The clouds above rumbled as Peter Parker sat on the edge of a rooftop, his feet dangling over the edge above the city buzz. He was wearing his red and blue skin-tight spandex. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was tired and sore after a night of stopping thugs and muggings. His mask was laying on the bricked wall beside him as rain fell from the skies, cooling him off in the cold water. It was nice. It was relaxing. It was a moment to himself. Peter’s fingers found themselves running down his body, over his pecs and along his abs, feeling the defined lines through the Lycra before reaching his bulge. Ever since he started going commando, it felt so much better. He squeezed the tightly wrapped meat and a soft moan immediately escaped his lips. He was horny. The adrenaline from the night had to be let out and he couldn't think of a better way. Peter could feel himself hardening in his grip, fast. The spandex was constricting around his meat as he rubbed it up and down, feeling his foreskin climb up and down his pole as he felt the rain continue to hit his face. Fantasies of getting fucked in alleyways by thugs crept into his mind, along with fantasies of someone catching him and promising to keep his secret for a taste.
“Fuck…” Peter whispered under his breath, his nipples erect and poking through the red spandex as he squeezed his throbbing manhood. He continued rubbing his hard on, picturing his ass getting fucked in different scenarios, but his Peter Tingle suddenly alerted him. “Hey Peter!” A voice called out. Peter’s head turned in horror to see his multiversal counterpart. It was the older, taller version of himself. He was also wearing his Spider-Man suit, though he soon pulled his mask off of his head. “Urrr n-now’s not exactly a good time.” Little Peter (the younger Peter) blurted out, blushing bright red. “Why, what's going on?” Big Peter (the older Peter) chuckled as he got closer. It didn't take him long to figure out what was going on, as Little Peter scrambled to his feet. He was trying to hide his hard on, but with skin-tight spandex it's impossible. “Ohhhhh…” Big Peter said, eyes widening. “Don't worry, it's fine. I do it all the time too.” He assured him, still getting closer. “You do?” Little Peter asked, his throat dry despite being soaked in the rain. “Absolutely. I've had little competitions with myself to see how far I can shoot it.” Big Peter smirked, looking out over the street. “Oh… Wow, isn't that kinda risky?” Little Peter asked, still covering himself. “That’s what makes it fun.” Big Peter winked as his own cock was growing in the blue spandex. But he had no interest in covering it up. “You don't have to feel embarrassed. I can help you out if you want?” Big Peter offered, intimately close as he looked down at his younger counterpart. “Wouldn't that be kinda weird? Aren't we basically brothers?” Little Peter asked, however his eyes were fixed on Big Peter’s. “I mean, not technically. If anything, it's just masturbation.” Big Peter shrugged, before running a hand down Little Peter’s chest and down his abs before caressing his fingertips against the throbbing bulge. Shivers went straight through Little Peter’s whole body. “Fuu-u-u-u-uck…” He shuddered. “Want me to stop?” Big Peter whispered, fingers gently running up and down the erect shaft. Little Peter just shook his head. “Then you better kiss me.” Big Peter smirked, naughtily.
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Featuring:Steve attempts to enlist in the army yet again and after a scuffle in an alleyway, Bucky tends to Steve in more ways than one. Meanwhile, in Brooklyn, at a registration office, there were dozens of men in their underwear, reading newspapers and chatting as they waited to be examined and recruited. In the midst of muscle and skin, however, was a small, fragile, skinny boy named Steve Rogers. He had short, blond hair, a pale, narrow face and very pink lips. Finally, the man behind the desk called the boy’s name up. Steve folded his newspaper and stood up, before walking over with his half nude, thin body on complete display. He walked to the desk and handed his papers to the older man.
“What did your father die of?” He asked as he read through them. “Mustard gas. He was in the 107th Infantry.” Steve answered, calmly. “I was hoping I could be assigned-” “Your mother?” “She was a nurse in a TB ward. Got hit. Couldn’t shake it.” Steve explained. The man’s eyes scanned down the long list of medical issues on Steve’s papers. “Sorry, son.” “Look, just give me a chance.” “You’d be ineligible on your asthma alone.” “Is there anything you can do?” Steve asked, desperate. “I’m doing it. I’m saving your life.” And just like that, Steve was denied. Despite his ambition to become a soldier and serve his country, his body wouldn’t let him. It was depressing and soul crushing, no matter how many times Steve tried to sign up for the army. In March, 1942, during the Second World War, there was a church in Tensberg, Norway. Inside, an old man stood there as it’s guardian, watching over an ancient artefact that was so secret, not even he had laid his eyes upon it. He had messy, white hair and a long, grey, dirty coat. But the small, defenseless town was under attack by the Nazi army and as the old man hid inside, he feared they were after the hidden treasure of untold powers. A young soldier assigned to help protect the man rushed over, warning him that the Nazis were coming to the church. He was fit, handsome and wore dark, earthy tones. The ground beneath them shook, making candelabras rattle on shelves and dust fall from above. The large doors were shaking and they could hear a violent rumbling. Then for a moment, it paused. The soldier and guardian stood there, looking up at the doors in frozen terror. Boom! The short silence was disturbed as the wall surrounding the doors blew up. It blasted forwards and began toppling over towards the old man and the soldier. Although the old guardian was able to evade the falling, heavy, stone bricks, the young soldier wasn’t quite fast enough. They crashed into his skull, crushing the man beneath the bone crunching wall. As the dust cleared, the old man saw a large, steel battering ram retracting back outside. The guardian reached down and lifted one of the fallen bricks, revealing the dead soldier whose head was caved in from the sheer mass of the church’s wall. A tank was sitting outside as the sound of a car engine grew closer and closer. Johann Schmidt, nicknamed the ‘Red Skull’ and leader of the Nazi scientific division, Hydra, parked outside of the church in his long Coupe. The Hydra logo was on the emblem at the front of the car, a skull with tentacles protruding from the bottom. Johann is a tall, peculiar looking man with slick black dark hair and very defined cheekbones. His eyes were bloodshot and his body was muscular, though it wasn’t obvious when he wore his long black coat. He also wore a cap and black, leather gloves. He followed other soldiers into the church as they tried to push the lid of a stone coffin, but it was far too heavy even for all four of the Hydra soldiers. The lid of the coffin was carved to look like Odin, the Norse God, holding a sword. But as Schmidt stood in the large void the wall once was, all the soldiers paused and looked up at their commander.
“It has taken me a long time to find this place.” Schmidt began as he walked through the rubble, so smoothly it was like sand. “You should be commended.” He said as he approached the guardian, looking him in the eyes with arrogance and confidence. “I think you are a man of great vision. And, in this way, we are much alike.” Schmidt told him. “I am nothing like you.” The guardian spat. “No, of course, but what others see as superstition, you and I know to be science.” Schmidt continued. “What you seek is just a legend.” The guardian lied, in hopes of keeping it secret. “Then why make such an effort to conceal it?” Schmidt said before calmly walking towards the coffin. He took a moment to study the coffin, before he easily pushed the lid straight off, sending it crashing onto the concrete floor on the other side. It revealed a skeleton inside, still wearing armour and holding a strange, glass cube with a blue tint to it. Schmidt reached down and ripped the cube from the bones, snapping the fingers off of the skeleton as he held it up. “The Tesseract was the jewel of Odin’s treasure room.” He said before dropping it to the floor, making it smash to pieces. “It’s not something one buries. But I think it is close, yes?” Schmidt questioned, getting intimately closer to the guardian. “I cannot help you.” “No. But maybe you can help your village. You must have some friends out there. Some little grandchildren, perhaps? I have no need for them to die.” Schmidt threatened before the tank outside aimed it’s gun out towards the village. The guardian’s eyes flashed towards a mural carved into a wall of a very intricate looking tree with roots that tangled like tentacles. Schmidt noticed. He began walking towards the mural in awe. “Yggdrasil. Tree of the world. Guardian of wisdom. And fate, also.” Schmidt said, spotting a detail in one of the roots. A snake was coiling around it, with a mysterious looking eye. He pushed in the eye and a section of the mural clicked open, revealing it to be a secret compartment. He pulled the drawer out from the wall and turned towards the church keeper, who was shaking in fear. Schmidt slid open the drawer and a bright, blue glow painted his face as he looked down onto the Tesseract. Inside was a luminous cube that looked far more magical and precious than the fake version in the coffin. “And the Fuhrer digs for trinkets in the desert.” Schmidt tutted. “You have never seen this, have you?” He questioned the guardian. “It’s not for the eyes of ordinary men.” He muttered. “Exactly.” Schmidt sneered before shutting the box. “Give the order to open fire.” Schmidt instructed his soldiers. “Fool!” The guardian said, in one last act of bravery. “You cannot control the power you hold. You will burn!” “I already have.” Schmidt said, pulling out a gun. He shot the defenseless old man, blasting a hole into his chest. As he fell, Schmidt’s jaw twitched and his leather-clothed fingers massaged his cheek for a moment. He looked uncomfortable as blood dripped from the Hydra pin on his coat. Featuring:Whilst desperately looking for a cure to his Palladium poisoning, Tony discovers an old tape of his father talking dirty to the camera... Tony was in his workshop, wearing a simple black top and a pair of black sweatpants. He was sitting in a recliner seat, scouring through his Dad’s books and files looking for a solution to his arc reactor poisoning him. The workshop was dark for the reels being projected into a screen. It was his father’s old promotional videos for the Stark expo, mostly bloopers and outtakes as he tried to stay focused long enough to say his lines. He was much younger than Tony ever saw him - probably younger than he was now. He had short black hair and a moustache. He wore a white button down shirt, suspenders and a pair of grey pants. Tony was barely paying attention though, just continuing to go through pages and pages of irrelevant information. But when Tony heard a moan, his attention quickly returned to the screen.
Featuring:Bruce is homeless and desperate to get enough money to return to the USA. He soon faces no other choice, but to fuck for money... Bruce was hungry, weak and almost naked as he begged for money on the streets of Guatemala. After his rampage at the factory, Bruce couldn't remember much. He woke up in a forest, naked except for a pair of ripped, baggy, brown pants. It was looking dire, and simply asking for money wasn't going to be enough - especially if he wants to make it to the states. So one evening as the sun was getting low, Bruce found himself on a street corner that he knew was next to a brothel and just waited. He was still just wearing his baggy, brown pants with no shirt on, his hairy, sexy body bare and exposed. Men and women were coming in and out as Bruce just hoped somebody would take the hint. Finally, almost an hour and a half later, a latin couple came over. A man with an open buttoned shirt and shorts, then a woman with a simple yellow dress - Bruce could tell she wasn't wearing anything underneath from the hard nipples showing through the fabric.
“I think we found one.” The man smirked. “Mmmm, I want this white slut.” The woman purred, biting her bottom lip. “Just give me money and I'll do whatever you want.” Bruce offered. The couple exchanged excited smirks. “Then you’d better follow us.” The man told him. |
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