2 comments/ 23577 views/ 19 favorites A:EHH Ch. 01 By: fafhrd09 "Pepper, can you come in here for a moment?" Tony Stark's voice came across her computer speaker, without any electronic distortion, telling Tony Stark's consummate assistant that her boss was -- for a change -- not encased in the gold-and-red Iron Man battle suit armor. Pepper Potts had been just another secretary in the pool when she had corrected an accounting error made by Tony Stark, saving Stark International a small fortune but embarrassing her boss. Fortunately, rather than be angry, Tony Stark had been impressed with her keen eye for detail and her integrity in not letting the error slide. The next day she had expected a pink slip; instead, she had been pulled from the secretarial pool and given the permanent assignment as Tony Stark's personal assistant. She stood, straightening her short skirt, and pulling her jacket on over her blouse, checking her short red hair and make-up. Pepper wore much the same outfit every day, with only the color of her outfit varying, but not by much. Just as Tony Stark wore his Iron Man battle suit into combat, she had her own uniform. Arming herself with her digital data pad, she felt equal to whatever new task Tony Stark might see fit to throw at her -- and knowing Tony Stark, her next project could be anything from calculating all the liquid oxygen used by S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft as propulsion fuel to how many graham crackers were sold nation-wide from the animal feeding stalls of giraffe exhibits. Tony Stark was a genius, but he was an eccentric genius, and Pepper could never anticipate what interests he might want to pursue next. The electronic artificial intelligence, J.A.R.V.I.S., opened the door for her as she approached. J.A.R.V.I.S. was also tied into her data pad; J.A.R.V.I.S. was pretty much everywhere inside all of the Stark International facilities to one degree or another, and offered a voice interface for Tony to use while designing new electronics systems. Pepper walked down the long office, approaching the desk where Tony was already on the telephone. "Senator Kelly, I'd be happy to come to a closed-door session of the Senate Committee on Super-Human Affairs and answer any questions the Committee might have on the Avengers' actions in Manhattan..." Pepper nodded to herself; after open warfare had broken out between Hydra and the Advanced Idea Mechanics organizations on the streets and in the skies of New York City, Maria Hill, the temporary Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was on the warpath, wanting the authority to arrest and detain the Avengers has nothing more than high-powered vigilantes. Many of those who walked the ordinary halls of power in the nation's capital feared and distrusted anyone with superhuman abilities, and Senator Kelly was well-known for his fear and distrust of the growing mutant population. Pepper heard Stark sigh; from the patient tones of his voice, he was anticipating a long, tedious call with the Senator. Tony Stark struck many as self-indulgent, selfish, and impatient, but that was more facade than truth; a useful pose in negotiations at times. Pepper had seen her boss negotiate massive electronic component supply contracts with the Japanese. He and the Mitsubishi negotiator had sat in silence for two and a half hours before one of them broke the silence and lost the upper hand in the negotiations - and it had not been her boss. Pepper wondered why Stark had called her into his office when he was just beginning such a marathon of tedium until Tony motioned for her to come around his desk, a little-boy pleading look in his eyes. All of a sudden, all was made clear. Stepping around Stark's desk, she whispered into her data pad. "J.A.R.V.I.S., institute privacy screen, code alpha-ten". She did not need to hear the telltale thud of locks closing and locking to know that J.A.R.V.I.S. had shut down access to both the outer and inner office, as well as the private elevators to Stark's workshops and armory on the levels below. Countermeasures to all forms of electronic surveillance had been instituted. Physical access and electronic communication were in abeyance until either Pepper or Tony ended the privacy screen, or unless there was emergency alert from either S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers themselves. Not that Stark cared about his own personal privacy all that much; he was not particularly shy about is playboy antics nor reticent to express his appreciation of beautiful women. However, just as he was careless with his own privacy, he guarded Pepper's own with a mania bordering on obsession. Rumors about Tony Stark and his beautiful red-haired assistant were one thing, and impossible to address without giving them credence, but Stark would be thrice-damned before he'd give anyone any kind of proof that Pepper Potts was aught but the hyper-efficient assistant she was. Pepper leaned against the desk, scant feet away from Tony's chair, and slowly unbuttoned her jacket. She licked her lips, making her lipstick glisten. One of her hands vanished beneath the jacket, and began to rub her own C-cup breasts through the raw silk of her blouse. She moaned, knowing that J.A.R.V.I.S. would use Stark's special voice-cancellation algorithims to make sure that the Senator on the other end of the telephone heard nothing untoward. Stark was busy saying something into the telephone, but his eyes were locked on Pepper with a great lustful intensity. Tony Stark was accustomed to working hard, and playing harder, but some weeks relaxation was more problematic than others, and sometimes -- not very often -- he turned to Pepper for a release of stress and sexual tension. One by one, Pepper's pearl buttons on the front of her blouse fell between her deft fingers. Spreading her blouse and jacket wide, she gave Tony a view of the lilac satin bra which held her breasts snugly. She moaned again as she sought her nipples beneath the fabric, squeezing and twisting them roughly. Stark released a magnetic seal, and reached into his dark inner armor control web, freeing his cock from its confinement. Pepper watched as Stark exposed his half-erection to her sight, and she felt her labia dampen in anticipation. Leaving her one hand to stroke her breasts and play with her nipples, her other hand raised her short skirt up her thighs and hips ever so slowly. She loved watching the way Stark's eyes could not leave her form, and she exulted in her power over him, however temporary. Each flare of his nostrils told her how much of an effect her slow exposure was having on his excitement; she watched as Stark watched the top of her stockings appear, and again when her panties came into view. Her skirt was hiked all the way to her belt line now, and her hand switched from raising her skirt to playing beneath her panties, her fingers splayed wide as they explored her mound, visible to Stark only through the satin. One of the mysteries that Tony Stark pondered often, late at night, was whether or not Pepper shaved her public hair, and if so, to what degree, but Pepper had never let Tony see under her panties. Stark's cock was now quite erect as he stroked himself in front of her. Smirking slightly, she stood up and closed the last remaining distance to his chair. Always maintaining eye contact, she slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of Tony Stark, her Iron Man, and removed his hands from his cock. Leaning forward, she took the shaft of his cock between her lips, watching Tony watch her. One of her hands stroked Tony's cockshaft near the base of his balls, while the other sank out of sight beneath her body, stroking her pussy lips in time to her ministrations; aside from her own pleasure, she loved to make a point of switching hands, using her own natural lubricants on Tony's swollen cock. It drove Tony wild, especially when she licked some of the cream from her fingers before applying the rest to him. Pepper continued teasing Tony's cock with her hand and mouth; she loved how her lipstick smeared across his soft skin. Pepper would never admit this to Tony, but she loved her periodic forays into being a wanton slut, pleasing Tony with her mouth and hands. She loved wearing sexy lingerie under her oh-so-professional work uniform. She loved being able to totally captivate Tony Stark, the playboy's playboy, with her activities; she knew that J.A.R.V.I.S. kept an electronic eye on her, and when she decided to pleasure herself at her desk in the middle of the workday that Tony would be alerted to play it back for his own use later that night. On and on the call went, and all the while Pepper Potts used her lips, fingers, and tongue to tease the cock in front of her. Even the finest electronic trick couldn't disguise the sound of a man cumming into a warm, willing mouth, and so one of their unspoken rules were that Tony controlled the duration of his own session. Pepper would never allow him to cum while on the telephone, so to gain his own release all Tony had to do was to end the telephone call. Pepper loved making Tony Stark hang up on Congressmen, captains of industry, and other men of power. Once, her teasing had him almost hang up on the President of the United States; she had cum on her own hand while Tony had filled her mouth with his cream. Pepper could feel Tony's sap rise, and his self-control began to falter. She chuckled to herself, and redoubled her efforts. Tony made no attempt to be gracious to the Senator. "Senator Kelly, I'm afraid that I will need to cut this short for now... let Pepper know when you want me to appear before the Committee on Super-Human Affairs, and I'll make sure to clear my schedule... Yes, I understand, Senator, we're also very concerned... Thank you, Senator... Goodbye." Tony had barely set the handset of the telephone to cradle before Pepper felt his cock convulse with the last vestige of his self control. Pepper took his cock deep into her mouth, feeling his cum jet to the back of her throat in a pulsing spray. Pepper sucked hard, draining every last bit of his orgasm into her mouth and down into her belly, where it burned with a warm, satisfying glow. Rising to her feet, she lowered and straightened her skirt, and closed her suit jacket, concealing her freckled breasts from view. "Will that be all, Tony?" she asked innocently. "For now, Pepper... for now." A:EHH Ch. 02 As the artificial winter of Loki's occupation of Asgard ended, the surrounding lands of gentle, rolling hills, known as the plains of Ida, soon recovered from the rime and hoarfrost that the ice giants had brought with them. Ymir and his forces had retreated back to the lands of Jotenheim to recover from their losses in support of Thor's half-brother's rebellion, taking the chill of death with them. Freed from the ice, the green meadows and golden grain-stalks of the fields around Asgard began to re-assert themselves as benefited the lands of Asgard. It had been a week since the Avengers had defeated Loki, distracting him in his omnipotent, insane rage and hatred while they re-directed the Odin-Force from Yggdrasil back to the All-Father, raising Odin from his regenerative slumber and sending Loki's plans for the dominion of the Nine Realms crashing down in defeat. In the time since, all of the citizens of Asgard, from the highest-born prince to the lowest-born thrall, had labored mightily, repairing the damage done by the predations of Loki's allies. Halls that had been shattered were raised up high again. Great wainloads of stone had been brought from the nearby mountains to repair the walls and gates of the city. None had worked harder in the rebuilding than Thor Odinson, the Lord of the Thunder. Few could match the son of Odin's sheer physical strength; by himself, he would hold enormous stone columns in place while craftsmen secured them and made them whole. The Asgardian craftsman were grateful for the assistance, as when Thor bent his arm to a task that required the strength of many, they could focus on skilled craftwork rather than those tasks which required brute force. Almost as important as Thor's help was the example he set for others; if a prince of Asgard, and the mightiest warrior in the Shining Realm, did not scruple to even the most basic of labors, how could they themselves stint in the giving of their own assistance. Everywhere, warriors of Asgard set aside sword and spear and took up the hammer and lathe. The recovery of Asgard was well underway. Thus it was that nobody begrudged them a day of rest, proclaimed by Odin himself. Long tables were removed from house and hall, and brought to the plains of Ida, where they were piled high with victuals, ale casks, and an enormous supply of mead. Thus it was that Thor found himself on a picnic in the foothills with his boon companions, the Warriors Three, Baldur the Brave, and the Lady Sif. True to form, Volstagg was surrounded by food and drink, Fandral the Blade had brought three different Asgardian maidens as companions, and Hogun the Grim sat brooding, his dark thoughts ever his own. Baldur and Sif were deep in conversation regarding how best to guard against a re-occurence of a usurpation during the next Odin-Sleep. Thor excused himself, desiring to walk alone for awhile in the hills. Thor Odinson blamed himself, fairly or not, for Loki's near-success; he should have looked deeper than the surface. Thor knew his brother, and knew how devious he could be, how he revelled in the misleading manipulation of others. While Thor himself knew that he was not as clever as his half-brother, that didn't mean that he was excused from exercising his mental faculties as well as his mighty thews. Not all problems could be solved with a love-tap from Mjolnir; some required understanding and compromise. Thor hated those situations. His strength, his warrior spirit, the sheer power at his command recommended solutions of force and will, not understanding and finesse. Fortunately, he was learning, albeit slowly, from his mortal companions, especially the warrior called Captain America. Although strong for a mere mortal, Captain America's real effectiveness lay in his mind and spirit. When the rest of the Avengers were in despair at facing Hoarfin the Ice Wolf, it was the good Captain who rallied their spirits and directed their efforts, taking down the legendary monster in good order. Thor pondered; was it the mortal's lack of sheer power which had forced the development of his mental acuity, his sense of strategy and tactics, to use whatever tools at hand to bring forth victory from hopelessness? More importantly, was Thor going to be able to unlearn his instincts enough to be able to learn this new paradigm? "Hail Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard!" came a hail from the far side of the hill. Thor looked up from his ruminations, and saw a maiden step out from behind a tree, holding a massive tankard. As he approached, she offered him the tankard. "Would you honor me by allowing me to offer you mead? I myself had the brewing of it, from the golden bounty of my bees." The woman stood tall and slender like an ash tree, her pale blond hair loose about her face and shoulders. She was perfect of form, her breasts the size and firmness of apples, set high on her chest. Her hips swelled with a promise of a muscular softness. "Of course," Thor replied, taking the tankard from her, but instead of drinking, he placed it on the ground behind him. "After you take your real form... Amora!" Thor grabbed the woman by the arms and lifted her off her feet, shaking her like a terrier does a rat. A startled scream escaped the woman's lips, and she began to sob in the Thunderer's grasp. "I do not know who you mean, milord... my name is Lorelai, not Amora. Spare me your anger!" A look of doubt passed over Thor's features. This was exactly the kind of trick Amora the Enchantress had performed before, tricking the Thunderer into unwittingly doing her will. Was he mistaken? Had recent events proven him too suspicious? Gently, Thor lowered the maiden to the ground. "I crave your pardon, Lorelai... I have suffered greatly at the hands of a crafty witch known as the Enchantress, and it has left me starting at shadows," he apologized. Lorelai gasped. "The Enchantress? Truly? Then how could I fail to forgive you? All have heard the tales of how powerful in the arts of sorcery she is!" "You are generous of heart, milady. Is there any way I can make amends?" Thor asked. Lorelai smiled shyly. "Well, milord could sample my mead, although I would understand, if under the circumstances, he decided to be wary of some kind of spell or potion... The Enchantress is to be feared, truly." Lorelai turned her face away, and shuddered briefly. "Nay, i am not frightened, but rather honored," Thor proclaimed, recovering the tankard from where he had set it and draining it in one breath. "Magnificent! Truly a golden elix..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes glazed over. The form of Lorelai shimmered, and faded into mist, revealing the Enchantress. "Oh, my love... " she laughed, running her hands along Thor's broad shoulders. "You really take a long time to learn... " She took Thor by the hand, and led him unresisting into the small copse of trees. "First, a small cantrip of misdirection, should any of your companions come looking for you..." The Enchantress raised her hands and made a mystic sigil. A green arcane nimbus flew from her fingertips, spreading across the grass and trees like a rolling mist. "Listen to me, Thor... when you wake from this dream, you shall remember it not. You will remember the mead being of surpassing excellence, and that the maiden Lorelai bid you a chaste farewell. Feeling sleepy, you lay down for a nap, and will awake feeling refreshed," she commanded her enchanted Thunder God. "Oh Thor... what am I going to do with you? Always you spurn me, and each time my longing for you returns tenfold. Why can you not accept and return my love? With your power and my sorceries, none could stand against us, not even your half-brother Loki," she proclaimed, removing her headband, shaking her long, golden hair free. "But no... you persist in your stubborn fascination with the mortal world," she continued, stripping off her long, green gloves. "You would think that after centuries, you'd get bored with your toys, but no... how many mortals do you need to learn to care for, only to watch them age and die as if in the wink of an eye?" "Thor, undress," she commanded, interrupting herself. Amora began to remove her boots and leggings. "That's a good boy.." She paused in disrobing long enough to watch Thor finish disrobing. "Now lay back down. Pleasure your cock, Thunderer... stroke it hard for me." The Enchantress' eyes devoured Thor's erect cock, which was in proportion with his massive frame and heavily-muscled body. In short, Thor's cock was as mighty as the rest of him. Watching as Thor's fist wrapped around his cock, pumping it in short strokes made the Enchantress impatient, and with a magical snap of her fingers the rest of her clothes vanished, leaving her nude, her flawless pale white skin gleaming in the sunlight. "Someday, Thor... someday, you will offer me your body and soul willingly, and on that day I will take both eagerly," she said to herself. "Until that day, however, I will take what I need from you by subterfuge, for no man may resist the will of... the Enchantress." Approaching her enthralled paramour, Amora straddled Thor at the hip, her legs forced to splay open. Her hands sought her own flesh, opening herself wide, bringing the wellspring of her intimate cream out and across her mons and labia. Slowly she knelt, lowering herself with eager anticipation, until the Thuder God's cockhead rested at the opening to her pussy. "Thor... now it is time for you to act as my stallion. Unleash your lust, unleash the fury of thunder through your cock... punish me with your cock, split me wide open, make me a rutting animal to your desires..." Obedient to her command, Thor's hands reached up and grabbed Amora about the waste, and pulled her down, impaling her on his thick cockshaft with one rough stroke. "Yesssss..." Amora hissed. "Now fuck me, Thor... make me into your slattern, your whore... make be beg to feel your hot seed inside me..." Amora had taken many lovers through the centuries, but none of them fit her cunt the way her Thunder God did; it was as if they were made for each other. As Thor began to thrust his way upward, Amora clenched her pussy walls with all her might, resisting but to no avail. She could feel his cockhead thrust deeply, just the right depth to fill her completely, and with only a little left over for a little delicious pain. She groaned loudly as they fucked, her thrusting down onto him with all of her might. "Can your mortals do this, Thor? Can their fragile bodies take the lustful fury of a Thunder God driven mad with passion? With them, you must always be in control, always careful not to damage them.... but not with me. Fuck me with all your power, Thor... make me scream as your cock slays me. With Sif, you have to be respectful, kind, loving... I don't want your tenderness, Thor! I want your cock to ravage me until I beg for mercy.... can you make me beg, Thor? Can you make me scream 'Aye hold - enough!'"? Sunddenly, in obedience to her command, Thor flipped Amora onto her back. Once more his cock ploughed her cunt with no restraint, no hesitation, no gentleness. Amora felt her orgasm charge forward to meet his new assault; only one man had ever mastered Amora the Enchantress, and that man was fucking her now. "That's it, my stallion... split me in two... show me no mercy... take your pleasure of me, and leave me broken... and aching... Cum with me, Thor... when I spend, fill me with your lightning, fill me with your thunder..." Further words became impossible as Amora felt herself crest. She cried out in a gutteral, wordless voice, both a plea and a thanksgiving at the same time. She felt Thor's cock spew his seed inside her, his warmth spreading through her belly.. she came again, convulsing on his cockshaft, milking it of every last drop. Thor rolled off her, and she collapsed on the grass, sweaty and sore from her satiation. She thought briefly, with a tinge of sadness, of how much more she would enjoy Thor's lovemaking if he was a willing participant, and all the delightful things they could do together. Sighing deeply, she turned to Thor. "Now sleep, my Thunderer... sleep, and remember only in your dreams how no other woman can satisfy your lusts but me.... dream, and know that now and forever, you belong to the Enchantress." A:EHH Ch. 03 (A:EHH - Avengers: Earth's Horniest Heroes) Ant-Man paused at the doorway to the room in the Avengers Mansion which had been appropriated by the Wasp. "Well, I guess this is goodnight. Sleep well, Jan," he said, turning to leave. "Not so fast, mister!" quipped the Wasp. "Get in here!" Suiting actions to words, the Wasp grabbed a hold of Ant-Man's arm and pulled him into her room. The Avengers had just returned from Asgard, where they had prevented a power-mad Loki from usurping the Odin-Force and using it to destroy the Nine Realms, including Midgard, the Asgardian name for Earth. Thor had opened a mystic portal to Earth to the Avengers Mansion, and most of the Avengers had headed for their quarters to indulge in some well-deserved sleep. Once the door had closed, the Wasp had turned to face her companion. "Hank, it was sweet of you to have stowed away on the Quinjet I took," she began, her voice pitched low and soothing. "And I appreciate the helping hand against the Abomination...but you can't just follow me around, protecting me. I'm an Avenger, Hank - you have to let me stand - or at least hover - on my own two feet." "Jan, I'm sorry. I know that... but I feel responsible for you," Ant-Man replied. "After all, I'm the one who gave you your powers... your wings, your sting, and your ability to control your size." Ant-Man, in his civilian identity of Hank Pym, had invented the size-changing Pym Particles which allowed him to change the size of anything. He had imbued Janet Van Dyne with Pym Particles, which had let her shrink to "wasp size", and had implanted subcutaneous wings in her shoulders, allowing her to fly. He had also given her the ability to fire bio-energy bolts, her "Wasp's Sting". He had never intended for her to become a super-hero, placing herself almost constantly in harm's way. "Yes, you did, and I am really, truly grateful," she replied. "but I'm an Avenger now; I can make a real difference here. Hank, we just saved whole worlds, including our own... the work we do, its important. Won't you reconsider your decision to leave?" Hank shook his head. He had never wanted to be the super-hero known as Ant-Man when small, or as Giant-Man when grown to giant-size; all he had been trying to do is to protect Jan. Hank was a scientist, and firmly believed that violence as a first resort was not the way to resolve conflicts with the enemy. Unfortunately, both SHIELD and the Avengers led with their fists, leaving any attempts to reform or remediate the threats presented by other super-powered beings only after they were incarcerated. "Jan, you know I can't stay..." he began, but Jan put her finger against his lips. "Well, you can at least stay the night," she said softly, and leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips. Slowly, still kissing her lover, Jan urged him backwards towards her bed, turning them around and finally falling backwards onto the thick, soft comforter, her atop him. "This is much more comfortable than those stupid glaciers in Jotunheim," she giggled, "and lots more fun!" Kissing Hank's neck, her hands became busy, unbuckling his belt which held his supply of Pym Particles, allowing him to control his physical size. "If only the world knew why I call you 'Giant-Man'," she murmured, rubbing his rapidly-growing cock through his uniform. "This isn't going to get me to change my mind about leaving, Jan..." Pym moaned at his girlfriend. "No? Are you sure you won't reconsider?" Janet replied, her pixie smile flashing mischievously. Slowly she kissed her way down his torso while her hands peeled away the thin, insulated pants of his uniform, revealing that Pym had worn tight, blue briefs underneath. His cock tented the material, and Janet's hands wrapped around it gently, squeezing. "Is this for me?" she teased, nuzzling his cock through the material. Hank moaned an affirmative in response. "All mine!" she enthused, pulling down his briefs to reveal his hard cock to the open air. Nuzzling the soft skin, she gave the shaft feather-light kisses with her lips. She paused, looking up at Hank. "By the way, that was the correct answer!" she said, before opening her lips and taking his inflamed cockhead into her mouth. "Consider this a 'thank you' for pounding the Abomination into a puddle of green ice," she said, before plunging her mouth back into his cock. "Crime may not pay, but saving my sweet, tight ass always will.... for you." Hank groaned; Janet did indeed have a sweet, tight ass, and hopefully someday he hoped to have it arched high in the air in front of him for him to take. "Mmmmm... ," she continued, pausing her oral ministrations, stroking his shaft with her soft, delicate fingers. "I love your cock, Hank... I love the feel of its hardness... I love the way it pulses when I put it in my mouth... and I'm going to love the taste of it when you cum." Hank moaned in response; he was always shy, always bashful during sex, but he loved Janet's imagination, and the way she talked dirty while pleasuring him. Jan was amazingly old-fashioned in some ways; she had not yet allowed them to go beyond hand- and blow-jobs, but her imagination was certainly unrestricted. "What do you think, Hank... should I take your cum in my mouth, down my throat? Or should I let you cum on my face... would you like that, Hank? Would you like to watch me rub your cream into my skin, marking me as yours? Wearing your scent, your musk? Think on that, and let me know your answer, lover..." Ceasing her talk, Janet began to work his cock with both her hands and her mouth, her saliva making the skin slick. Janet didn't actually care about the answer; she was happy to indulge him either way, but she knew that the images her words put in his mind's eye would excite him beyond measure, and she could feel the tension they caused in his cock. She could feel him edging to orgasm, so she ventured one last assault on his self-control. "Hank... would you like me to shrink down, and rub my naked body all across your cock as you cum? Picture me, my soft skin covered in your cream... a perfect cum bath for me, covered in your thick spunk... then you could watch me rub it all over and inside me as I play with myself for you..." She felt the first of several spasms wrack Hank's body as her words and hands inspired his orgasm, and she closed her eyes, nuzzling his cockhead as he jetted his cum all over her face and neck. Milking his cock with her hands, she waited until his orgasm subsided, and caught his eye. Her face covered in his cum, she said "All mine!" in a voice thick with satisfaction. A:EHH Ch. 04 Chapter 4 - The Black Panther Okaya and Nike both stood vigilant outside the double-doors that led to King T'Challa's private quarters, spears in hand. Both were clad similarly, if not precisely alike; while there was no official uniform for the members of their order, the tradition was that members dressed with an eye towards practicality; none of them wore clothing that was in any way restrictive of swift movement, in case they were called upon to fight in defense of their king. Both carried knives and spears that appeared to be of traditional tribal manufacture, but in fact also were built inculcating the unique vibranium-based technology of their homeland. Both women were members of the Dora Milaje, an order of female attendants taken from the rival eighteen tribes of Wakanda, representing the smartest and most athletic flower of Wakandan femininity. Those who passed the tests and were accepted for training were the best and the brightest Wakanda had to offer; they were educated as far as they themselves desired, and highly-trained combatants. The Dora Milaje translated as "Adored Ones", and the order served the king as bodyguards and attendants, and often were chosen as wives for the reigning monarch as well. Okaya and Nike in particular were eager to regain some of the ground they had felt they had lost when the usurper M'Baku had slain the old king, T'Chaka, in single combat and taken the throne. According to the ancient ways, M'Baku had ruled by right of victorious combat; nobody but the exiled Prince T'Challa had known that M'Baku had cheated. Many of the Dora Milaje had treated M'Baku with the same loyalty and obedience that they had given T'Chaka, as their oaths of fealty was to the monarch as an institution, not personally sworn. Those who didn't feel that they could fulfill their oath to M'Baku as king had chosen exile. Both Okaya and Nike had chosen to remain, both when M'Baku had taken the throne and when T'Challa had taken it from M'Baku. T'Challa had seemed to understand where their loyalties lay when he had regained the throne, going so far as to choosing them to accompany him to the United States, where he assigned them to the staff of the Wakandan Embassy. Or perhaps he wanted them close so that he could keep a wary eye on them. Perhaps both; T'Challa appeared to be a master of the subtle stratagem. Both of the women heard the noise from the chambers behind them at the same time. "Okaya Control. Unidentified noise in the Royal Apartments; we are entering to investigate," Okaya reported via the communications link in her traditional-appearing bracers as the two women electronically overrode the locks to T'challa's chambers. To their surprise and disappointment, the noise had bee made T'Challa himself. "My apologies," he began, seeing the looks on their faces. "I should be less secretive about my own comings and goings, but even a king should know how to enter and leave his private chambers undetected - one never knows when one will need to make a secret and untraceable exit." T'Challa smiled at the guards. "With respect, my King... while it may be useful for a ruler upon occasion, it reflects poorly the ruler's guards, who are sworn to protect and defend him," commented Nike, with only a tinge of surliness in her voice. King T'Challa had already gained notoriety among those who served as difficult and willful. It was a difficult and thankless job, being a guard to a king who insisted on putting himself in danger by joining a group of super-powered adventurers like the Avengers. "Well, you will have to, as my friend Hawkeye says 'step up to the plate'" T'Challa chuckled. The two Dora Milaje bristled at his comment. They had both met the brash archer known as Hawkeye on his visits to the Wakandan Embassy, and found his manner abrasive. "Since you are here, please draw me a bath - my exertions have left me... well, let me just say that with the heightened senses granted me by the Panther God, my odor is quite painful." Okaya and Nike smiled. It was clear that whatever their king had been doing, it had been rather active, even without the blessings of the Panther God. Nike went to the king's bath chamber to begin, while Okaya quietly reported her king's location, their new deployment, and requested replacement guards for the door. Okaya and Nike slowly removed the sacred Panther garb from their king, trying to read his mood. Unlike many of the previous kings, T'Challa rarely availed himself of the more carnal duties of the Dora Milaje, which they usually found enjoyable. His predecessor, M'Baku, had been a lout of violent and savage desires; rather than take care for his partners in love-making, M'Baku was more inclined towards cruelty and rape. Several of the Dora Milaje had died from injuries while serving him during his reign, and none regretted his defeat at the hands of T'Challa. The Dora Milaje didn't quite know if T'Challa was naturally gentle, and more disciplined than typical males, or if he was respectful of the Dora Milaje's experiences at the hand of the Man-Ape, but on those few occasions when he had indulged himself, he had proven himself a skilled and considerate lover. Piece by piece they removed his uniform, taking great care; while appearing simple, the pieces were built of special fibres and interwoven with sensors and vibranium filaments. More than just cloth, the uniform of the Black Panther was able to absorb all kinds of energies from across the spectrum, including (to a degree) kinetic energy. While the pieces, being part of the garb of a warrior-king, were not delicate, they were expensive and difficult to replace, and their optimal functioning in the field kept their monarch safe from harm. "Would my king like us to scrub his back?" Okaya purred at T'Challa as he was entering the steamy, soap-filled water. "Won't that get your clothing all wet?" T'Challa asked, his voice redolent with his wry and understated humor. "Well, maybe Nike will help me with that..." she replied as the other Dora Milaje came up behind her. While T'Challa watched, Nike came up behind the shapely woman and slowly slid the sole shoulder strap of her tunic from her shoulder, sensually touching Okaya's skin as she did so. Okaya closed her eyes as Nike's hands lowered the yellow garment from her ripe breasts, revealing them to T'Challa's gaze. Fingers danced across the smooth skin until they touched hard nipples, teasing them, stroking them. The tunic fell downwards further, no longer held by Nike, to gather at Okaya's hips. Nike's hands cupped Okaya's breasts, seemingly offering them to T'Challa. Nike's lips nibbled on Okaya's shoulder near the nape of Okaya's neck, and smiled inwardly as her ministrations brought a moan from Okaya's lips. This was not the first time that Nike had touched Okaya in an intimate manner; the Dora Milaje were all normal, healthy women, but pledged to the service of the King of Wakanda. They were not allowed to have male lovers, as the provenance of any children they might bear had to be undoubted. Some of them took their pleasures by themselves, or even by developing a passion for being taken by a lover in the ass, but the majority of the Dora Milaje satisfied their physical and emotional needs by taking female lovers within the order itself. Although technically forbidden, the monarchs of Wakanda had themselves developed a tradition of looking the other way - often while looking right at their erotic loveplay. Many of the Dora Milaje who had successfully enticed King T'Challa into their beds had done so with another Dora Milaje partner. Leaving off her oral assault on Okaya, Nike knelt on the edge of the sunken tub where Okaya stood, and eased the tunic over Okaya's hips, leaving her clad only in a very non-traditional white silk thong. While the Dora Milaje almost always wore their ceremonial tunics while on-duty, many of them preferred the sexy, soft, stimulating lingerie of the decadent West to the archaic linen breast bindings and loin coverings used by most of the Wakandan population. Nike turned Okaya sideways so that Nike faced her backside, and took the sides of Okaya's thong in her hands. Alternating sides, Nike lowered the thong while kissing and biting the hard muscle of Okaya's ass, feeling her tremble beneath her nips and soft bites. When the thong was about to Okaya's knees, Okaya brought her legs nearly together, and stepped out of the thong, turning back towards T'Challa. Okaya stepped into the water, reaching for the luffa sponge. T'Challa sat still while she drenched the luffa with the hot, soapy bath water and began to run it over his upper body. She made sure that the luffa sponge was not the only thing that rubbed T'Challa's hard, muscular body. Okaya moved into T'Challa's embrace, standing so that she could reach his back. While she gently scrubbed, her breasts rubbed across T'Challa's face, and he took advantage of their proximity to kiss the tender flesh. "That is not the most effective posture for cleaning my back", he commented. "Is that a complaint, my king?" Nike said. She had moved near the two of them, leaning against the wall. She had raised her own orange tunic above her hips, and was stroking her shaven mound with two fingers as she enjoyed the decidedly nontraditional bathing ritual. "Merely an observation," T'Challa chuckled, taking one of Okaya's hard nipples between his lips, biting gently at first, kissing and tonguing while Okaya tried to keep at least a semblance of composure. Okaya loved to be the center of attention, and her king pleasuring her while her lover Nike watched and touched herself was driving Okaya rapidly to orgasm. She watched while Nike's fingers stroked her own labia and clitoris, polishing the little pleasure knob like fine jewelry, gleaming with her own wetness. Nike and Okaya locked eyes, and it was a toss-up as to which of them was enjoying herself more. Taking the initiative, Okaya slowly pushed T'Challa backwards, pressing her breasts against his face. When T'Challa was bent over backwards, Okaya slid forward and impaled herself on his hardened mahogany cock. She moaned in pleasure - T'Challa's cock was what all the women of the Dora Milaje dreamed about. None of the Dora Milaje used artificial ways to prevent conception; providing Wakanda with an heir bred of their king was their duty, and a privilege granted to few. Dora Milaje who bore children spent the rest of their service taking care of the child, raising them to adulthood, and then going into semi-retirement, serving as advisers to their scions. A lucky few might even marry the king and be raised to the throne as queen of Wakanda. Given that the Dora Milaje came from all of the different tribes, it assured that any of the tribes might eventually have one of their own as king, and that revolving connection to the throne had given the tribes a vested interest in maintaining peace and stability. Nike felt a twinge of jealousy intermixed with desire as she watched her lover mount her king. She craved to have his hard cock invade her very core, to split her open with his virility, and to soak her womb with his seed, but Okaya had gotten there first. She watched as her lover's velvet lips plunged down onto T'Challa's cockshaft with a lewd sound, and suddenly all she could think about was how good Okaya's pussy would taste with her sweet cunt-honey mixing with T'Challa's cock. Suiting action to thought, Nike slipped into the water and lowered herself until her head had an unobstructed view of Okaya's pussy enveloping T'Challa's cock. Leaning forward, Nike began to lick Okaya where T'Challa's cockshaft entered her, sucking and tonguing both pussy and cock as T'Challa slowly fucked his servant. Nike sucked on his balls, first one, then the other, stroking his wet cockshaft with her nose. Okaya was producing a great deal of lubrication, and Nike took full advantage of this, savoring the taste of her lover's excitement. Okaya began to convulse, her king's cock and Nike's tongue driving her to a series of orgasms. Her muscles gripped T'Challa's cock tightly, and she began to babble. "Give me your seed, my king... mark me as yours, fill me with your essence... make me yours, T'Challa. Love me, fuck me, cum inside me!: T'Challa, being a gracious monarch who understood that fealty, loyalty, and duty must run both ways for a good monarch, did as his servant commanded. With an animalistic feline roar, he emptied himself into Okaya, his hips lifting her, penetrating her even deeper than before, his hands gripping her hips as if attempting to prevent her from escaping. Nike retreated away, not wanting to become accidentally injured as the Black Panther erupted like a volcano into his faithful Dora Milaje. She looked at her lover, and then at her king. "You have not seen the last of me, T'Challa son of T'Chaka," she thought, swearing an oath to herself. "I will clean you and make you comfortable, then I will take what of your seed I can from Okaya's flesh, and then... and then, we will see the true stamina granted you by the Panther God!" A:EHH Ch. 05 The Avenger known as Hawkeye executed a double somersault with a half twist, firing twice, vaulting from the wreckage of what had been a spinning flail arm and landing lightly on the balls of his feet, rolling sideways as the electrical pulse bolts from a wall gun-mount seared the space where he had landed. As he regained his feet, he spun, looking for the next threat as his hearing registered the two impacts of the explosive arrows he'd launched. Nothing. Had he finished the training sequence? Clint Barton wasn't like the other Avengers; he didn't have any super abilities. As an ordinary mortal fighting alongside Norse gods, an angry jade behemoth, a billionaire with a battlesuit, and someone who was transformed into the epitome of human development, he had to step up, and affirm to himself that he was worthy of the trust placed in him. Barton was an intelligence professional, and while he'd never admit it, he knew from experience that in the field that a weak link in the field could make the difference between life and death, and the Avengers often played for high stakes. Although he presented an arrogant and aggressive facade, he knew that he needed to be able to back up his bravado. None of the others doubted his worth, but only by hard work and constant training would Hawkeye be able to justify their faith in him. One of the several sub-levels of the Avengers Mansion was a training facility, with ten settings of difficulty. Hawkeye had worked his way up from level one to level five, and had the bruises to prove it. One of the perks of being an Avenger was access to Tony Stark's fertile mind; while SHIELD had designed several rather nifty arrow payloads for Hawkeye during his tenure as a SHIELD special agent, they were nothing compared to what Stark had made for him. The Avengers training facility was self-repairing and adapting; it was directed by Stark's AI JARVIS, who had proven itself to be tactically superb at devising new and interesting challenges. The lights dimmed, and Hawkeye tensed, scanning for threats until a voice came from the shadows. "Hawkeye? Can I talk to you for a moment?" Clint relaxed. He knew that voice well; Natasha Romanova, a.k.a. the Black Widow had been his partner at SHIELD for some time, until she had infiltrated Hydra under orders for Nick Fury and framed Hawkeye as a traitor. Ordinarily, that would have spelled a messy end to their relationship, but Hawkeye was an intelligence professional; he knew how murky things could get when duty conflicted with personal feelings first-hand. After the Avengers had captured M.O.D.O.C. and Baron Von Strucker during their war over and amidst the streets of New York City, Hawkeye had covered for her, helping her escape SHIELD custody as she went underground once more, looking for Nick Fury to clear her name. They had shared a kiss before parting, and that kiss had left Hawkeye with more confused feelings than ever before. He watched as she strode into view, the material of her trademark black catsuit gleaming as it caught the odd shafts of light. Whatever her other faults, the Black Widow was a knockout, with a strong, athletic body crowned by a glorious mass of deep red hair. "Natash...." he began, but the Black Widow stepped forward into his arms, hushing him with a kiss. The kiss grew in passion and intensity, and Hawkeye found it hard to form his next sentence. As he leaned back and tried to speak, the Black Widow raised a finger to his lips. "Talk later" she said, her hands running over his hard, muscular form. "Anything we need to say we can say later, maybe over dinner," she informed, and resumed their kiss. Natasha's tongue sought Clint's mouth, exploring with passion and a needful intensity. Her hands sought the buckles and catches of his uniform, gently lowering his quiver to the floor. Bow, tunic, and headpiece joined his quiver in the pile. Hawkeye slowly unzipped the central zipper on the Black Widow's catsuit, kissing the pale skin that was slowly being revealed. Natasha herself unhooked her belt and her Widow's Sting wrist weapons, setting them next to Barton's own discards has Hawkeye's hands moved all over her body under the catsuit. Her nipples were already hard with desire, and Hawkeye lowered the catsuit down her shoulders so that he could worship her breasts with his lips and teeth, pulling and nipping. From Natasha's moans, Clint bit harder, sucking on the succulent flesh. Natasha's hands moved lower on his body, undoing Hawkeye's trousers, caressing Clint's hard cock with her long, graceful fingers, stroking the shaft. With a grin, the Black Widow sunk to her knees, taking Clint's cock into her mouth. Hawkeye groaned as the Black Widow put years of practice and training to work; the "honey trap" was one of the oldest traps in the espionage game, and every Russian agent was well-trained in the arts of pleasure. Clint was in heaven, and was pretty sure he hadn't died, which to his mind was a benefit; as in so many things, Natasha had clearly excelled in every faucet of her training. The Black Widow took just the head of Clint's cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive skin, while her hands pumped the shaft up and down. Clint groaned as many of his fantasies were coming true; he wasn't sure if he preferred Natasha to swallow his jism or if he wanted to pull out as he was cumming and come all over her face and neck... heck, maybe all over those perfect breasts. Natasha almost made the decision for him when she sucked the entire length of Clint's cock into her mouth and throat. Clint's eyes rolled up into his head as he felt Natasha's throat muscles contract in ways he never knew were possible; unfortunately for Clint, SHIELD agents were never given the same training as their Russian counterparts, and the closest he could recall to these sensations was when he had still been with the carnival where he had learned his archery skills and been dating Verena The Sword Swallower. Hawkeye could feel his orgasm approaching, and so could Natasha. Releasing Hawkeye and backing away, she removed her catsuit, moving her hands over her hips, pushing the material to her ankles and stepping backward out of it. Hawkeye's gaze was captivated by the perfection of her body, and noted that the carpet did indeed match the drapes, judging by the neatly-trimmed "landing strip" before his eyes. Natasha kicked her catsuit into their pile of personal effects as Hawkeye struggled with his boots. Before he could turn, Natasha foot-swept Hawkeye to the ground, rolled him onto his back, and impaled her steamy mound onto his erect cock-spike. She rode him hard; clearly she was ready, and more than ready. It was not long before Natasha screamed her orgasm into the deepest recesses of the training hall, and immediately began to build towards another. The walls of her opening milked Hawkeye's cock like a machine, and each orgasm she experienced moved him closer and closer to his own. Finally, Hawkeye could last no longer, and erupted, his hips bucking the Black Widow almost off her mount. Exhausted, Clint lay back as Natasha pulled the last of his jism from his softening cock with a shudder. He was shocked as the Black Widow reared back up, and her coiled fist unleashed itself against Hawkeye's jaw. Clint felt consciousness leave him as JARVIS' artificial voice called out "Hawkeye neutralized - training sequence complete." * * * Hawkeye forced himself into Tony Stark's office at Stark International. "What the hell, Stark? Getting Natasha to seduce me and then clock me one?" he yelled at Stark, who sat placidly behind his desk. "Pepper, how did Hawkeye get in her?" Stark asked, looking past the Avenger archer to where Pepper Potts stood, an amused smirk on her face. "After he explained what you did, I felt he - and you - deserved it," she replied, and closed the door to his office behind her. "You're a great help," he murmured, turning slightly to face Hawkeye. "You're wrong, Clint. I didn't get Natasha to seduce you. That was an LMD." "An LMD? You stole a Life Model Decoy from SHIELD to set me up?" Clint roared. "The way you've been blowing through the training sequences?" Stark remarked. "If I hadn't thrown a curve your way - well, a couple of curves - you'd have finished your sprint to level ten, and then I'd have had to do some real work, designing more levels." Hawkeye stood there, with his jaw dropped. "Besides, you're the one always reminding us all what a professional you are; you don't think the bad guys are above a little dirty pool?" Stark explained. "Heck, the Enchantress alone has illusion and enchantment spells that would make the Black Widow seem like a Russian tractor operator - and you fell for a good, old-fashioned "honey trap" gambit? What happens if Whiplash comes on to you next, and offers you her ass in exchange for letting her go? Or Anaconda... oh wait. Never mind Anaconda." Hawkeye calmed down. "Fair enough, I suppose. But Stark, do me a favor? Pull the Black Widow from your LMD list, and put in someone I don't mind blowing up, like Madame Viper?" What Hawkeye thought but didn't add was "after I'm finished with her, anyways". Training hard had just taken on a new meaning.