"It can't end like this. It can't!"
Right about now, Bullseye regretted the choices that brought him to this point. He'd escaped his capture, but as the bullet holes in his chest had to say, it came at too high a cost. Lying on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, his wounded leg defeated any
attempt to stand, and the glass shards from the busted skylight he'd crashed through cracked into more pieces every time he fell.
It was supposed to be an easy heist. Break into the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound, steal the schematics, get out and pass them along to Kingpin. He had the schematics right there in his belt, too. None of that meant dick now. He was bleeding out, and as the light coming
in from above revealed, it was his time. In the corner, he saw what waited to claim him. The pale bone skull peeked out from its black hood, grinning, with empty eyeholes staring at him.
He knew it was no use yelling at the being to stay away from him. This was something he couldn't fight... but when she came out of the darkness, he could tell there was something very strange, and different, about this encounter.
Death slunk out. She looked at the man, Lester, this Bullseye, and she could already tell he was not the sort of man that deserved her special presence. Many lesser gods and creatures existed in this universe for the task of taking souls of this man's calibre
for her. Yet lately, she found herself drawn to the dying breaths of his kind. An ache grew inside her, one too powerful for even the great Grim Reaper to resist, and she had to come and perform her duty.
Only, she had come for a much different purpose.
If she could blush in shame, she would. When she cast her cloak back, her long purple robe clung tightly to her pale grey skin, accentuating and exaggerating all of her womanly curves in the worst ways. The design of the robe gave it the cling of the human
creation called saran wrap, a minimum of creases that allowed her to display a taut stomach, a tight hug around her gigantic breasts that went right into her cleavage, and a dip between her thighs that made it look almost like the cloth was getting sucked
into the black hole of her vagina.
Her hips sashayed from her slutty gait, coming right up to the prone Bullseye.
"No! It's not my time. Fuck off!" Bullseye angrily shouted.
Gazing down at him, the horrible words felt like life coming out of her teeth. But it satiated the urges coming out of her physical form. "You are about to make me do precisely that."
She hiked up her robe, exposing her lovely slender legs, thick thighs with the ideal gap, and the promised land: her wet, dripping cunt. Bullseye's cock rose up for her, she plummeted, and the material of his costume disappeared to let all six inches bury inside
her.
"What the hell is this?" he added.
Pumping herself up and down on his mighty erection, Death did all the work in her squat while her hands pressed against his belly. Her delicate fingers ran to his chest, and she watched, as it happened again.
She was Death. Death. She represented decay and destruction. She was a fundamental force, a cosmic entity meant to take life. Her entire reason for being centered on liberating the souls of the living and taking them to her Realm of Death. Every lost
soul belonged to her.
No amount of reminding herself could stop her from perverting her own purpose. As she fucked him senseless, moaning with her boobs bouncing and jiggling on her chest and her legs starting to shake with weakness brought on by exertion and pleasure, his wounds
began to heal. The few bullets and fragment inside Bullseye's body forced their way out before the holes sealed.
"Oh, oh, oh, fuck me human. Fuck Death."
"Fuck Death!" With his renewed vigor, Bullseye got up and shoved Death down to the floor.
The shame. The pure, unadulterated degradation. Death had suffered several humiliations in her recent past. The Grandmaster of the Elders of the Universe tricked her into making his people immortal. The god of death from a mere single galaxy, Walker, had sought
her affections like many creatures in the universe, and the threat of her avatar's destruction at his hands had terrified her, Death herself, enough to make her briefly hide in the human Marlo Jones.
None of it compared to letting this human pin her to the floor and fuck her. He ripped open her robe, exposing her big grey tits with their hard pointy tips, and squeezed as hard as his grip would allow. Her skin color went unchanged, but she could feel the
intensity of his desire to dominate her, and it gave her the wettest thrill in her manifested cunt.
"You're supposed to be Death? You're nothing but a weak bitch! Aren't you?" Bullseye growled.
"Yes," she moaned.
"Who's your master?"
"You!"
"Say my name!"
"Bullseye! I'm Bullseye's bitch!"
"And don't forget it, or I'll have to put you in your place, won't I you pale ass skank, you pathetic excuse for Death."
It would be so easy for her to reach over and take his soul, then punish him in her Realm of Death for good measure. She was a cosmic being. No mere mortal could best her, but he held her down by her boobs, slamming his cock inside her over and over. She needed
this, the big bad Death laid low, and she needed what he had to offer her. Her screams came out as moans, peaking to their loudest when she got what she came for most of all.
Bullseye grunted as he released, spurting his load deep, deep inside Death's womb. After a few shots within, he pulled out, coating her robe and her fine chest in his globs of seed. While she wriggled on the floor, he panted out his furious victory high that
came from the fear of being taken followed by the thrill of escaping his end.
"I think we're done here for today," Bullseye said. "Next time you come for me, remember this day, the day Bullseye put Death in her place. Now that I've fucked you off, how about you fuck off? You'll understand if I stay to watch."
Death rose to her feet shaky, undone by a body that saw fit to magnify a mortal man's normally weak strength through unnatural desires. Humans called this a walk of shame, something she did solely for the added mockery of giving the man a chance to gloat at
seeing her sent off. As she entered the dilapidated hallway with cum dripping out of her snatch, she lowered the illusion that hid her greatest shame of all.
She rubbed her big, pregnant belly, teeming with another load from the millions of men to already add their semen to the slurry in her womb. She was Death herself, the avatar of decay and destruction, harvester of souls... harvesting sperm to create life from
men whose souls should have been hers. With every spared man, she came that much closer to the embarrassment of giving birth.
Next Chapters
Or add your own