####
Marshall deliberately picked the room adjacent to Hela's to bed the two. And Jesus, what a good lay it was. Vanilla introduced her daughter, taller than her, but petite, red hair reaching her waist, handfuls of tits, and slender ass. Her name was Clove.
First, the two sucked him dry, each gulping down one load. The best part was when Vanilla rammed Clove's face on his fat cock until she choked. But the real stuff came afterwards when Vanilla sat behind her daughter, making Clove lean her back into her round breasts.
Then, with her own hands, Vanilla spread Clove's legs, and then the pussy lips, revealing the virgin maiden ready to be taken. Shaved, drenched in heat, pale red and tight. Clove was giggling, a faint blush and shyness on her face.
"Aaaah!"
Marshall, yet again, made a woman that night. And he did go all night. Once he rammed Clove's fresh pussy, and emptied his balls, he focused on Vanilla's curvy, mature body. He fucked them together then, making them lie down one on top of another, and drilled one pussy at a time.
He lost count of how many times they came, or he did. By the time morning came, the two women were losing their consciousness, the bedsheet was drenched, and on the wall was a hole beyond which was Hela, touching herself, ruining her own floor.
Time to do something about Hela.
He had noticed how Hela was getting easier and easier to anger these days.
####
Another century passed, from 1799, the year changed to 1800, and a few more years passed. The United States purchased Louisiana from Napoleon and increased its size. But then, an incident occurred.
Somehow, word spread that the only safe haven in America was the mythical land ruled by the First Man. So, a lot of runaway slaves and persecuted groups of Natives walked north-west, and ended up entering the mammoth farm that Marshall ran.
And there, sadly, they ended up killing a pregnant mammoth.
Marshall found out about it as soon as the Mammoth died. He was using Selene to keep track of the woolly animals.
In anger, Marshall flew on his raft with only Marty and arrived in what would one day be called the State of Montana. Almost half of it was his, where he conserved the woolly mammoths.
And as expected, he found a settlement of humans on his land. They had skinned the poor pregnant mammoth and were making tents out of it.
BOOM!
Marshall landed with a loud bang, and with the use of telekinesis, uprooted every tent in sight, baring all the occupants to his eyes. There were nearly fifty men and women there.
"FIRST MAN!?"
"SAVE US!"
Marshall wasn't impressed. He eyed them like they were pests. "You killed my mammoth. Give me a reason why I should let you live."
"W-We were hungry… We…"
"Not my problem. Eat the leaves, choke on dirt, gnaw on a rat if one scurries by." Marshall snapped his fingers, and with a five-second gap, their heads started exploding one by one.
"You ran from your lands. Some ran from your masters, some from the war. But I don't give a fuck—Tell me, do you not steal? Do you not murder? Do you not plunder? See, you're no different in my eyes. One ape gutting another ape doesn't make it my problem. You bled into my land, killed something I raised—and now? Now you die."
Poof!
Poof!
One by one, they all died, heads exploding.
"I'm not here to spoon-feed you through evolution. Teaching you fire was a damn fluke, you smoke-sniffing morons."
To Marshall, humans were utterly insignificant. He had lived a hundred million years in misery. He'd fought all the madness with all he had. He fought Mephisto's advances with all he had. He had no mercy or blessings to give. Absolutely not to the ones that killed what belonged to him.
"Not done yet."
Marshall gathered the dead bodies, threw them on the raft, and flew towards the east. Soon, he arrived on top of a white building and descended with no care. Nobody stopped him, and there was barely much security.
He entered the White House with the dead bodies flying behind him like a train, all headless. Finally, he arrived at a large room with a wide table before a big window.
"You broke the contract!" Marshall declared and threw the dead bodies across the office. "Unlike you, I keep my promises."
Marshall walked over to the table and…
Bam!
He smacked the table away, sending it smashing into the wall. Then, he stood before the white haired man, still in his seat, speechless, fear in his eyes.
"You stomped into my patch, on purpose or not. Slavery is your mess. Attacking natives is your mess. So why's the fallout hitting my doorstep?"
"I… I was not aware of it, First M—"
Poof!
"CONTRACT! STICK TO IT!"
Marshall, with no regard, slapped the President's head. And as promised to George, he splattered the brain on the floor. For the audience, there were some assistants and staffers nearby.
Finally, Marshall turned around and eyed the nearby staffer. "Tell the Vice President—Break the contract one more time. Invade my land one more time. I'll drag the damn British Empire back here and gift this land to them!"
With that, he walked out, got on top of his raft with Marty waiting there, and flew away.
Marshall reckoned this would teach them a lesson. But being so disconnected, he didn't see that the newspapers declared that the President had died of a heart attack. Not because the First Man punished him.
####
Dinosia,
Marshall had returned. It was yet another peaceful night, and unlike normal, he was alone in his room as he'd sent Selene to check up on the Wakandans. In a surprising move, he removed all his clothes, got butt naked, dragged a chair with no armrests to the middle of his room, and sat down. He spread his legs and started stroking his fat cock.
Damn, feels as good as ever.
It had been years since he last stroked his meat.
However, Marshall kept edging himself, never spilling. Slowly, an hour passed, and he was still stroking it. His thick girth was red now, throbbing for a release. His pale, purple cockhead was swollen like ready to spill its juices.
"You know…" Marshall muttered suddenly, grinning. He looked towards the wall right in front of him. A tiny hole was present in it. "The door's open. You can walk in whenever you want—I could use some company tonight."
He kept stroking, relaxed.
Bam!
As expected, the door of his room was pushed open. Tall, beautiful, curvy, dressed in black with her dark cape on her back, Goddess Hela walked inside. She locked the door first and finally paused in front of him, arms crossed, heeled legs high, her gaze full of disdain yet focused on his meat rod.
"Go on, take a closer look. It won't bite," he cheekily said, as if mocking her.
For a while, Hela didn't move. She just stood there, expressionlessly eying him, stroking his meat. But then she started to subtly move her hips, and it was clear, she was feeling it. It'd been centuries already since she started feeling all that. Seeing Marshall bed women. Her control was now waning.
"Such perversion… disgusting," she sneered.
Yet, contrary to that, she got closer and slowly went down on her knees. Hela, being a foot taller than Marshall, felt rather comfortable and proud despite being seated. With only the tilt of her eyes, she watched his cock.
Hah, can't hide those eyes from me.
Marshall's grin widened as he slowly spat into his palm, never breaking eye contact with the proud goddess kneeling in front of him. The slick sound of his spit hitting skin echoed in the room, a crude contrast to her icy presence. He smeared it across his cock, stroking harder, louder, wetter.
Schlk Schlk Schlk~
Hela said nothing, but her body betrayed her, inching closer without thought. Her thighs brushed the floor, her cape shifting behind her knees as her weight shifted forward.
He noticed the heat rising off her skin. Not warmth like a living woman. This was something colder, more ancient, like the heat of frozen fire. She was ice and ember, a contradiction. Her breath fogged ever so slightly when it met the head of his flushed cock. Her eyes still narrowed in disdain, but her mouth parted slightly.
"Touch it—Feel it."
Her eyes twitched, jaw tightened. The disdain on her face was obvious, but her hand moved anyway. Slowly, like a woman resisting her own will. Her long, cold fingers wrapped around his shaft.
Marshall bit back a groan.
Her grip was warm, too warm for her icy aura. She felt like a furnace. Her palm stroked his length with curious hesitation, but her fingertips trailed over every ridge, every vein, and the swollen crown with unexpected care. Like she was exploring some ancient artifact, not stroking a man she claimed to find repulsive.
"Disgusting," she whispered, almost to herself, brows furrowed as her fingers tightened around his cock. "This is what drives women mad? This vulgar piece of meat?"
Marshall chuckled, leaning back on the chair, letting her stroke his cock while he just admired the view. "I'm more of a visual learner, you know. Show some skin. It'll get even harder."
______________________
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