The sonic boom rattled windows for three city blocks.
Tatsumaki didn't bother to look back at the demolished storefront, the crushed concrete, or the monster's dissolving corpse steaming in the crater she'd made. Her heels never touched the ground. They didn't need to. The hero ranked as second hovered six inches above the shattered asphalt, arms crossed, emerald eyes narrowed to slits as she surveyed the gathered crowd of civilians and the cluster of A-class heroes who'd been utterly fucking useless forty-five seconds ago.
"Well?" Her voice cut through the silence like a razor. "Anyone want to explain why I had to fly across the entire damn city to handle a Threat Level Tiger when five of you were already here?"
No one answered. Lightning Max stared at his shoes. One-Shotter found something fascinating on the brick wall to his left. Smile Man actually took a step backward, smiling weakly.
"Pathetic." Tatsumaki flicked a strand of curly green hair away from her face. "The Hero Association should fire every single one of you and use the salary savings to buy better coffee for the people who actually do their jobs."
A murmur rippled through the civilian onlookers. Camera phones were out, naturally. They were always out when she worked. And why wouldn't they be? The Tornado of Terror was the S-Class Rank 2 hero and she was a phenomenon. A force of nature wrapped in a body that barely cleared five feet, with power that could level cities and an attitude that made grown men weep.
Like on all days, she wore her classic black dress. Long trumpet sleeves that flared dramatically when she gestured along with four high-cut leg slits with pointed ends that flashed her shapely legs. Matching black low-heeled shoes somehow stayed pristine despite the debris field around her.
The dress was form-fitting. Dangerously so. It hugged every curve of her young body like it had been painted on. Oh, and like always, she wasn't wearing anything underneath it.
This wasn't an accident. It was never an accident with Tatsumaki.
A construction worker in a hard hat angled his phone lower, trying to catch an upskirt angle as the wind kicked through the street. His thumb hovered over the capture button, sweat beading on his forehead. The lens focused.
Click!
The worker swore. Like all those before him, the panty shot was blurred.
Two teenage boys near the convenience store entrance exchanged a look. One of them was tall, acne-scarred, and brave. He dropped to one knee, pretending to tie his shoe. His head tilted. His eyes traveled upward past the hem of the black dress. Cameras could be blurred, a good eye could not.
The leg slits made it easy. He gulped. The pale curve of her inner thigh, the shadowed junction where her legs met. So close, so close…! He looked harder until his jaw went slack.
He saw it. The bare pussy of the second-strongest hero alive. Pink and smooth and…and confirming that Tatsumaki was gloriously naked under that expensive black dress.
Tatsumaki didn't care. She shrugged and the air pressure changed.
BOOM.
The sonic boom shattered the remaining windows on the block and sent loose papers spiraling into the sky. By the time the echo faded, she was already three miles away, a black speck against the orange sunset, her emerald hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail.
'The incompetence,' she fumed, wind screaming past her telekinetic barrier. 'Five A-class heroes and a Tiger-level monster has them paralyzed. Five. What a joke. What an absolute fucking joke of an organization.'
Technically, that meant the monster wasn't Tiger-level and that the initial assessment was incorrect. But she preferred to blame their incompetence.
The city blurred beneath her. Y-City was not her usual territory since it was Child Emperor's dominion so to speak, but she'd been in the area. Tatsumaki was flying toward the suburbs, toward a neighborhood so ordinary it made her teeth ache just looking at it. Manicured lawns, mailboxes in neat rows, and sedans in driveways.
She hated and loved suburbs. It was a complicated feeling.
Her speed decreased as she approached a particular house. A modest two-story with beige siding and a well-maintained garden. Nothing special. Nothing that would make anyone look twice. The kind of house that belonged to accountants, or teachers, or some other nobody.
Tatsumaki's feet touched the ground.
She walked to the front door. Actually walked. Heels clicking on the stone pathway like a normal person. Her hand reached for the doorknob without the usual telekinetic twist. Her fingers closed around the brass handle, felt the cool metal against her palm, and turned it manually.
The door swung open and the smell of breakfast greeted her. "Ah…!" Garlic, butter, and warm bread.
"Tats? That you?"
His voice came from the kitchen, floating down the hallway like a physical thing that wrapped around her shoulders and squeezed the tension right out of her spine. Her shoulders dropped three inches. The perpetual furrow between her eyebrows smoothed out. Her emerald eyes, still sharp enough to cut glass, softened into unrecognizable joy.
Futsuu appeared in the kitchen doorway. He wore a pale blue apron over a plain white t-shirt and comfortable gray sweatpants. His dark hair was slightly mussed, his cheeks were flushed from the stove heat, and he was drying his hands on a dish towel. A gold wedding band glinted on his left ring finger.
The same gold ring she put on her way here.
"Dinner's ready." He smiled. "You actually made it on time for once."
Tatsumaki felt the blush crawl up her neck before she could stop it. Heat flooded her cheeks, her ears, even her collarbone. She looked down at her shoes. At the welcome mat. At anything except his face.
"I said I would be here," Tatsumaki muttered.
"You say a lot of things." Futsuu walked toward her, still smiling, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He was taller than her by a good head. "Doesn't always mean the monster attacks cooperate with your schedule. I'm glad they did tonight."
"Tch, yeah, whatever." Tatsumaki shook her head, curls bouncing. She crossed her arms and tried not to be embarrassed. "You said dinner was ready. I'm hungry."
She pushed past him toward the kitchen, hyperaware of how close her shoulder came to brushing his chest. The kitchen table was set for two. Cloth napkins folded into triangles and a bottle of wine was already breathing in a decanter.
Futsuu cooked like this every night. Even when she was late. Even when she didn't show up at all. He'd portion out leftovers, label them with the date, stack them in the fridge. What a great guy.
Who was he?
Well, she could say this. She knew this with the same bone-deep certainty that she knew her own power level that Futsuu was ordinary. No psychic abilities and no superhuman strength and no monsterfication. No cybernetic enhancements or secret martial arts lineage either. He was…a mailman.
Yep, a mailman.
Yet this mailman was the only person on the entire planet who could make Tatsumaki blush like a schoolgirl.
She plopped into her chair with significantly less grace than she'd shown the gathered heroes an hour earlier. Her elbows hit the table. Futsuu poured her a glass of mid-ranged red wine and settled into the chair across from her.
"So." Futsuu unfolded his napkin across his lap. "Tell me about the incompetent morons you had to save today."
The rant started before she'd even taken her first bite. "Five of them. Five A-class heroes standing around with their thumbs up their asses while a Tiger-level rampaged through a shopping district. Lightning Max was there. You know what he did? Nothing! They were attacking and they did nothing! How about getting stronger, why don't you!? Ugggh, what's the point of calling yourself One-Shotter if you don't—"
"Breathe, Tats."
She inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, and took a gulp of wine.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
Heh. See? A guy who actually listened! This was what made him stand out! He listened and nodded at the right moments and made little sounds of agreement or outrage that somehow matched exactly what she was feeling.
That was why he was her husband!
Tatsumaki enthusiastically told him about the monster. A grey hulking thing with too many limbs. She told him about crushing it with a gesture. "Heh, it was pathetically easy!"
"Mm." He looked her up and down. "You're…not wearing underwear again, are you?"
The question came out of nowhere. Futsuu was cutting his chicken into precise, even pieces when he said it.
Tatsumaki's fork paused halfway to her mouth. "H-haah?"
Futsuu chewed a bite of chicken, swallowed, and fixed her with a look that made her stomach flip. "Seriously? Always with the no-panties…"
Tatsumaki smirked and set her fork down. She crossed her legs under the table and felt the slick heat of her bare pussy pressing against her own thigh. She had to fight back a shiver. A nervous little smile crept across her face.
"Are you going to punish me, dearest husband?"
Futsuu's knife and fork hit his plate with a clatter. He stood up and towered over her with that expression on his face—the one that made her feel small, genuinely small, in a way that no monster or villain ever could.
"Finish your dinner," he said. "Then we'll talk about consequences."
***
The bedroom door clicked shut.
Tatsumaki levitated above the mattress, legs crossed and hand cupping her cheek. She oozed arrogance. Futsuu closed the door, took two steps forward, and put his hands on his hips.
"Whose pussy is that?"
Heat flooded her core, her thighs clenching involuntarily, a pulse of wetness slicking her already-damp folds. Her voice came out smaller than she'd ever let anyone else hear.
"You're so cocky, aren't you—?"
"Whose is it?" he repeated.
Tatsumaki scoffed. "Y-you…!"
"Say it."
"Nnggh…!" Her eyes flicked down to the bulge in his pants. Her eyes widened. She gulped. "T-that's…"
His cock twitched in his pants and any willpower dissipated.
"Yours."
"Louder."
"Yours. It's yours."
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell him. His hand came up to cup her chin, tilting her face toward his.
"Now get on the bed. On your hands and knees."
Tatsumaki ceased her levitating and scrambled onto the mattress with none of the poise she carried in battle. The leg slits of her dress fell open, exposing her cunt to his view. Her toned ass—round and firm from years of aerial combat, muscle honed to perfection under pale skin—presented itself like an offering.
'Look at you. The Tornado of Terror. The second most powerful hero on the planet. And you're on all fours in bed with your bare cunt dripping onto the sheets….!'
"Good girl," was all her husband said.
Tatsumaki whimpered. Actually whimpered. The sound would have horrified her if any of her colleagues could hear it. Sweet Mask would have a field day.
Smack!
Futsuu's hand came down on her left ass cheek. A testing spank that made the flesh jiggle and her breath catch in her throat. Her eyes rolled back and she smiled a little in delight.
"Do you know what you did wrong?"
"I—" Another spank, this time on the right cheek. Harder. The sting bloomed across her skin, and she pushed her ass back instinctively, seeking more. "I-I didn't wear panties. In public. Where other men could see."
"And?"
"And I let them look. I could have stopped them. I should have crushed their skulls. But I—" Spank. Fat left cheek jiggled, hard enough to leave a pink handprint. "Fuck! I wanted them to look. I wanted them to see what they can't ever have. Because only you—"
"Only I what?"
"Only you get to fuck me."
The words came out raw and desperate. Tatsumaki's emerald eyes were glassy with need, her cultivated arrogance stripped away layer by layer with every spank, every pointed sentence from her husband.
"That's right." Futsuu's hand smoothed over her ass, soothing the sting. "Only me. Now let's get this dress off you."
He just bunched the fabric in his fists and pulled. The expensive black dress, the one that had made heroes tremble and perverts risk broken phones, slid up her body and over her head in one fluid motion. It landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Her small breasts with their pink nipples already pebbled tight. The flat plane of her stomach was gorgeous and never-seen-before by the public. Her hips flared out to a round peachy ass.
Fingers latched on, addicted to it, smacking it. The lewd noise of her ass echoed loudly. The heroine's pear shaped body type gave her remarkably wide hips compared to her body. A married chick with wide hips and big ass, which Tatsumaki argued was a better ass then a silly fat ass. Her thighs were pronounced, not to mention squishy and thicc.
The famous loveable shape of Tatsumaki began and ended and was exemplified by her ass cheeks. "Sit on my ass," many of her fans declared.
Well, sorry. Only her husband go to do that.
Between her legs, her pussy. Bald and smooth, the lips already puffy and parted.
"So wet for me already," Futsuu murmured. His thumb traced down the cleft of her ass, barely grazing her entrance. "And still tight, I bet. I still remember our wedding night. Took me twenty minutes just to work the head inside."
"Y-you arrogant bastard, j-just…just do it!"
"Don't you mean please?"
Tatsumaki huffed. "You really are, grrrr!" Except with him, everything she said was all smokes and mirrors. She obeyed him a beat afterward. "Pleeeease fuck me. I need your cock. I've been thinking about it all day. During the fight. During the flight home. All I could think about was your huge fucking cock splitting me open."
Futsuu's sweatpants hit the floor.
Twelve inches of thick, veined, magnificent cock sprung out, curving slightly upward. Tatsumaki's mouth watered at the sight. Her pussy clenched around nothing, desperate to be filled.
She'd seen monsters that were smaller than his dick, and she meant that literally. She'd fought creatures with limbs thinner than his girth. And every time she saw it—every single fucking time—her brain short-circuited the same way.
"Holy shit. Holy fucking shit."
"You say that every time."
"Because it's true every time. God. Look at it. Look at it. How does it even fit?"
"Same way it always fits." Futsuu positioned himself behind her, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding his cock to her entrance. The head pressed against her folds. Hot. Velvet over steel. Tatsumaki's fingers fisted in the sheets, her back arching, her ass pushing back to meet him.
"Ready?"
"Do it. Fucking do it. Fill me up. I need—"
He pushed forward.
One inch. Two. The stretch was indescribable. Too much in the best possible way. Her pussy resisted, clamping down on the intrusion, her inner walls fluttering and spasming around the thick shaft forcing them apart.
"Hnggghhh! Haaah!"
Futsuu grunted. "Barely a quarter of the way in and you're already strangling my dick. Breathe, Tats. Relax for me."
"Can't. Can't relax. It's too—you're too—fuck!"
He pushed deeper. Four inches. Five. The ridge of his cockhead dragged along her inner walls, pressing against spots that made stars burst behind her eyes. Her legs were shaking. Her arms were shaking. Everything was shaking.
"Halfway there," Futsuu said. He was holding back. "You're doing so well, baby. Taking me so deep."
"S'not deep enough! I want ALL of it!" Her nose flared and her fists clenched up the sheets. "Want every fucking inch crammed inside me!"
Heh. He smiled. He gave it to her.
Six inches. Seven. Eight. The stretch became a burn, then the burn became pleasure, then the pleasure became something beyond language. Tatsumaki's mouth fell open. A moan tore out of her throat, high and keening, nothing like the sharp commands she barked at villains.
Nine inches. Ten.
"Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god—"
Eleven.
"I can see it," Futsuu breathed. "I can see my cock bulging in your stomach. Look down, Tats. Look. "
She looked. His cock distorted her flat stomach into the shape of his dick. The sight undid something inside her.
"Twelve," Tatsumaki gasped. "Twelve inches. You're all the way in. You're in my guts. You're in my fucking guts."
"Not literally…!"
"I'm cummiiiiing!! You big dick bastard, it doesn't matter, I'm cummiiiing!"
Futsuu was not fazed at all. pulled back. Not all the way—just until the head was barely inside—and then slammed forward again.
The sound of his balls smacking against her ass cheeks echoed through the room. Wet and obscene. Tatsumaki shrieked, her fingers tearing through the sheets, her telekinetic powers flickering wildly and making the lamp on the nightstand vibrate.
"CUMMIIING~!!"
"I know."
There it was. There was that sound. The loving clap of his balls slapping against the perfect ass.
He did it again. Pulled back and slammed home. The bed frame groaned. The headboard banged against the wall. Her ass cheeks—toned and round and absolutely made for this—rippled with every impact.
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
"So many perverts look at my pussy," Tatsumaki panted, her inner thoughts spilling out unfiltered. "But only YOU FUCK IT~!!"
So many men trying to catch a glimpse, risking broken bones and crushed phones, and none of them did this!
"Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck! Fuckfuckfuck, right there~!!"
None of them got to touch it. Only him. Only her husband got to bury his monster cock in this tight little cunt.
"That's right." Futsuu's hand cracked down on her ass again. "This pussy is mine. This ass is mine. Every inch of you belongs to me."
"Yours! All yours!! I'd give up my rank for your cock! I'd quit the Hero Association! I'd let them call me a coward and a failure and a has-been! I don't care. I don't—" He hit a spot deep inside her that made her vision white out. "THERE! RIGHT FUCKING THERE! CUMMING AGAIIIN!!"
Each thrust hit that spot that made her brain dissolve into static.
His cock was a thing of beauty. Tatsumaki could see it in her mind's eye—imagine the x-ray vision view of that thick shaft spearing through her, pushing past her cervix, rearranging her insides to make room for its massive girth. The veins along the underside pulsing with every heartbeat. The head kissing the entrance to her womb. Her pussy lips stretched white around the base, gripping him so tight that pulling out took actual effort.
"Your pussy," Futsuu groaned, "is the best pussy in the world. I don't care about rankings. I don't care about S-Class or A-Class or any of that hero bullshit. This cunt is Number One. This tight, bald, perfect fucking cunt."
"Thank you, thank youuuu~!!"
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
Faster, faster, fuck her faster!
So he sped up. He was no longer on his knees, his feet springing him forward, blasting him into godly thrusts. The bed was screaming now. The headboard had put a hole in the drywall. Her telekinesis had shattered the lamp and cracked the window and sent books flying off the shelves. Neither of them noticed.
"I'M CUMMING!"
The words ripped out of her throat like a battle cry. Her pussy clamped down on his cock with the force of her telekinetic grip, milking him, spasming around him, her inner walls rippling from base to tip. Her ass pushed back against him, grinding, desperate for every millimeter of his length.
Considering who she was, these were tsunami-esque milking. The kind she could create with her powers if she wanted to destroy a coastline but focused on his cock.
How did Futsuu react?
Like it did nothing.
"Trying to make me stop? Not quite, Tatsumaki!"
Grunt and thrust! Tatsumaki's mouth hung open and saliva spat out.
CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—! CLAP—!
She couldn't do a damn thing against her husband. He kept fucking her through it. Didn't slow down. Didn't stop. His cock plowed through her clenching pussy, drawing out every last spasm, every aftershock, until she was a quivering, sobbing mess beneath him.
Then he pulled out.
The sudden emptiness made her cry out. Her gaping hole—so recently stretched to its absolute limit—clenched around nothing, cum already starting to leak from her puffy lips.
"Turn over," Futsuu commanded. "I want to see your face when I fill you up."
Tatsumaki flopped onto her back with none of her usual grace. Her emerald hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her cheeks were flushed crimson. Her eyes—those sharp, arrogant eyes that could make S-Class heroes flinch—were glazed with pleasure and adoration.
"Great stamina," he praised.
"T-t-thankshhhh—ohhggsh…!"
Her eyes rolled back as the head pressed against her folds. She broke into a moan just from that small contact.
"Please," she whispered. "Please cum inside me. Please fill me up. I want to feel you dripping out of me for days."
"You want my cum?"
"I want your cuuum~! I want your babies. I want you to breed me." A terrifying smile spread across her. "Fucking impregnate me, Futsuu. Put a baby in my belly. Let everyone know that the Tornado of Terror got knocked up by an ordinary mailman with a twelve-inch cock."
The primal side of a man flashed in Futsuu's eyes. He slammed into her in one brutal thrust, sinking all twelve inches into her welcoming heat, and Tatsumaki screamed.
Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her fingers clawed at his back. Their mouths found each other—messy and desperate. Tongues tangling. Teeth clacking. Saliva running down their chins as they kissed with the frantic hunger of newlyweds, even though they'd been married for two years.
Wham, wham, wham!
"Love you," Tatsumaki gasped against his lips. "Love you so fucking much. Love your cock. Love your cum. Love the way you make me feel like I'm not—like I don't have to be—"
"I know." He kissed her again, softer this time. "I know, Tats. I've got you."
Except despite the softness, he was fucking her like a madman. Every thrust hard, every thrust grinding his pubic bone against her clit with each stroke.
"Gonna cum," he warned. "Gonna fill this perfect pussy up."
"Do it. Do it. "
His cock swelled inside her, impossibly thicker for a heartbeat before and he nutted in her.
Hot. So fucking hot. She could feel it flooding her insides, painting her walls white, filling every available space inside her pussy. Rope after rope of thick cum, pumped directly into her womb by a cock that was still buried to the hilt.
Futsuu collapsed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath ragged against her neck. They stayed like that for a long moment, connected in the most intimate way possible, his softening cock still plugging her hole and keeping his seed inside.
"Fuuuck…!"
Futsuu then pulled himself up, staring down at her petite face and her fucked face, and he pulled out.
Cum poured out of her gaping cunt. A thick white river leaking onto the ruined sheets, pooling beneath her ass, dripping down the crack and onto the mattress. Her pussy lips were swollen and red, her hole still stretched obscenely wide, clenching weakly around nothing. He didn't look though. Neither of them did. They looked at each other.
Tatsumaki grinned. A wide, satisfied, utterly wrecked grin that transformed her sharp features into something almost innocent.
"My, haah,turn," she said.
Futsuu blinked. "Your turn for what?"
Her emerald eyes glowed and telekinesis gripped his cock. She'd practiced this. A gentle, enveloping pressure wrapped around his shaft like an invisible hand. Futsuu gasped, his spent cock twitching with interest as the psychic energy stroked up his length.
"Holy—Tats, what—"
"Shhh." She was still grinning. Still leaking cum onto the sheets. Still sprawled on her back with her legs spread wide. "You made me feel so good. Now let me make you feel good."
The telekinetic handjob was something she'd been refining for months. No physical hand could match it. No mouth. No pussy, even. The psychic pressure could be adjusted to the exact tightness she wanted, could stroke at exactly the right speed, could squeeze and release and twist in ways that defied anatomy.
She started slow. Long, languid strokes from base to tip, the invisible grip twisting slightly around the head. Futsuu's hips bucked. He sat on his knees, away from Tatsumaki. It did not matter. He grunted. He gasped. His hands fisted in the sheets.
"That's—oh fuck! Fuck, this is incredible…!" His cock spat out cum onto her stomach. Tatsumaki grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. Just eyeing that massive twelve inch cock picking up and up, throbbing like a monster.
"I know." She tightened the pressure and sped up the strokes. She added a second point of psychic contact that played with his balls, rolling them gently, tugging them, applying just the right amount of pressure. "I've been practicing. Imagining this. Imagining my husband's beautiful cock getting the worship it deserves, hehe~!"
"Tats, I'm already—I'm gonna cum again—"
"Cum for me. Cum on my stomach. Mark your territory, Futsuu~! Come on! You are a stud!"
The psychic grip tightened. Stroked faster. A wet, obscene sound filled the room as the invisible hand worked his cock with impossible skill.
Futsuu's back arched. "Cumming!" Yep, and then he was cumming, thick ropes of white painting Tatsumaki's flat stomach, her belly button, and her pussy. She watched it happen with rapt fascination, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.
Spurt, spuurt, spuuurt!
"Good boy~!" Tatsumaki said. "Keep cumming!"
Oh, he did. A hot load of over twenty ropes all over the petite hero. By the time he was done, she was covered…and he was still rockhard.
Even after two orgasms—one inside her, one across her belly—that magnificent twelve-inch monster was still standing at attention.
Smirking, Tatsumaki lifted her legs, hooking her knees over his shoulders, presenting her cum-filled pussy to him like an offering. "Look at you, dearest husband! That magnificent fucking cock of yours isn't done with me yet!"
She met his eyes and held them. Let him see everything she was feeling: the love, the lust, the absolute surrender of a woman who could crush him with a thought but chose instead to let him crush her.
"I need you to fuck my brains out, Futsuu. Properly this time. Mating press. As deep as you can go. Don't stop until you've pumped another load inside me. I want to be so full of your cum that I'm still leaking when I fly to work tomorrow."
Futsuu's cock twitched. Precum beaded at the tip.
"You're insatiable."
"I'm yours. Now fuck me."
He lined himself up and pushed inside, asier this time, her pussy already stretched and slick with his previous load.
PLAP!
The first thrust was a test. Deep, but not too fast.
"Unnh~!" Her eyes rolled back. "Y-you fuck, just fuck me!"
Well-put, Tatsumaki!
PLAP—! PLAP—!
Two more. Harder. The wet sound of his balls hitting her ass echoed through the room.
"Do I look like a little girl!? Fuck me, you horse-hung dick!" Tatsumaki yelled. A smile met her.
"You asked for it…"
PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—!
"Oh fuck, oh fuck! Fuckfuckfuck—cummiiing~!!"
"See!? You asked for it!"
"CUMMING AGAIIIN~!!"
Her husband released all restraint and jackhammered into her. Metal Bat would have been impressed with how his cock drilled into her cum-filled cunt. As though willpower and sex were all that mattered. As though he was fucking faster and harder through willpower alone.
PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—! PLAP—!
"YES! YES! FUCK ME! FUCK YOUR WIFE! FUCK YOUR LITTLE HERO WHORE!"
Tatsumaki was beyond shame. Beyond dignity. Beyond anything except the sensation of being absolutely, completely, thoroughly fucked by the only man on earth who could reduce her to this.
"Only Blast could compare to you," Tatsumaki babbled, her eyes rolling back in her head. "Only the Number One hero could possibly be your equal!! You're a god, Futsuu! A fucking SEX god! Making me cuuumm~!"
His cock was legendary. His cock should have its own hero ranking. S-Class Rank 0. Above everyone. Above everything. This wasn't the first time Tatsumaki went on this rant. He loved it.
Futsuu leaned down, folding her nearly in half, his chest pressing against the backs of her thighs. The new angle let him go even deeper—if that was possible—and Tatsumaki saw stars.
"Gonna fill you up again," he grunted. "Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Gonna put a baby in you, Tats. You want that? Want everyone to know you let an ordinary man knock you up?"
"Yes. Yes. Fucking yes. Impregnate me. Breed me. Give me your baby. I want to be pregnant with your child. I want to waddle around Hero Association headquarters with a big pregnant belly and tell anyone who asks that my husband did this to me. That my husband's perfect cock put a baby inside—"
Her words dissolved into a shriek as her second—thirteenth? fourteenth?—orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy clamped down on his pistoning cock with the desperate grip of a woman trying to milk every drop of cum from her man.
Futsuu followed her over the edge. "Here it is! My seed! Take it!" He pumped another massive load directly into her waiting womb. Spurt, spurt, spuuurt!
That was all Tatsumaki wanted.
They collapsed together. A tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving breath and fluids leaking everywhere. Tatsumaki's legs slipped from his shoulders, boneless, useless, completely spent.
But her mouth found his. One more time. A sloppy, loving kiss that tasted like salt and saliva and absolute devotion.
This was Tatsumaki, the number two hero, and her husband for you. But this was only the beginning.
*********
FULL PART ON PATREON