Wrong

Mary Jane Watson had made a mistake. She’d taken a slug from Tony Stark’s flash. She should’ve known he would only have the good stuff—and though she didn’t think of herself as a lightweight, the liquor was definitely treating her like one.

Then she made another mistake. She did another shot. As always when Mary Jane drank, she was getting ‘friendly’. While talking to the other guests in Avengers Mansion, she playfully touched their arms and hands, or when moving around, she would lightly brush her tits against a man. It was wrong of her, she knew, but she couldn’t resist the urge to taunt them with what they couldn’t have.

She had just resolved to slow things down and drink a glass of water when she saw T’Challa standing nearby, looking at her. Her blood, hot with liquor, rushed into her head and turned her cheeks into open flames.

“Hello, T’Challa,” she said politely. “Thinking of giving me the royal treatment?”

“You do look lovely, Mary Jane,” he said, reaching out and taking her free hand. In her wrist, he could feel her pulse racing.

She drank her water. It didn’t cool her down.

T’Challa licked his lips, seeing a misty look staring back at him when he met Mary Jane’s eyes. It was either lust or she was drunk. Perhaps both.

“You look flushed,” he observed.

“Yeah, I feel a little warm,” Mary Jane replied, almost defensively.

“Perhaps you could use some fresh air.” He led her by her captured hand like he was guiding a horse by its reins.

She went along with him meekly as he took her away from the get-together. With the evening, the lights of the mansion had been dimmed, and it felt deserted with all its guests and occupants in one place, now far behind them. He led her up a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony overlooking the grounds, though all it showed at this time of night was darkness, somehow accentuated by the lights of the city far away. It felt like they were the only two people on Earth.

He turned Mary Jane around to face him; only then did she realize how close they were. She looked up into his eyes and saw something equally dangerous there, something that would be dangerous no matter how far apart they were. He kissed her and she moved eagerly into the warmth he offered, the pleasure, before pulling away.

“No—we shouldn’t!” she cried.

“We shouldn’t,” T’Challa agreed, and kissed her again, even harder.

This time she didn’t pull away. Instead, she braced herself, her arms going around his neck to hold her in place against him. “Forgive me, Peter,” she moaned, tip-toing even higher than her heels made her to return T’Challa’s kiss.

She was feeling too many things at once: ecstatic, drunk, wicked, enthusiastic. He took her even tighter into his big arms, his harsh lips crushing against hers. His tongue traveled deep into her mouth, and as she accepted it, sucking gently, Mary Jane knew that he had her as surely as if he’d planted a flag.

T’Challa pulled away to unbutton the front of her dress. Mary Jane felt each button being undone, the tiny rush of cool air sweeping in as her dress opened by degrees, the diligent work of T’Challa’s hands so close to her skin but so far away, like feeling a hand massaging an erogenous zone, touching it more and more firmly. Kissing him was bad, being undressed by him was bad, but despite her adultery becoming more and more serious, Mary Jane was less able to resist than ever. His strong, clever hands opened up her bra and she still didn’t, couldn’t protest. The tight straps loosened and the cups that secured her high, firm breasts fell away, leaving her bare and vulnerable—and feeling more beautiful than ever as he enjoyed her nudity.

“Mary Jane, you simply do not stop being perfect, do you?” T’Challa sighed, and lowered his mouth to the stark paleness of her untanned chest and the sweet taste of an erect nipple.

T’Challa loved touching a woman’s breasts while they were still warm from the confines of a bra, and Mary Jane’s were burning delightfully, a film of sweat proving that they were supposed to be restrained and he had broken them out. Mary Jane too felt the lustful excitement of the taboo being committed; her nipples were as hard as marbles, inside T’Challa’s mouth and outside it. T’Challa proved it by moving to her other nipple, finding that it was exhilaration making the tiny peak hard, not the pressure of his lips.

“I like that, I like that!” Mary Jane gasped, so softly she might not have even been aware that she was speaking.

His hand moved under her skirt and perhaps it was just the hidden nature of the flesh there, the secret of it, but it felt even softer and more tender than the skin of her breasts and face and lips. Mary Jane too felt more sensitive—when T’Challa touched her down there, she told herself she was lost.

Her legs opened and his fingers traveled up her inner thighs at a measured, deliberate pace, coming to the edge of her panties precisely when they meant to. There, they paused a moment, T’Challa’s fingertips edging sideways along the elastic band that separated flesh and satin. Then they were underneath the legband, T’Challa and Mary Jane experiencing what he found as one: hair that was lustfully wet, a slit that was deep and inviting in its openness. Mary Jane heard T’Challa provide a bass groan to her soprano sigh as his fingers slipped inside her.

T’Challa only needed one hand to do all that. With the other, he unzipped his fly. No sooner was that done then he’d grasped one of Mary Jane’s small, delicate hands and forced it into the opening. If he wore any underwear, he led her hand right through it. Her fingers touched his cock directly. It was as hard as it was huge.

“This is wrong,” Mary Jane said, her fingers circling his massive girth as if it were an example, holding tightly the representation of everything she was feeling that she shouldn’t be feeling.

“Yes, it’s wrong,” T’Challa said. “Do you think that matters?”

She drew his prick out of his trousers, her slender hand barely wrapping around it. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

Mary Jane had her mouth over one of T’Challa’s ears, her tongue stroking slowly up and down it, when T’Challa pulled his mouth off her nipple. He left it glistening with his saliva. “Up. I want to take your panties off now.”

“Wait, T’Challa, no… I can’t,” Mary Jane sighed, though her hand was still pumping on his shaft. “You’re too big… I can’t take it all.”

“I’ll be gentle, Mary Jane. I’ll make it good for you. For both of us. I want you and you want me. Come up—I need your panties off now.”

“Oh God, T’Challa… I shouldn’t be doing this,” Mary Jane whimpered, and raised her ass from the seat, her hand still holding onto his cock. Perhaps she wanted a grip on something vulnerable for if her resolve firmed and she managed to say no to him. Maybe she just couldn’t let go of him when he was so hard and hot. “But I want you too…”

With both hands, T’Challa rolled Mary Jane’s panties down off her juicy ass, then down her thighs to her ankles, where Mary Jane kicked them off. T’Challa pushed her backwards then.

“Let me look at you,” he said, lifting her skirt up over her hips. He swore in his native tongue, then switched back to English so Mary Jane was sure to understand. “Paradise,” he gasped simply.

The hair around Mary Jane’s pussy was neatly trimmed, the red elegantly blending with the pink of her labia to appear like the flowing colors of a flower’s petals. Her mound stood out prominently, as if boldly asking to be given pleasure, and the deep split of her cleft led inexorably between her legs to the rhyming divide of her pert buttocks.

T’Challa dropped his face to her belly, his lips touching the top of her thatch languorously as if to savor that first contact. Then he moved lower.

Mary Jane cried out in shock. She wasn’t used to having a man’s face so close to her body, so there, and now T’Challa’s tongue was inside her! The embarrassment was staggering, but it felt wonderful, delicious, like nothing she’d ever known. She knew it was forbidden, but it seemed to feel all the more pleasurable for that.

He delved into her twitching sex—his thick tongue came inexorably to her clit. The journey there tasted like honey, her juices flowing, a constant tart sting on his taste buds. Mary Jane jerked and throbbed, on the verge of release, something she had not done without the aid of a sex toy in a long time.

T’Challa thrust his tongue into her, pushing it as deep as it would go, then pulled away from her. Mary Jane let out a cry of dismay made of haltering breaths. T’Challa came to his knees and shoved his pants down, his magnificent cock standing at full attention.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said. “I wish to love you, my beauty, and you will be loved as you’ve never been loved before.”

Mary Jane lay back, her legs apart, her heart racing. “Yes, yes,” she breathed. “What’s what I want. That big thing up inside me… fucking me…” Her face went red even in the cool dark. “Fuck me good, please fuck me good!”

His massive cock, twice the size of her husband’s, slid smoothly inside of her despite how long it had been since she was with anyone so well-endowed. Mary Jane grunted softly, shocked by the supreme pleasure that she knew came from his length, his girth.

It did feel better, superior to any sex she’d ever had. Her legs spread further and his hands took hold of her ass to force more of himself inside her. Mary Jane wanted it all, everything from the tip to his balls.

“Oh, yes!” she gasped, her hands sliding up the muscles of his back until they could hold onto his neck. “There’s so much of it, so… so fucking much!”

“Yes,” T’Challa grunted, “barely enough room.” He loved the feel of a pussy clenching and stretching around his thick prick and hers was pulling on him like she needed his cock at the very center of her. “God, what a tight pussy. I’m getting close. Gonna come. I will fill your pussy… just as much cum in there as I put in cock!”

“No, honey, don’t come inside me!” Mary Jane begged. “I can’t get pregnant, I… oh CHRIST… no, don’t pull out yet… almost there! GOD! Keep fucking me! I’m gonna come, COME!”

Suddenly his hands ran down her sides, each taking a fistful of her plump asscheeks, pulling her tight to his loins, his own hips plowing into hers like a piston, and Mary Jane knew she couldn’t stop him and she didn’t want to. It was too good to stop.

She felt the hot lunge of his jizz into her, flooding the inside of her with raw life. And as T’Challa emptied himself, Mary Jane knew a satisfaction that was completely new to her. She had done it, accomplished something, come so hard that it was an achievement. She felt fulfilled for the first time in far too long.

T’Challa took himself out of her gaping opening and got to his knees. Mary Jane was hardly aware of his movements until he was straddling her face, his huge manhood inches from his mouth. A string of cum fell onto her chin and she knew it smelled of herself as much as him.