest." 

"Guests?" Marshall turned around and saw the stunning, blue-skinned woman. She was dressed in an absolute stunner of a gentleman's suit but fitted for a woman, thick around the thighs, showcasing she was a fine, fine woman. 

Then there was the old-looking man beside Raven. 

"Who's that, Raven? Your date?"

“What? No way! I wouldn’t go for anyone else but… He’s an intruder,” Raven blurted. “Found him sneaking into Dinosia. He says he’s a time policeman or something. Looking for you. Wants to ask a few things.”

Marshall hummed, sniffed strongly, and then frowned. "I can smell it. You ain't from around these parts. So, you wanna arrest me or something?"

"Arrest you? Would've done that if we could, Sir. Respectfully, you're a bit too powerful." 

"Great at eating ass, ain't you, or was it licking ass? Must do that a lot at your time police station." 

"..."

"Sir, it's the Time Variance Authority, and I was just saying the truth. We don't have the ability to hold you. Or to keep you confined even if we somehow captured you," Mobius explained. "Before I start asking questions, maybe I should explain what I do, what the TVA does, and what the Sacred Timeline actually is.”

"Hmm…" Marshall rubbed his beard. "I'm craving lemonade. You want lemonade?"

"Yes!" Raven chirped. 

"I wouldn't say no, Sir." 

"Alright, follow me to the bar." Marshall turned around and walked deeper into the temple, and arrived at the large lounge with an equally sizable, luxurious bar. Logan was there, cleaning a glass, a few Angels annoying him while they were drinking. 

Marshall just strolled in there, letting Raven and Mobius sit on one of the high stools at the counter. He personally walked behind the counter, beside Logan. 

"Heard you got ass kicked by my girl?" 

Logan grunted like a wild beast. "She packs a punch."

"She sure does." Marshall grinned like the proud father he was. Logan was among the few allowed to be near his children. He was, in a way, a trusted member of the temple. The man had even volunteered to help Marshall by killing him. But his bone claws couldn't pierce Marshall's skin. 

In any case, Marshall moved to make lemonade. He prepared three glasses, garnished their mouths with some nice salt and spices. After that, he made lemonade in a jar. With just his hands, he squeezed the fuck out of lemons until they were barely recognizable pulp. After that, he added some salt, some sugar, and then shook the life out of it. 

Finally, he poured out three glasses and also garnished them with slices of lemon, and then added straws. 

"There you go." He pushed the glasses to his guests. "One for the time popo, and one for the fine lady." 

At last, Marshall settled down on a seat as well, sipping small sips of lemonade. 

"So, first, the Sacred Timeline is a collection of realities that must happen for this reality to exist. Think of it like this: if you never existed, how different would things be for Hela, for Logan, for Raven? Pretty different, right? Your existence ties all this together. Without you, things start to fall apart.

"The same goes for the Sacred Timeline. Any disruption, any change, and everything starts breaking down. Whole realities, infinite lives, gone. That’s where we come in at the TVA. We keep the flow steady. If something veers off course, we find it, we prune it. Sometimes, that means removing entire branches if they can’t be fixed. That's where you come in. A long, long time ago, I mean, a few million years ago, we first noticed you. 

"At that time, your existence was causing an insane amount of deviation in the Sacred Timeline. But then it all vanished. Timeline accepted you. The thing is, our records still say you shouldn’t be here. None of this should be. But the Sacred Timeline’s calm as ever, and that’s got my boss nervous. So, tell me, any idea what we’re missing?

"Hmm…" Marshall hummed for a very, very long time. Nodding, rubbing his beard. "So lemme get this straight. Your entire damn job is to make sure Bob out there lets one rip, or the universe implodes from a missing fart? Or maybe you're here to keep him from farting because destiny hates the sound? Or what, you kill Bob for farting? Is that it? Cosmic flatulence control?"

"..." 

"I… I suppose."

"How the hell am I supposed to know that? I don’t got some goddamn eye-beam of truth like Hela’s pops. I live in the moment. Don't they say, live life kink-sized… wait, was it kink?"

"King." Raven helped.

"Ah! That, king! Damn, you're smart, Raven." Marshall grinned at the blue-skinned stunner like she was a loaded gun he wanted to kiss. "Anyway, hell if I know what you’re jabbering about. But your boss? Yeah, I’m into that mystery meat. If that fucker or fuckeress can peek across realities, they better cough up some damn fine healing tricks, yeah? That’s it! Skip along and drag me to your boss."

"He Who Remains?" Mobius asked. 

"That's what he called? That's rich. But hey, I ain't judging, they call me First Man, hah!" Marshall barked, cracking up like a lunatic at his own joke. "But tell me, if you're the titsuckers deciding what reality gets to stay and what not, that means you're following a predecided script. You ain't letting nature take its flow. That means… holy fuck! Free will’s a scam! Damn right, time terrorists is what you are."

Mobius frowned, trying to come up with a response. But really, he had none. They were indeed following a script. He just didn't know what that script was. 

"I… will have to report to my boss if you plan to meet the boss of my boss," Mobius said. 

"Do that."

With that, Mobius finished the lemonade and got off the stool. With a simple move of his hand and a device, an orange mirror-like portal appeared before him. 

"See you later, Sir."

Once Mobius walked through it, the portal disappeared. 

"You buy all that bullshit?" Logan asked from the side. 

Marshall scoffed. "I'm a cocksucker if I did. Peeked inside the poor bastard’s skull. Bloke’s brain’s chained tighter than a nun’s snug slit. Them time terrorists got him hostage pretty much. He Who Remains, more like 'I sucked myself so hard I now love my own cum' or something. Someone's playing god. Know that sort. For the greater good and all that. 'Oh, sorry, your mum's gotta go cuz she sneezed at the wrong time.' Fucking bullshit."

"Then… all my life… I've been controlled?" Raven asked with worry in her yellow eyes.

Marshall shook his head and looked at Raven. "That ain't the game. Even that He-Who-Sucked-Himeself can't control that many heads, I guess. What he can choose is to kill you if you had coughed at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's terrifying."

"Eh, typical god-cosplaying fucker. I'll kill him eventually." Marshall shrugged, "Anyway, you free today? Helvar, that numbskull's been roaming for Inhumans. Hasn't sent word home. Hela's gonna start asking soon."

"I can go with you?!" Raven asked excitedly. "Let's go then."

Woosh!

But right then, that portal appeared again. Mobius once again came out. 

"That was fast. We meeting the he-who-sucked?" Marshall got off his stool. 

"Not that. Just remembered something I was supposed to tell you. Honestly, I don’t even know what it means. I was just told to pass it along. So here it is: ‘Out of the First Armament came the Celestials and the Aspirants. They fought, the Aspirants lost. The First Armament weakened, and the first multiverse rose. Now we’re in the seventh, and the First Armament returns. His soldier’s come to weaken Eternity. It’s found a new weapon, a man of infinite potential. To capture him, the Celestial Destructor will arrive. You can’t win this fight. You can’t hide.’ That’s all of it. No clue what any of that’s supposed to mean. My guess? Aspirants are kind of like Celestials, just... different flavor. Yeah, that's about it."

That portal hadn't even closed. Mobius just babbled and vanished again. 

Marshall stayed frozen in place. 

"What was all that?" Raven asked in confusion. She didn't even know what a Celestial was. 

But Marshall did. He remembered the Celestial he had taken down with Firehair. The fucker was able to stand against the Phoenix Force while injured. And now, some ancient Celestial cousin was coming for him because his hot ass was too good to ignore?

"Means I've got another big, strong bastard to measure my dick with. But that's for later. First, we find Helvar."

####

North Atlantic Ocean,

"So, let me get this straight. You tried to flirt with Queen Boltagon, and that's how you got caught?"

“Hell yes. Damn, I’d die happy tangled in that hair,” Helvar shamelessly replied to his fellow prisoner in the secretive city of Inhumans, Attilan. “She could tie you up with it, and you’d thank her for the privilege.”

"I thought I was insane until I met you," said another prisoner. "Who did you say your father was?"

"Ah, First Man. Should pop his holy ass in, any minute," Helvar replied, not worried in the slightest as he reclined against the wall of the cell, arms crossed behind his head. "Or Mother would go batshit again, and that’s a nightmare he’d rather kiss a blade than see twice."

"You've been saying that for a year now."

Helvar sighed, shrugging. "Oh, relax. Pops is basically prehistoric. A year’s just a sneeze for that fossil. He’ll remember me when his brain finally unclogs, then they’re all royally screwed. Though, to be fair, he’s most likely out there right now trying to screw the nearest breathing thing. He's somewhat of a horndog."

The four prisoners who shared the cell with him looked at each other. Then they all asked the same question at the same time. 

"And you're not?"

####

Somewhere in Austria,

Helvar was right. 

"So, who should I turn into?" 

"What?" Marshall scowled like he'd heard the most heretic thing in the universe. He stared at the gorgeous woman before him, all nude like himself, her blue skin glowing, her breasts soft, fluffy, without a sag, her nipples tight and purple, same for her bald slit. Fuck she was a dream come true. 

"I…" Raven muttered nervously, one arm crossing under her breasts. She looked down at his hardened length. "Well… I'm no virgin and… I've never done it looking like… this."

Marshall fumed at that insanity. "You serious? Holy mother of Jesus, that kind, kind woman. Girl, you're finer than the finest fine thing out there. You, right there, a walking fever dream for any man with half a working soul."

With that, Marshall strode closer to Raven and wrapped an arm around her hips. His other hand pinched her chin, lifting her face. "You look perfect the way you are. This… blue and purple, I’d sell my left eyebrow to keep looking."

Raven shyly looked into his eyes. She was very nervous and conscious of herself. She had a human shape, but her skin was different, her eyes were yellow, and her hair was red. She'd been called a demon before. Yet, the First Man liked her for who she was. And that was why he was the First Man, and why she was head over heels for him. 

She'd been waiting for this moment for so long. Finally, she got the chance to take him to a castle in the region where she was born. And now they were in a chamber with a bed and no clothes on. 

"Then… how about this?"

"Fuck!" Marshall cursed. Raven summoned tight white thigh-highs on her legs, a belt around her waist made of tiny skulls, and a tiny skull decorative piece on her forehead, right at the start of her hairline in the very middle. "Like the perfect amount of spice in an already mouth-watering dish! And I can't wait to fucking feast."

Raven grinned, the memory flashing behind her yellow eyes. That day, he’d saved her life, given her a home, and stolen her heart in one unhinged swoop. She was barely more than a woman hiding her demon skin. Now? 

Now was her chance. 

Her pulse thundered behind her ears, every inch of blue skin flushed with heat. She’d dreamed of his weight, his taste, the way his madness would fit inside her. No more watching from the shadows, tonight she’d brand him onto every filthy inch of herself.

Giggling, she walked backward until the backs of her knees hit the four-poster bed. The impact sent her falling back, ass bouncing once on the velvet duvet, blue breasts jiggling in heavy, shameless waves that made Marshall’s pupils blow wide. 

She slid higher, thighs gliding over cool sheets, until her spine flattened and her crimson hair fanned across the pillow. Then she planted her feet, knees high, thighs splayed so wide the white thigh-highs stretched taut. Her bald, purple slit glistened, swollen and twitching, already drooling for him.

She kept her gaze locked on his, yellow eyes glowing with years of pent-up worship. 

Marshall crawled forward on all fours. The mattress dipped under his weight, his cock swinging heavy, veins pulsing like they had a heartbeat of their own. He crawled up her body like a hunter until his shadow swallowed her whole.

“Mmmmh!” The sound vibrated out of her throat as his cock slapped down onto her soaked core, the scalding length dragging over her clit in one slow, deliberate grind. 

The heat of him seared through her folds, making her hips jerk upward. Every nerve ending lit up, sparks racing under her skin, her pussy clenching on nothing and begging for the stretch she’d fantasized about for so long.

“You’re like a blue, blueberry cheesecake, and man, I’m starving.” 

Marshall dropped his full weight, crushing her into the mattress, her succulent breast smothered by his chest. His cock nestled between her lower lips, sliding back and forth in the slick mess she’d made, coating his length in her juice. His mouth crashed into hers, just teeth and tongue and the taste of chaos. 

Raven’s tongue tangled with his in a wet, frantic duel, feeling the ridge of his crown catch her sensitive nub again and again. She writhed under him, thighs trembling. Every grind of his hips sent another bolt of raw pleasure straight to her core; her pussy fluttered, drooled, ached to be filled. 

She locked her ankles behind his back, heels digging into the flex of his ass, urging him closer, deeper, anywhere he’d fucking give her. Her nipples scraped against his chest hair, stiff and aching. When his tongue fucked her mouth in the same rhythm as his cock, she shattered into shivers, moaning like a bitch in heat, utterly lost.

Her nails raked down his back, then dug into the hard flesh of his ass, kneading, pulling, worshiping the warmth of the First Man. Her crush, her obsession, was finally real and scalding between her thighs.

Marshall drowned in the kiss, tongue plunging deeper to chase that taste. Fuck, new taste. 

Raven poured across his tongue like chilled champagne laced with heat, crisp bubbles of sweetness popping into gentle, lingering spice that made his cock throb harder against her slit. He could drink her forever, but he still wanted more.

He tore his mouth free and dragged it down the column of her throat, teeth sinking in hard enough to bruise blue skin violet. Lower still, hands cupping those cloud-like breasts, thumbs circling the tight violet peaks before he shoved them together, grunting like a beast at the plush weight spilling over his fingers. 

“Time for some blueberries,” he rasped, and latched onto one stiff bud with a wet, greedy suck.

“Ahh!” Raven arched off the bed with a broken cry, back bowing as his cock dragged over her clit in one slick glide. The dual assault: hot mouth tugging her nipple, thick shaft grinding her swollen folds, snapped something inside her. 

Pleasure detonated low in her belly, a sharp, rolling wave that crashed through her pussy in pulsing spasms. Her thighs clamped, juices gushing over his cock in a hot flood, every muscle locking as she came. Her eyes squeezed shut, toes curling in those white thigh-highs.

“More! Yes! Harder!” she gasped with raw need. "Oh, it feels like… you'll rip me… apart! Please do!"

Marshall felt the last flutter of her climax kissing his shaft, and he growled with ravenous hunger. 

He slid down her trembling body. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the velvet blue of her belly, tongue dipping into her navel, then over the cool metal of the skull belt. Lower, nuzzling the faint crimson bush, inhaling the thick, intoxicating scent before his mouth finally closed over that perfect, leaking purple pussy. 

After one long, filthy lick from the entrance to the clit, his tongue dove in like a man possessed.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Raven went feral, hips bucking wildly, thighs snapping around his head like a trap. 

She ground her slick folds against his face, smothering him in wet heat, smearing her juices across his cheeks, his nose, his grinning mouth. Years of fantasies exploded behind her eyes. The First Man, eating her like she was his last meal, and she rode his tongue with shameless, worshiping frenzy, every nerve screaming in bliss.

Marshall attacked her cunt with unhinged greed, tongue lengthening, slithering deep into her clenching cunt, curling and thrusting. He lapped at her walls, drank her flood, and groaned into her folds until the vibrations had her shrieking.

She felt him everywhere. That wicked tongue was somehow curling deeper, slithering further, teasing depths no cock could reach. It fluttered against velvet insides without stretching her wide, just pure, maddening pleasure. Like a tendril with a mind of its own, it relentlessly teased and prodded the entrance of her womb.

Her hands fisted his hair, yanking hard. “Yo–you’re touching my soul with that tongue. Yess— drink me until I’m empty! Fuck!”

Marshall rose slick-chinned, lips grinning. He moved back on top of her, his cock aligning perfectly with her leaking core. 

Scklap!

In one brutal thrust, his cockhead parted her flushed folds, spearing through slick heat completely. He buried himself balls-deep in a single stroke. 

Her pussy clamped around him like a wet glove. Skin-tight, no air, no mercy, just wet, pulsing perfection swallowing every inch.

“Home fucking run!” he groaned, staring at the obscene sight of her cunt stretched wide, flushed dark, gripping him like it was born for this.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

“Harder!” Raven demanded, raw and desperate.

Marshall hooked his arms under her knees, folding her in half until her ankles framed her ears. He shoved higher, palms sliding to cup her face, thumbs pressing under her chin, fingers splayed over flushed cheeks. Her tits squeezed between stockinged thighs, white fabric stark against blue skin.

He rammed down. Over and over.

“Unngh—so deep, you’re… splitting me! I love it! Deeper!” she wailed, eyes rolling back, pussy spasming wildly.

Plap! Smack! Plap!

Marshall’s hips snapped harder, balls slapping her ass with wet echoes. 

“Fuck, Raven—you’re made for this! Best blue goddamn cunt!” He roared, a primal, earth-shaking bellow as his balls drew tight. 

Thick ropes of molten seed jetted into her folded, helpless body, pumping her womb full in heavy, scorching gushes that overflowed instantly. Creamy white virility bubbled back, dribbling in sticky rivers down her asscrack, soaking the sheets. It stood out stark, white on her blue flesh.

He didn’t stop, he rutted through his spill like a beast, grinding his pulsing cockhead against her deepest walls, thrusting every last drop deeper until her pussy was a drowning, clenching swamp of his essence.

“NO! I wanted to taste it!” Raven wailed, voice cracking with desperate hunger, her body still twitching from the aftershocks.

“And you fucking will! Drink the damn juice!” Marshall snarled back.

Squelch!

He yanked out, her purple pussy gaping, flushed, dark, and ruined, leaking his thick cream in glossy strands that stretched and snapped. 

He slid on his knees to her side, fat cock dangling heavy near her flushed face, still throbbing, veins angry and slick. Grinning, he hooked one stocking-covered thigh high, holding her wide open. Then, he fisted her crimson hair, wrenching her head up until her yellow eyes locked on the obscene view. Her own cunt, drooling his seed, twitching like it missed him already.

“Suck it with a view,” he growled and slapped his cock across her heaving breasts, leaving pearly trails smeared over those jiggling blue swells.

“Ummmmh!” Raven moaned, hair yanked taut, gaze glued to her leaking pussy as her neck leaned forward and stuffed his cock into her mouth.

Glrk! Slurp! Ghk! Ghk!

A symphony of filth, loud, sloppy, throat-stretching savagery spilled from her lips. 

She rammed him down to the hilt in one greedy plunge, lips stretching thin around his girth, nose smashed flat against sweat-matted pubes. That brutal, musky reek slammed her brain, sweat-laced cock and salty batter. 

“Umph! Ghk…Hrrk!” She gagged violently, coughing hard as spit bubbled and frothed around the seal of her lips, rolling down her chin. Eyes rolled back white, aroused tears rolled down her blue cheeks in hot streaks, but she hollowed her cheeks and sucked.

Marshall gave tiny thrusts, his fist tightening in her hair like a leash. “Fuck, look at you, blue girl! Ghh… That sapphire skin smeared in my cream? Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen!”

Her face twisted each time he bottomed out, cheeks hollowing, throat bulging visibly around his cock. Teardrops mixed with the foaming spit-cum slurry drooling from her stretched lips. Ropes of it slid down her neck, pooling between her tits. She’d let him pop free with a wet gasp, then slapped his cock across her own face, smearing cheeks, forehead, nose in glistening filth, painting herself like a cum-drunk whore before diving back down.

Finally, she sucked hard, tongue swirling the underside. She felt him swell, throb against her tonsils, then her eyes rolled back as he exploded again.

Thick batter blasting the back of her throat like molten glue, flooding her gullet, churning the cream already there into frothy paste. She guzzled like a woman possessed, throat working overtime, not a drop escaping her sealed lips. 

Raven was excited; this was him, her obsession, spilling hot, scorching batter into her mouth like a gift. She drank deep, suckling every pulse, her pussy clenching in sympathy, fresh cream leaking from her ruined slit.

Even as he softened, she didn’t relent. She rammed her face down, nose buried in his pubes, and sucked hard. 

Slurp!

Marshal could feel his knees buckle when the last remnants of his batter were coaxed out of his cock with force. “FUCK!”

She milked the last pearly drops with hollowed cheeks and fluttering tongue until his cock was spotless, glistening with her spit alone.

Thud!

Finally, Marshall fell beside her on the bed, breathing fast but not tired. 

"That was… one hot round! Damn, we're like the real blueberry cheesecake. I'm the base and you're the topping. Yes! Raven, get on top, you're riding."

"Huh?" Raven exclaimed, excited. "We can do more?"

"The hell you mean? We're just getting started."

"..."

Raven knew it already. 

Best day ever. 

####

1933, Germany,

Many years ago, when the First Man killed Willem II, the last German Emperor, for being in the same room as King Leopol, a change happened. A change that spread through the German people, and that region as a whole. 

Like an infection. 

Hate against the nobles, the aristocrats, and the rich peaked. To divert that hate, the Great War was fought. The death of an Archduke was a mere tipping point. The core reason was something else. To keep the masses divided, enslaved by their own little wars against each other. 

But the war only delayed the inevitable. The infection had spread far and wide, turning into a popular opinion. The Dinosian intervention that forced the war to end faster was a catalyst. A new way of thinking. A way of life that taught them to fight against their overlords. Yet, that same infection was also a tool for a young man who sold paintings. 

He made them with all his heart. He painted the man he aspired to be, or close to him. He painted the First Man's countless portraits. He hoped to learn and make more. But when that avenue led nowhere, he latched onto the next. 

The First Man killing Willem II was the catalyst that made the boy into a man, a far more dangerous, competent, and vile creature than what he would have been. 

The boy studied the First Man, the rise and fall of empires, and he studied Dinosia. 

And with it was born the dream to build another.

"I will…" At the podium, he spoke with passion. In his speech after being appointed the new Chancellor. “I will forge a new dawn. Germany will not be a nation among nations! She will be the Dinosia of Europe! I will shape it with my hands. You will shape it with yours. Together we will unmake the old order and bind this continent to our will. Thrones will topple, crowns will crack, Willem, Haakon, and George, and all who pretend sovereignty! They will fall beneath the wheel we turn. What endures, what never dies, is us! The iron of my people, the single voice, the single purpose. Bow to it, and be made great; resist it, and be ground to dust. Rise with me, or be swept away.”

More competent. 

More planned.

More driven. 

Not by hatred against a certain race or region. But a dream for which he was ready to slaughter everyone. His grand plan, his sacrifice to the one god he admired. 

The bloodlust that was delayed had returned with far more thirst.  

With a clear purpose.