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Peggy Carter's heels clicked rhythmically against the polished floor of SHIELD headquarters as she made her way to Director Howard Stark's office. Her standard uniform—a tailored blue blazer and pencil skirt—hugged her curves professionally, though she often caught male agents stealing glances at her hourglass figure.
"Agent Carter," Howard greeted, sliding a folder across his desk. "We've received intelligence about Hydra weapons being stored at a Harlem establishment called 'The Onyx Room.' Supposedly, the owner, Marcus King, is brokering deals with some nasty characters."
Peggy opened the folder, scanning the details before her eyes widened at the mission parameters. "Sir, it says here I'm to... distract the owner while Agent Thompson searches the premises?" Her British accent became more pronounced with her indignation.
Howard pulled out a garment bag and laid it on the desk. "Your cover outfit." He unzipped it to reveal a scandalously red dress, cut low enough to display generous cleavage and tailored to showcase her voluptuous curves.
"You can't be serious," Peggy protested, lifting the dress. The silky material was barely substantial enough to be called clothing. "This is hardly appropriate for—"
"For infiltrating a jazz club frequented by Harlem's elite? It's perfect," Thompson interrupted, entering the office with a smirk. His eyes traveled down Peggy's body, imagining her in the dress. "The Onyx Room caters to a... progressive clientele. Black ownership, but welcoming to white patrons who appreciate diversity." His emphasis on 'appreciate' made Peggy's jaw clench.
"Fine," she conceded, taking the dress to the adjacent room to change. As she stripped down to her undergarments, she caught her reflection—full breasts straining against her white bra, wide hips and rounded ass that had earned her both unwanted attention and undeniable advantages in the field.
When she emerged in the red dress, both men froze. The material clung to every curve, the neckline plunging between her breasts, the hem hitting mid-thigh displaying her shapely legs encased in silk stockings.
"Jesus, Carter," Thompson whispered, adjusting his stance to hide his growing arousal. "You'll have King eating out of your hand."
"Or other places," Howard muttered, earning a glare from Peggy.
As they finalized the details, Thompson handed her a communication device disguised as an earring. "Just keep him occupied while I search for the weapons cache. Shouldn't take more than an hour."
In the car ride to Harlem, Peggy practiced her cover story—a bored society woman looking for excitement. Each bump in the road made her breasts jiggle in the low-cut dress, a fact Thompson noticed with poorly concealed interest.
"Remember," he said as they approached the club, jazz music already audible from outside, "these people aren't like us. King has a reputation with white women. Use it."
Peggy raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly does that mean, Agent Thompson?"
He smirked, eyes dropping to her cleavage. "It means his... equipment... is reportedly impressive enough to turn proper ladies into willing whores. Just don't get too carried away with your distraction techniques."
Peggy's retort died in her throat as the car stopped. Despite herself, a flutter of forbidden curiosity stirred low in her belly at Thompson's crude insinuation. The mission, she reminded herself. Focus on the mission.
The velvet darkness of The Onyx Room enveloped Peggy and Thompson as they entered, the air thick with cigar smoke, jazz notes, and undercurrents of desire. Black couples dominated the dance floor, moving with a sensual freedom that made Peggy's proper British upbringing seem suddenly stifling. What caught her attention, however, were the mixed couples—white women pressed intimately against powerful Black men, their faces etched with uninhibited pleasure.
"Target at three o'clock," Thompson muttered, nodding toward a curved booth in the corner. "Marcus King."
Peggy's breath caught. King sat like royalty amidst admirers, his powerful frame draped in a tailored suit that accentuated broad shoulders and a chest that tapered to a narrow waist. His skin was the color of rich mahogany, his smile devastating as he laughed at something a companion said. Even from this distance, his presence commanded the room.
"I need to get to the storage areas," Thompson whispered. "Work your magic, Carter."
Peggy felt a flutter of nervousness—unusual for a seasoned agent. "And if he's not interested?"
Thompson's gaze swept over her body, lingering where the red dress strained against her ass. "Trust me, he'll be interested."
As Thompson disappeared into the crowd, Peggy made her way to the bar, feeling King's gaze on her before she even turned around. The bartender—a handsome Black man with knowing eyes—slid her a champagne without being asked.
"Compliments of Mr. King," he said, nodding toward the booth.
When Peggy looked up, King raised his glass in acknowledgment, his dark eyes assessing her with unconcealed hunger. She took a deliberate sip, allowing champagne to linger on her lips before dabbing them delicately with her tongue.
"Time to dance," she whispered to herself, moving toward the crowded floor as the band struck up a sultry number.
Peggy surrendered to the music, letting her hips sway with deliberate sensuality. The dress rode up with each movement, offering teasing glimpses of her stocking tops and the creamy flesh above. She turned, giving King a perfect view of her ass—full and round, jiggling enticingly with each beat. When she glanced over her shoulder, his gaze was locked on her curves, his expression possessive.
"He's watching," Thompson's voice crackled through her earpiece. "I need more time to access the back rooms."
A tall man approached, attempting to dance with her, but before he could touch Peggy, a deep voice intervened.
"The lady's with me, Jackson."
Marcus King stood mere inches away, radiating authority. Up close, he was even more imposing—at least 6'4", with shoulders like a prizefighter and hands that could engulf her own. Jackson retreated immediately.
"I don't recall agreeing to be with anyone," Peggy challenged, her British accent drawing King's attention to her lips.
He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth against his dark complexion. "Yet you've been dancing for my benefit for the past five minutes." His voice was cultured, educated, with bass notes that seemed to vibrate through her body. "Join me?"
His large hand extended toward her, and Peggy placed her much smaller one in his palm. The contrast—her pale skin against his darkness—sent an unexpected thrill through her. He led her to his booth, dismissing his entourage with a subtle nod.
As she slid across the leather seat, Peggy felt the heat of King's body as he sat close enough for his thigh to press against hers. His cologne—expensive, masculine—mingled with something more primal that made her pulse quicken.
"I don't usually see women like you here without... escorts," King observed, his hand resting casually on her exposed knee.
"Perhaps I wanted to see what I've been missing," Peggy replied, channeling the bored socialite she was pretending to be.
King's laugh was deep, knowing. "And what exactly do you think you've been missing, Miss...?"
"Carter. Margaret Carter." She allowed a hint of vulnerability to show through her confident facade. "And I think you know exactly what I've been missing, Mr. King."
His hand slid an inch higher on her thigh, heat radiating through the silk of her stockings. "I believe I do, Miss Carter."
Peggy suppressed a shiver as Thompson's voice came through her earpiece again: "The main door's locked. Keep him occupied—I need at least twenty more minutes."
As King's fingers traced lazy circles on her thigh, Peggy realized those twenty minutes might feel like an eternity—or pass far too quickly.
The pulse of the jazz band throbbed through the club as Peggy sipped her champagne, intensely aware of Marcus King's massive hand on her thigh. His fingers traced circles on her skin, each one venturing incrementally higher.
"You're not from around here," King observed, his dark eyes studying her face. "That accent... English?"
"London," Peggy confirmed, uncrossing and recrossing her legs deliberately. The movement caused her dress to ride up, exposing more of her stockinged thighs. "Though I've been in New York long enough to know its... pleasures."
King's smile was predatory. "And what pleasures bring you to my establishment? The music? The drinks?" His fingers slid further up her thigh, now resting at the border of her garter. "Or something else entirely?"
"All of the above," Peggy replied, maintaining eye contact as she took another sip. "Plus, I heard The Onyx Room is where barriers... fall."
Thompson's voice crackled in her earpiece: "Still working on the lock. Need more time."
King's bodyguard approached, whispering something in his ear. King frowned momentarily before dismissing him with a nod.
"Trouble?" Peggy asked, seizing the opportunity to gather intelligence.
"Nothing that can't wait," King replied, his attention returning fully to her. "I'm more interested in why a woman like you is here alone. Beautiful women rarely visit unaccompanied unless they're looking for something... specific."
Peggy allowed herself to glance at the dance floor, where a white woman was grinding against her Black partner, his hands possessively cupping her ass.
"Perhaps I'm curious," she admitted, turning back to King. "About what I've been missing."
King's laugh was deep and knowing. "White boys not measuring up?"
The directness of his question startled her. Peggy recovered quickly, letting a subtle smile play across her lips. "I wouldn't know. I haven't found one worth my time."
Something flashed in King's eyes—approval, desire, possession—as his hand moved to the small of her back, guiding her to stand.
"Dance with me," he commanded rather than asked.
On the dance floor, King's powerful body moved with unexpected grace. His hands found her waist, pulling her against him with authority. Peggy could feel every hard plane of his muscled chest through his expensive suit. As the music slowed, his grip tightened, one hand sliding down to cup her ass.
"You fill out that dress in ways that should be illegal," he murmured into her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine.
Peggy felt something substantial pressing against her abdomen—thick, long, insistent even through layers of clothing. Her eyes widened involuntarily.
King noticed her reaction and smiled knowingly. "That's just the beginning of what you've been missing."
"Need more time," Thompson's urgent voice came through Peggy's earpiece. "Keep him occupied."
King guided Peggy back to his booth, this time positioning her so she sat halfway on his lap, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. The new position made it impossible to ignore the massive bulge pressing against her hip.
"Tell me, Miss Carter," King's voice dropped to a husky whisper, "have you ever been with a Black man before?"
Peggy maintained her composure despite the heat rising in her cheeks. "I told you, I'm curious, not experienced."
"Mmm," King hummed, his large hand moving to her knee then slowly traveling upward, fingers tracing the edge of her garter belt. "I could educate you."
His other hand moved to her breast, casually cupping the fullness through her dress as if he owned her body already. Peggy feigned a gasp that wasn't entirely fake—his touch sent electricity through her nipple, hardening it instantly against his palm.
"You're rather forward, Mr. King," she managed, making no move to remove his hand.
"And you're responsive," he countered, his thumb circling her nipple through the fabric. "I don't waste time with games, Miss Carter. We both know why you're here."
His hand beneath her dress moved higher, fingers brushing against the damp silk of her panties. Peggy couldn't suppress a genuine moan as one thick finger pressed against her most sensitive spot.
"Already wet," King observed, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Your body knows what it wants even if you're playing coy."
Peggy's breath hitched as his finger pushed the silk aside, making direct contact with her slick flesh. His touch was expert, finding her clit with unerring accuracy, circling it slowly.
"Mr. King," she breathed, struggling to remember her mission as pleasure built between her thighs. "We're in public."
"No one can see," he assured her, his fingers continuing their torturous exploration. "And I need to know if you're worth my time."
As his middle finger slid inside her, stretching her deliciously, Peggy instinctively pressed against his hand. King added a second thick finger, and Peggy bit her lip to stifle a moan.
"So tight," he murmured approvingly into her ear. "This pretty white pussy hasn't been properly stretched before, has it?"
Before Peggy could answer, King shifted, allowing her to feel the true extent of his arousal against her thigh. Her eyes widened—what she'd felt before was impressive, but now, fully engorged, what pressed against her felt impossibly large.
"That's right," King chuckled at her expression. "Nine inches at least, and thick as your wrist. Still curious?"
To emphasize his point, he curved his fingers inside her, finding a spot that made Peggy's thighs tremble. Her mission momentarily forgotten, she turned her face toward his, their lips inches apart.
"Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private," she suggested, her voice huskier than intended.
King's smile was triumphant as he removed his fingers from beneath her dress, bringing them to his lips to taste her essence with deliberate slowness.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he replied, signaling to his bodyguard. "My office is more... comfortable."
As King helped her to her feet, steadying her with a hand on her ass, Thompson's desperate voice came through the earpiece: "Dammit, Carter, I need more time with these locks. Keep him busy for at least another thirty minutes."
Pressed against King's powerful body as he guided her toward a discreet door at the back of the club, Peggy suspected that keeping him busy wouldn't be a problem. What worried her now was whether she could remember her mission once he fully unleashed what strained against his tailored trousers.
The moment King's office door clicked shut, the pretense of professionalism vanished. His massive hands seized Peggy's waist, spinning her against the mahogany desk with startling force. His mouth crashed against hers, tongue demanding entry between her crimson-painted lips.
"Let's see what's under this dress," King growled, finding the zipper at her back and yanking it down.
The red fabric pooled at Peggy's feet, revealing matching crimson lingerie that cupped her voluptuous breasts and hugged her curved hips. Her full ass was framed perfectly by the lacy garter belt, stockings enhancing her shapely legs.
"Goddamn," King breathed, eyes darkening as he took in her hourglass figure. "You English girls hide all this under those stuffy clothes?"
Peggy fought to maintain her composure as King circled her like a predator, his finger tracing the lace edge of her bra. "Only the best of us," she quipped, though her voice trembled slightly.
King chuckled, the sound deep and dangerous. "Let's see if that mouth does more than talk pretty."
He loosened his tie, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal a muscled chest and defined abs. Peggy swallowed hard as he unbuckled his belt, letting his tailored pants fall. The massive bulge straining against his boxer briefs made her eyes widen.
"On your knees," he commanded.
Peggy hesitated only momentarily before sinking to the plush carpet. King hooked his thumbs in his waistband and freed his cock, the heavy length springing forward to bob inches from her face.
"Jesus Christ," Peggy whispered involuntarily.
His manhood was magnificent and terrifying—dark chocolate skin stretched over veined steel, thicker than her wrist, crowned with a bulbous head already glistening with pre-cum. The shaft curved slightly upward, reaching well past nine inches, with heavy balls hanging below.
"Kiss it," King ordered, one hand gripping the base while the other tangled in her brunette waves.
Peggy leaned forward, pressing her crimson lips to the swollen head. The taste of him—salt and musk—filled her senses as she parted her lips, struggling to accommodate even the first few inches. Her jaw stretched uncomfortably as she worked more of him into her mouth.
"That's it," King encouraged, his grip tightening in her hair. "Take more."
Peggy hollowed her cheeks, sucking earnestly as tears pricked her eyes. Despite her best efforts, barely half his length disappeared between her stretched lips. Saliva dripped down her chin as King began shallow thrusts, each one threatening to trigger her gag reflex.
"White girls always struggle with the size," King observed with perverse satisfaction, pulling out to slap his wet cock against her flushed cheek. "Stand up and bend over the desk."
Heart racing, Peggy obeyed, placing her palms flat on the polished surface. King moved behind her, his large hands kneading her ass through the lace panties before ripping the delicate fabric with an impatient tug.
"Perfect," he murmured, spreading her cheeks to expose her pink, glistening entrance. One thick finger circled her opening before plunging inside, making Peggy gasp at the intrusion. "Already soaking for me."
He added a second finger, stretching her inner walls as his thumb found her swollen clit. Peggy's knees weakened as pleasure surged through her core, her mission momentarily forgotten as she pushed back against his hand.
"Please," she whimpered, not entirely acting anymore.
"Please what?" King demanded, scissoring his fingers inside her. "Say it."
"Please fuck me," Peggy breathed, shameless need overwhelming her training.
King withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the broad head of his cock. He rubbed it through her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal before positioning at her entrance.
"This might hurt," he warned, satisfaction evident in his voice. "White pussy usually needs breaking in."
The pressure was incredible as he began pushing forward. Peggy's body initially resisted the invasion, her channel straining to accommodate his girth. King gripped her hips firmly, preventing retreat as he worked the first few inches inside with patient determination.
"So fucking tight," he hissed, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Relax or this will hurt more."
Peggy tried to comply, consciously relaxing her inner muscles. King rewarded her with another inch, then another, the stretch burning deliciously as her body gradually yielded. When he finally hilted completely, Peggy felt impossibly full, her walls stretched to their limit around him.
"Oh my God," she gasped, feeling him pressing against places never touched before.
King paused, letting her adjust before withdrawing almost completely and driving back in with a powerful thrust that sent her breasts bouncing beneath her bra. He established a relentless rhythm, each stroke forcing little cries from Peggy's throat as the desk creaked beneath them.
"Take those tits out," King commanded, maintaining his pace. "Let me see them bounce."
Peggy reached back with trembling fingers, unfastening her bra. Her heavy breasts spilled free, swaying with each impact as King increased his tempo. He reached around to roughly pinch her nipples, the slight pain heightening her pleasure.
Without warning, King withdrew completely. "Turn around," he ordered.
Peggy complied on shaky legs. King lifted her onto the desk, pushing her thighs apart and entering her again in one smooth motion. The new angle sent him even deeper, making Peggy cry out as his pelvis ground against her clit.
"Look at you," King taunted, watching her expression contort with pleasure. "SHIELD's finest agent, taking Black cock like she was born for it."
Peggy's eyes flew open in shock. "How did—"
King silenced her with a brutal thrust. "You think I don't know who comes into my club? Now shut up and take this dick."
He gripped her thighs, folding her in half until her knees almost touched her shoulders, entering the position known as Full Nelson. The angle allowed him to pound directly against her cervix, each thrust sending shockwaves of painful pleasure through her core.
"Oh fuck," Peggy sobbed as her first orgasm built rapidly. "I'm going to—"
"Come on this Black cock," King demanded, maintaining his ruthless pace. "Let me feel that tight pussy squeeze me."
Peggy shattered, her walls clamping down as waves of pleasure crashed through her. King didn't slow, fucking her through her climax until overstimulation had her writhing beneath him. Just as the intensity became unbearable, he pulled out, flipping her boneless body over.
"We're just getting started," he promised, dragging her to the edge of the desk.
He reinserted himself in one powerful thrust, then lifted her legs straight up, pressing them together and back toward her chest in the mating press position. The new angle made him feel even larger inside her, the head of his cock battering against her most sensitive spots.
"Please," Peggy begged, though she wasn't sure if she was pleading for him to stop or continue.
"Take it all," King growled, his rhythm becoming erratic as his release approached. "Going to fill this white pussy with my cum."
Peggy felt a second orgasm building impossibly fast, her nerves already overwrought from the first. When King reached down to circle her clit with his thumb, she exploded again, her vision spotting as pleasure consumed her.
King roared, driving deep and holding as hot pulses of semen flooded her womb. The quantity was astounding—Peggy could feel it filling her completely, excess leaking down her thighs as King continued pumping smaller thrusts to deposit every drop inside her.
When he finally withdrew, a rush of thick white cum followed, puddling beneath her on the desk. Before Peggy could recover, King was pulling her up, guiding her to the leather couch at the side of the office.
"Hands and knees," he instructed, his cock still impressively semi-erect despite his release.
Dazed but compliant, Peggy positioned herself on the couch, her round ass presented high. King knelt behind her, spreading her cheeks to watch his seed leaking from her reddened pussy.
"Beautiful," he murmured, collecting some of the escaping cum with his fingers and using it to lubricate her puckered rear entrance. "Now for this hole."
Peggy tensed as she felt pressure against her tight ring. "Wait, I've never—"
"Then it's time you learned," King interrupted, applying steady pressure until the head of his rejuvenated cock popped past her resistant muscle.
The burning stretch was unlike anything Peggy had experienced—pain and fullness mingling until she couldn't distinguish between them. King worked himself deeper with short thrusts, each one opening her further until half his length was buried in her virgin passage.
"So fucking tight," he groaned, gripping her hips to prevent her instinctive withdrawal. "Your ass is squeezing me like a vise."
Tears streamed down Peggy's face as her body struggled to accommodate him, yet beneath the pain, unexpected pleasure began to bloom. King reached beneath her to find her clit, circling the sensitive bud as he continued his careful invasion.
"There we go," he murmured as her resistance lessened. "Your body's learning what it needs."
To Peggy's shock, the pain receded as King established a gentle rhythm, her body gradually accepting the intrusion. When he increased his pace, the dual stimulation of his fingers on her clit and his cock in her ass created a new kind of pleasure—darker, more forbidden, and utterly consuming.
"Oh God," she moaned, pressing back against him. "How is this possible?"
King chuckled darkly. "You were made for this, Agent Carter. Made to take cock in every hole."
He withdrew his fingers from her clit, using both hands to spread her ass cheeks wider, watching his dark shaft disappear into her stretched opening. The visual apparently excited him further as his thrusts became harder, more demanding.
Just when Peggy thought she couldn't take anymore, King pulled out completely. Before she could protest, he was repositioning her, laying on his back and guiding her to straddle him reverse cowgirl style.
"Sit on it," he ordered. "I want to watch that ass bounce while you work for it."
Peggy lowered herself onto his shaft, gasping as gravity forced her to take him deeper than before. King reached around to pinch her nipples roughly, using them like reins to control her movements.
"Ride," he commanded, slapping her ass sharply.
Peggy began moving, lifting herself before dropping back down, the pain-pleasure intensifying with each descent. King's hands moved to her waist, helping lift her trembling thighs before pulling her down forcefully.
"Look at you," he taunted, "SHIELD's finest reduced to an anal slut. What would your colleagues think seeing you now?"
The degradation should have infuriated her, but instead, Peggy felt herself growing wetter, her third orgasm building against all odds. King sensed her approaching climax, reaching around to rub her clit in tight circles.
"Come with my cock in your ass," he demanded. "Let me feel it."
Peggy's world exploded, her body convulsing as the most intense orgasm yet ripped through her. Her spasming muscles triggered King's second release, hot spurts filling her bowels as he groaned beneath her.
When coherence returned, Peggy found herself sprawled face-down on the couch, King's seed leaking from both holes. She felt utterly destroyed, her body used in ways she'd never imagined.
"Please," she whispered, though whether in protest or encouragement, even she couldn't say.
King smiled knowingly. "By morning, you'll be begging for more."
Thompson moved stealthily through the dimly lit basement of The Onyx Room, gun drawn but held low against his thigh. The intel had been specific—Hydra weapons, third door on the left. Yet all he'd found were crates of premium liquor and boxes of cigarettes. No weapons, no Hydra insignia, nothing suspicious at all.
"Dammit," he muttered, holstering his weapon with a frustrated sigh. The whole operation was a bust.
He tapped his concealed communicator. "Carter, mission abort. There's nothing here but booze. Get out now."
Static answered him. Either she was too... occupied to respond, or the thick concrete walls were blocking the signal. Thompson ran a hand through his slicked-back blonde hair, frowning as he contemplated his next move. He needed to extract Peggy from whatever situation she'd gotten herself into with the club owner.
Making his way back up the narrow service stairs, Thompson emerged into a hallway lined with plush red carpet. The bass from the club music vibrated through the floorboards, punctuated by laughter and clinking glasses. As he rounded the corner toward the main floor, the hallway suddenly felt warmer, more constricted.
"Well, what do we have here?" A sultry voice with a Spanish accent floated from behind him.
Thompson spun around, hand instinctively reaching for his concealed weapon, only to freeze at the sight before him. Three women stood blocking his path—each one a vision that made his mouth go dry.
The one who had spoken stepped forward, hips swaying hypnotically in a skintight gold dress that hugged every curve of her hourglass figure. She was Latina, with caramel skin that glowed under the hallway lights and long, wavy black hair that cascaded down her back. Her full lips were painted a deep red, curled into a knowing smile as she appraised him.
"You look lost, white boy," she purred, closing the distance between them. "I'm Carmen."
"I'm just... looking for the restroom," Thompson managed, his eyes betraying him as they dropped to her generous cleavage, pushed high by the dress's structured bodice.
"The bathroom?" Carmen laughed, the sound like warm honey. "That's not what your eyes are searching for."
The second woman moved beside Carmen, tall and statuesque with skin like polished ebony. Her dress was emerald green, cut in a halter style that exposed her sculptured shoulders and back. The fabric clung to her rounded ass before ending mid-thigh, showcasing legs that seemed to go on forever. Her hair was styled in an elegant updo, accentuating her long neck and diamond earrings that caught the light with every movement.
"I'm Destiny," she introduced herself, her voice deep and melodic. "And you're definitely in the wrong place for a bathroom break." She reached out, fingers trailing along Thompson's jawline. "But maybe the right place for something else."
The third woman completed their semicircle around him. She was shorter than the others but commanded attention with curves that defied her petite frame. Her dress was the most revealing—a backless silver number that draped over her ample chest before hugging her tiny waist and flaring over her considerable hips. Her light brown skin had a golden undertone, and her curly hair was cut into a fashionable bob that framed her heart-shaped face.
"Tiana," she offered simply, her Southern drawl adding warmth to the single word. Her hand came to rest on Thompson's chest, fingers splayed against his rapidly beating heart.
Thompson swallowed hard, feeling sweat bead at his temples. He was a SHIELD agent, trained to resist interrogation techniques, to maintain focus under pressure. Yet here he stood, rendered speechless by three civilian women.
"I really should be going," he said, his voice embarrassingly hoarse. "My friend is waiting."
Carmen's hand slid up his arm, squeezing his bicep appreciatively. "Your friend? You mean the white girl with the big tits who went upstairs with Marcus?" She laughed, sharing a knowing look with her companions. "Trust me, honey, she's not thinking about you right now."
Destiny moved behind him, her breasts pressing against his back as she whispered in his ear, "Marcus is very... thorough with his entertainment. Your friend won't be done for hours."
Thompson felt his resolve weakening as Tiana's hand traveled lower, tracing the outline of his abs through his shirt before resting at his belt buckle. "We could show you a good time while you wait," she suggested, batting long eyelashes at him.
"I'm on duty," Thompson protested weakly, the last vestige of his professional responsibility fading fast.
Carmen's hand found the growing bulge in his pants, squeezing gently. "Seems like part of you is off duty already," she murmured, her breath hot against his neck.
"There's a private room just down here," Destiny said, her fingers interlacing with his as she tugged him gently backward. "No one will disturb us."
Thompson's training screamed at him to resist, to focus on the mission, to find Carter. But as Tiana's fingers expertly unbuckled his belt and Carmen's plush lips found his in a searing kiss, rational thought began to dissolve. Destiny's hands were now under his shirt, her nails lightly scratching down his back.
"Carter would never..." he started to think, but the thought evaporated as Carmen dropped to her knees in front of him, looking up with molten eyes as she lowered his zipper.
"Oh baby," she breathed, reaching into his underwear to free his straining erection. "Look what you've been hiding."
Destiny and Tiana exchanged appreciative glances. "White boy's packing," Tiana observed with a grin, her hand joining Carmen's to stroke his length.
The last coherent thought Thompson had before surrendering completely was that Peggy would never allow herself to be compromised like this. She was too professional, too focused on the mission. As the three women led him toward the private room, his cock throbbing almost painfully with anticipation, Thompson convinced himself that Carter was probably already heading back to the rendezvous point, mission intact.
Destiny pushed open a door, revealing a dimly lit room with plush couches and what appeared to be a small stage with a brass pole in the center. The door closed behind them with a definitive click as Carmen and Tiana pushed Thompson onto the largest couch. His jacket was quickly discarded, followed by his shirt as eager hands explored his muscled torso.
"Let us take care of you," Destiny whispered, her dress falling to the floor in a pool of emerald silk, revealing her naked body underneath—firm breasts topped with dark nipples, a narrow waist, and hips that flared dramatically.
Carmen and Tiana followed suit, their dresses joining Destiny's on the floor. Thompson stared in awestruck silence at the trio of naked goddesses before him. Carmen's breasts were large and natural, swaying hypnotically as she moved to straddle his lap. Tiana's ass was a masterpiece—heart-shaped and so perfectly rounded it seemed sculpted rather than real.
"You SHIELD boys think you're so disciplined," Carmen teased, grinding against his still-clothed erection. "Let's see how long that discipline lasts."
Thompson's eyes widened. "How did you—"
"Shhh," Tiana silenced him, pressing a finger against his lips before replacing it with her mouth. "No shop talk. Tonight is for pleasure."
As Carmen helped him out of his remaining clothes and Destiny produced a bottle of champagne from a hidden ice bucket, Thompson's mission priorities reconfigured themselves with embarrassing speed. His partner could handle herself. After all, what could possibly go wrong in the owner's office that an accomplished agent like Peggy Carter couldn't handle?
"Now," Carmen purred, positioning herself over his throbbing erection while Destiny and Tiana each claimed a side, their hands wandering everywhere at once. "Let's see how a government man performs."
Thompson surrendered completely, the mission forgotten as three pairs of skilled hands and lips began working in concert to dismantle what remained of his professional resolve. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice tried to remind him of his responsibilities, but it was quickly silenced by Carmen's warm, wet heat engulfing him as she sank down on his cock with a satisfied moan.
"That's it, baby," she encouraged, beginning a slow, torturous rhythm. "Just relax and let us do all the work."
As Destiny lowered her glistening pussy toward his face and Tiana's tongue traced patterns across his chest, Thompson gave himself over completely to pleasure, certain that whatever was happening with Carter couldn't possibly compare to his current situation.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
After what felt like hours of relentless pleasure, Peggy lay sprawled across the luxurious bed in the corner of Marcus's office, her once-perfect hair disheveled, lipstick smeared across her flushed face. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, cum leaking from her thoroughly used pussy in thick rivulets that soaked into the expensive silk sheets beneath her. The red dress that had started the evening was now nothing but torn fabric hanging from one arm, her voluptuous body on full display on the four-poster bed that Marcus kept for his "special meetings."
Marcus stood beside the bed, his massive cock still impressively hard despite having emptied himself inside her twice already. He admired his handiwork--Peggy Carter, the proud SHIELD agent, reduced to a quivering mess of pleasure and submission. He reached down, his large palm connecting with her ass in a resounding smack that echoed through the office.
"This hole needs attention too," he declared, his finger tracing the tight rim of her puckered entrance as she lay face-down on the mattress.
Peggy whimpered into the pillow, both fearful and aroused. "I-I've never... not there..."
Marcus laughed, the sound deep and commanding as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Jerome!" he called out.
The door opened immediately, revealing his personal bodyguard--a mountain of a man standing nearly seven feet tall with shoulders that barely fit through the doorframe. Jerome entered silently, his impassive face betraying no emotion until his gaze fell on Peggy's exposed form spread across the bed. His lips curled into a predatory smile.
"Sir?" he inquired, though his dark eyes never left Peggy's body.
"Our guest claims she's never had a man in her ass," Marcus explained, spreading Peggy's cheeks to expose her tight hole against the backdrop of the dark sheets. "I think it's time we corrected that oversight."
Jerome nodded, already unbuckling his belt as he approached the bed. When he dropped his pants, Peggy's eyes widened in genuine fear. If Marcus was impressive, Jerome was terrifying--his cock hung halfway down his thigh, thick as her forearm with prominent veins mapping its considerable length.
"That won't... it can't possibly..." she stammered, trying to crawl away across the bed only to be held firmly in place by Marcus's strong grip on her ankle.
"Everything stretches with proper motivation," Marcus assured her, reaching for a bottle of oil on the bedside table. He poured it liberally over her asshole, the cool liquid making her gasp as it trickled between her cheeks and onto the sheets. His middle finger pressed against her resistance, working the oil into her tight ring before pushing inside up to the knuckle.
"Fuck!" Peggy cried out, her face pressed into the pillow, the foreign invasion burning despite the lubrication.
Marcus worked his finger in and out methodically, adding a second when her muscles began to relax. "That's it, baby. Open up for us."
Jerome climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping significantly under his weight as he stroked his massive length with oil-slicked hands. "You want me to go easy on her first time, boss?"
Marcus considered this as he scissored his fingers inside Peggy's gradually loosening hole. "Start slow. But once she's warmed up..." he left the sentence hanging meaningfully.
Peggy felt herself being repositioned on the bed--Marcus sitting against the headboard with her straddling his lap, facing him. He guided his cock back into her pussy, filling her completely in one smooth thrust that made her cry out, her hands gripping the ornate headboard for support. With her back to Jerome, she couldn't see his approach, could only feel the mattress shifting as he knelt behind her, his large hands gripping her ass, spreading her cheeks wide.
"Breathe," Marcus instructed, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss as Jerome positioned his cockhead against her slicked entrance.
The pressure was immediate and intense--a burning, stretching sensation that bordered on unbearable. Peggy broke the kiss to gasp, "Wait, wait--I can't--"
Jerome ignored her protests, pressing forward with steady, relentless pressure. The tight ring of muscle finally surrendered, his bulbous head popping past her resistance. Peggy screamed, her nails digging crescents into Marcus's shoulders, her body arching on the bed between them.
"That's just the tip, sweetheart," Marcus informed her with a wicked smile. "You've got a lot more to take."
Jerome continued his methodical invasion, feeding inch after enormous inch into her virgin ass. The dual penetration created a pressure Peggy had never experienced--she could feel both cocks through the thin membrane separating her passages, stretching her beyond what seemed physically possible on the sweat-dampened sheets.
"So. Fucking. Tight," Jerome growled, finally bottoming out, his heavy balls resting against her.
For several moments they remained still on the bed, allowing her body to adjust to the unprecedented fullness. Peggy's breath came in shallow pants, sweat beading across her forehead and between her heaving breasts, dampening the sheets beneath them. The initial agony gradually transformed, morphing into something she couldn't name--not quite pleasure yet, but a fullness that commanded her body's complete attention.
"Ready?" Marcus asked, though it wasn't really a question.
They began moving in tandem on the creaking bed--Marcus thrusting up as Jerome pulled back, then vice versa, ensuring that Peggy was never empty, always stuffed to capacity. The rhythm started slow but built steadily as her body adapted, accepting the invasion that had seemed impossible minutes before.
"Oh God," Peggy moaned, her head falling back against Jerome's broad chest. "Oh my God!"
"She's starting to enjoy it," Marcus observed, watching Peggy's face contort with newfound pleasure. "Give her more."
The pace increased, both men thrusting harder, faster, their grunts mixing with Peggy's increasingly desperate moans. The headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall as the sensation of two massive cocks plundering her holes simultaneously sent her spiraling toward an orgasm more intense than any she'd experienced before.
"I'm coming!" she screamed, her internal muscles clamping down like a vise around both invading shafts.
Her convulsing passages triggered Jerome's release. With a roar, he buried himself to the hilt in her ass, his cock pulsing as he flooded her bowels with hot cum. The sensation of his seed coating her insides while Marcus continued pounding her pussy extended Peggy's orgasm to near-painful lengths, her body shuddering uncontrollably between the two powerful men on the sweat-soaked bed.
Marcus wasn't finished. As Jerome carefully withdrew, leaving Peggy's abused hole gaping and leaking thick white streams down her thighs onto the already stained sheets, Marcus manhandled her onto her hands and knees on the mattress.
"Clean him up," Marcus ordered, pushing Peggy's face toward Jerome's still-hard cock, stained with traces of her ass and his cum.
Any objection she might have had earlier in the evening had long since evaporated. Peggy opened her mouth obediently, taking Jerome's length as Marcus positioned himself behind her on the bed, driving back into her pussy with a force that pushed her further onto Jerome's shaft.
Jerome grabbed her hair, forming two makeshift handles as he knelt on the bed, beginning to thrust into her mouth. "That's it, take it all," he growled, pushing past her gag reflex until her nose pressed against his abdomen, his entire length embedded in her throat.
Peggy's eyes watered, oxygen becoming scarce as Jerome held her in place on the bed, her throat bulging visibly around his girth. Just as spots began dancing in her vision, he withdrew enough for her to gasp a desperate breath before plunging back in.
Marcus increased his pace from behind, the bed frame creaking in protest under their combined movements, his hands leaving bruises on her hips as he pounded her swollen pussy. "You were made for this," he told her, one hand reaching beneath to roughly pinch her clit. "Taking cock like a champion."
The dual assault continued relentlessly on the bed, Peggy suspended between them like a ragdoll, used for their pleasure and discovering, to her shock, depths of her own pleasure she never knew existed. Jerome established a brutal rhythm, fucking her face with abandon while Marcus matched him stroke for stroke from behind, the bed rocking violently beneath them.
When Jerome approached his second climax, he pulled out, stroking his massive shaft rapidly just inches from Peggy's face as she knelt on the rumpled sheets. "Open wide," he commanded.
Peggy complied, tongue extended, eyes locked on the enormous cock before her. Jerome grunted, his release erupting in powerful jets that splashed across her face, filling her open mouth, coating her tongue, and streaking across her cheeks and forehead. The volume was staggering--so much that it overflowed her mouth, running down her chin in thick rivulets while more continued to pump from his seemingly endless reserves, some of it dripping onto the sheets below.
She tried to swallow, but another blast hit the back of her throat, causing cum to explode from her nostrils and squeeze out the corners of her mouth, creating white streams that ran down her face to drip onto her bouncing breasts below.
Marcus pulled out abruptly, flipping Peggy onto her back on the bed and straddling her chest. He gripped his cock, stroking furiously while Jerome repositioned himself between her legs, driving back into her cum-filled pussy. Marcus aimed deliberately, his release splattering across her already glazed face, adding to the mask of white that rendered her nearly unrecognizable against the dark pillows.
"Please," Peggy begged into the cum-soaked pillow, though she wasn't sure what she was begging for--for them to stop or to never stop.
The night continued in a blur of positions and sensations on the increasingly messy bed. Both men took turns in each of her holes, sometimes alone, sometimes together. There was a period where they both squeezed into her ass simultaneously, the pain-pleasure so intense that Peggy blacked out momentarily, coming to with both men still pumping into her impossibly stretched hole, the bed creaking dangerously beneath them.
Dawn broke with Peggy on her knees in the center of the bed, her body a canvas of their releases--cum matting her hair, glazing her face, dripping from her swollen breasts, leaking from her thoroughly used holes into the ruined sheets. Both men stood over her on the mattress, still hard despite the countless orgasms, taking turns feeding her their cocks while stroking themselves to maintain their arousal.
"One more time," Marcus said, positioning her on her back on the bed, legs spread wide across the soiled silk. "Show me how much you love this black cock now."
"Please," Peggy whispered, her voice raw from screaming and throat-fucking. "Fill me again. Make me yours."
Marcus entered her with measured strokes, savoring her submission as the bed gently rocked beneath them. Jerome knelt nearby on the mattress, slowly stroking himself as he watched, occasionally leaning closer to slap his heavy cock against her cum-streaked face or dripping breasts.
As Marcus's thrusts grew more purposeful, he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as the headboard tapped rhythmically against the wall. "You'll look beautiful carrying my babies, agent."
The implication should have horrified her. Instead, Peggy found herself wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into the soft mattress, her pussy clenching around him as another orgasm built. "Yes," she hissed, beyond caring about consequences. "Give me your babies. Fill me with your cum."
Marcus groaned, burying himself to the hilt as he released deep inside her, flooding her womb with potent seed that might already have taken root during their night of debauchery.
As Marcus withdrew, cum gushing from her well-used pussy onto the expensive sheets, he cupped her tear and cum-stained face with surprising tenderness. "You're mine now," he stated simply.
Peggy, broken and reborn in a single night, could only nod in agreement as Jerome approached for his turn, the bed dipping under his weight as he prepared to add his seed to the reservoir already filling her womb.
Some part of her--the agent, the professional--knew she should be horrified at her complete surrender. But as Jerome's massive cock stretched her anew and Marcus's tongue found her nipple, that voice grew fainter, replaced by a new truth: she belonged to them now, and the thought filled her with unexpected contentment.
Hours later, after brief moments of rest that did little to dampen their seemingly inexhaustible desire, Marcus and Jerome exchanged a meaningful look over Peggy's trembling form on the bed.
"I think she's ready," Marcus said, his voice thick with anticipation.
Jerome nodded, his massive hands caressing Peggy's curves with surprising gentleness against the silk sheets. "She's proven she can take us both."
Peggy, lying between them on the luxurious bed, looked from one to the other with a mixture of apprehension and arousal. "What are you planning?" she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.
Marcus smiled, the predatory gleam returning to his eyes as he positioned himself behind her, pressing his still-hard cock against her thoroughly stretched ass. "Something special," he promised, slowly pushing into her, the way eased by countless loads already deposited there.
Peggy moaned at the familiar fullness, but her eyes widened when Jerome moved behind her on the bed as well, positioning the massive head of his cock against her already occupied ass.
"Wait," she gasped, clutching at the sheets, understanding dawning. "You can't possibly mean--"
Her protest dissolved into a scream as Jerome began to press forward, the impossible pressure building as the rim of her ass struggled to accommodate a second massive intrusion. The burning stretch was beyond anything she'd felt before, her body fighting what her mind now craved.
"Breathe," Marcus instructed, remaining perfectly still as Jerome continued his relentless advance into her body.
Tears streamed down Peggy's face as her body finally surrendered, Jerome's cock sliding in alongside Marcus's, stretching her ass beyond what seemed anatomically possible. The fullness was overwhelming, bordering on agony, yet something deeper within her responded to the complete possession, the absolute submission required.
"Oh God," she sobbed into the pillow as they began to move in careful, shallow thrusts. "Oh my God!"
The impossible fullness gradually transformed, pain melting into a pleasure so intense it bordered on religious experience. Each small movement sent lightning through her nervous system, her body convulsing with sensations that transcended normal categories of pleasure.
They established a rhythm, one pushing in as the other withdrew slightly, never leaving her empty, always keeping her stretched to her absolute limit. Peggy lost herself in the sensation, her mind emptied of everything but the overwhelming fullness and the sounds escaping her own throat--animalistic, primal noises she'd never heard herself make before.
When they finally tired of this configuration, they rearranged her boneless form on the king-sized bed, positioning her above Marcus as he lay on his back against the silk sheets. He guided her down onto his cock, filling her pussy with one smooth thrust. Before she could adjust, Jerome positioned himself at the same entrance, the mattress dipping under his weight as the head of his massive shaft pressed against her already stretched opening.
"No, not there too," she protested weakly, though her body betrayed her, growing wetter at the prospect. "I can't--"
Jerome silenced her with a deep kiss as he pushed forward, the tight ring of her entrance stretching impossibly wider to accommodate both men. The sensation of being filled beyond capacity in her most intimate place sent Peggy into an immediate, screaming orgasm that seemed to have no end, wave after wave crashing through her as both men established a punishing rhythm against the creaking bed.
She lost track of time, lost in a sea of sensation as they used her thoroughly, her body nothing but a vessel for their pleasure and, paradoxically, her own transcendent ecstasy. When they finally tired of this position, Marcus lifted her effortlessly from the bed, her legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck as he stood beside the mattress.
Her weight drove her down on his cock, impaling her completely as he gripped her ass, using his powerful arms to lift and lower her onto his shaft. Jerome knelt on the edge of the bed, stroking himself as he watched, occasionally leaning forward for Peggy to lick the head of his cock before Marcus bounced her again.
The position allowed Marcus to hit spots deep inside her that triggered a new kind of orgasm--deeper, more all-encompassing. As it built within her, she clung to him desperately, her nails leaving crescents in his broad shoulders.
"I'm coming," she gasped, her internal muscles clamping down on his invading length. "Oh God, I'm coming again!"
The orgasm hit with such force that Marcus momentarily lost his grip. He set her on her feet beside the bed, but Peggy's legs immediately gave way as convulsions wracked her body. She managed to stay upright by gripping the bedpost, one hand desperately working between her legs as the orgasm continued to roll through her.
To the men's evident surprise and delight, her ongoing climax triggered something new--a powerful gush of clear fluid erupting from her in pulsing waves, splashing across the luxurious bedside rug. Peggy cried out in shock and renewed pleasure as she experienced her first squirting orgasm, her body releasing in a way she never knew possible.
"Magnificent," Marcus breathed, watching the puddle grow beneath her trembling legs.
Neither man wasted time admiring the sight for long. Marcus positioned himself sitting on the edge of the bed, his cock standing proudly at attention. Jerome guided Peggy forward, bending her at the waist until her mouth engulfed Marcus's waiting shaft. The moment her lips sealed around him, Jerome positioned himself behind her, driving his massive length into her quivering pussy in one powerful thrust.
The force pushed her further onto Marcus's cock, her throat bulging visibly as she took him to the base. They established a brutal rhythm, Jerome's powerful thrusts from behind driving her forward onto Marcus's cock, then retreating just enough for her to snatch a quick breath before the cycle repeated.
The sounds filled the bedroom--wet, obscene slapping as Jerome's pelvis connected with her ass, the gurgling, choking sounds as she struggled to accommodate Marcus's full length in her throat, the men's grunts of pleasure as they used her from both ends.
Jerome's hands gripped her thighs, lifting her feet completely off the plush carpet as they continued to spit-roast her, her body suspended between them, completely at their mercy. The position allowed him even deeper access, his cock battering her cervix with each thrust while Marcus's hand tangled in her hair, controlling the depth and pace of her oral service.
Peggy surrendered completely to the experience, her mind floating in a space beyond thought, beyond identity. She was nothing but sensation, nothing but pleasure and fullness and submission. The men used her body as an instrument of their desire, playing her with expertise that extracted sounds and responses she never knew she was capable of.
As dawn approached, all three collapsed in exhaustion on the massive bed, their bodies slick with sweat and various fluids, the sheets soaked and tangled beneath them. Peggy lay between them on the mattress, every hole leaking their combined releases, her mind slowly returning from the transcendent space they'd taken her to.
Marcus stroked her hair with surprising tenderness. "You're extraordinary," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Jerome nodded in agreement, his large hand resting possessively on her hip. "Never seen anyone take us both like that."
Peggy found herself smiling despite the aches already making themselves known throughout her thoroughly used body. "I never knew..." she whispered, not finishing the thought.
Marcus seemed to understand. "Most don't," he said simply. "Most never discover what they're truly capable of."
As sleep claimed her, Peggy's last conscious thought was that her life had irreversibly changed. The prim and proper agent was gone, replaced by a woman who had discovered depths of pleasure and surrender she never imagined possible. Whatever came next--whether returning to her mission or something entirely new--she knew she could never go back to who she had been before.
And somehow, that thought didn't frighten her at all.
The contractions came suddenly—sharp, insistent waves that made Peggy pause mid-step in her spacious bedroom. Her hand instinctively cradled her heavily swollen belly, the taut skin marked with faint stretch marks that Marcus loved to trace with his tongue. Her once-trim figure had transformed completely—full, milk-heavy breasts that had grown two cup sizes rested atop her round pregnant belly, her ass and thighs thicker than ever in a way that drove Marcus wild.
"It's time," she called out, steadying herself against the doorframe.
Marcus appeared instantly, concern and excitement battling on his handsome face. He'd been attentive throughout her pregnancy, his powerful hands massaging her swollen feet, his mouth worshipping her increasingly sensitive body. Even as her belly grew, he'd taken her almost daily, sometimes gently, sometimes with the same ferocity as that first night, her pregnant form only seeming to inflame his desire.
"I'll get the car," he said, already reaching for his keys when Peggy's phone rang—the special tone she'd assigned to SHIELD communications.
Peggy hesitated, then answered as another contraction gripped her. "Carter," she managed, her voice tight with pain.
"Peggy, it's Howard," came the familiar voice of Howard Stark, sounding uncharacteristically emotional. "I need you to sit down for this."
"I'm already having contractions, Howard," she replied tersely. "Just tell me what's happened."
A pause, then: "It's Steve. We found him, Peg. Rogers is alive."
The words hung in the air, words that once would have stopped her heart with joy. Steve Rogers—the man she'd mourned, the love she'd thought lost forever.
"He was in the ice all this time," Howard continued, his voice quickening with excitement. "The serum kept him in some kind of suspended animation. He's asking for you, Peggy. First thing when he woke up—wanted to know where you were, said something about owing you a dance."
Another contraction hit, stronger than the last. Marcus returned, noticed her expression, and stood silently, watching her face with unreadable eyes.
"Peggy? Did you hear what I said? Captain America is alive, and he's asking for you," Howard pressed. "This is the man you cried over for months. The man whose picture you kept on your desk for years."
Peggy's free hand found Marcus's, their fingers intertwining as he placed his other palm protectively over her belly, where his child—their child—kicked vigorously, as if sensing the momentous decision at hand.
Her mind flashed back to the conversation they'd had months ago, after that first night when she'd returned to his club the next day not for the mission, but for him. They'd been lying in his bed, her body still humming from another marathon session of pleasure, when Marcus had stroked her hair and chuckled.
"You know what's ironic, Agent Carter?" he'd said, his deep voice rumbling against her ear where it pressed to his chest. "Your mission was a complete waste of time."
She'd stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"
Marcus had laughed again, louder this time. "Hydra? In my club? Please. Those Nazi bastards would never mix with 'my kind,' as they put it. I run a legitimate business—the best damn pleasure club in the city, sure, but legitimate. The only thing in my basement is premium imported alcohol and my private collection of jazz records."
The revelation had stunned her—all that had happened, her complete surrender, had been unnecessary for the mission. She could have walked away at any point.
But she hadn't wanted to.
"I think part of you knew," Marcus had continued, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her bare skin. "I think you wanted an excuse to let go, to experience something your Captain America could never give you."
He'd been right, of course. That night had awakened something in her that had always been there, dormant beneath her professional exterior. Not just the pleasure—though God knew she'd experienced ecstasy beyond imagining—but the freedom to surrender, to be taken completely, to be wanted so thoroughly that nothing else mattered.
In the months since, as her body changed with his child growing inside her, Peggy had found a contentment she'd never known before. Marcus had introduced her to his legitimate business interests—extensive and impressive—and she'd discovered his philanthropic work in the community, the scholarships he funded, the opportunities he created. The man she'd thought might be connected to Hydra was actually doing more good than SHIELD in many ways, without the bureaucracy and political games.
And he worshipped her—every new curve, every mood swing, every bizarre craving. Jerome had remained a frequent visitor to their bedroom, the three of them exploring new boundaries of pleasure as her pregnancy progressed, finding positions that accommodated her changing body.
Now, with Steve's return and her child's impending birth happening simultaneously, the universe was asking her to choose.
"Peggy?" Marcus's voice was soft, uncertain for perhaps the first time since she'd met him. His eyes—always confident, always commanding—now held a vulnerability that squeezed her heart.
Another contraction ripped through her, more intense than the last. Life pushing forward, demanding to be acknowledged.
"Peggy, are you there? What should I tell Rogers?" Howard's voice crackled through the phone, impatient and confused.
Peggy met Marcus's gaze, her decision crystallizing with perfect clarity. She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles before placing it back on her belly where their child moved beneath his palm.
"Tell him I've moved on, Howard," she said firmly into the phone. "Tell him I wish him well, but my life is here now."
"What? Peggy, this is Steve Rogers we're talking about," Howard sputtered, disbelief evident in his voice. "The man you loved. The man who sacrificed everything. You can't be serious."
"I've never been more serious," she replied calmly as Marcus's face broke into a radiant smile. "People change, Howard. I've found where I belong."
"With that club owner?" Howard asked incredulously. "Peggy, I've heard rumors... this isn't like you."
"That's where you're wrong," she said, wincing as another contraction began. "This is exactly who I am now. Goodbye, Howard. I have a baby to deliver."
She ended the call as Marcus pulled her close, his hand sliding possessively around to cup her ass as he kissed her deeply, passionately, his other hand still protecting their unborn child.
"My queen," he murmured against her lips.
"My king," she answered without hesitation.
Another contraction made her gasp, more urgent than before. "But your queen needs to get to the hospital now, unless you want to deliver this baby yourself."
Marcus laughed, sweeping her into his arms with ease despite her increased weight. "I'd do it if necessary, but I'd rather have doctors nearby for my child's grand entrance."
As he carried her to the car, Peggy felt a surprising sense of peace. Steve Rogers had been her past—a good man, a hero, but a man of his time. Marcus was her present and future—complex, powerful, sometimes dangerous, but undeniably hers, as she was undeniably his.
The life growing inside her kicked again, strong and insistent like both its parents. Peggy smiled, placing a protective hand over her belly. Whatever SHIELD or Hydra or the world might throw at them, she had found her path—not as a perfect agent, but as a woman embracing all aspects of herself, including desires she'd once denied.
As Marcus carefully placed her in the passenger seat, then leaned in to kiss her with soul-consuming intensity, his hand sliding between her thighs even as she groaned through another contraction, Peggy knew with absolute certainty—she was exactly where she belonged.
Steve Rogers had returned too late. Peggy Carter had already been claimed, body and soul, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Howard Stark sat alone in his office, the phone still warm in his hand after Peggy's shocking response about Steve. The sunset cast long shadows across his desk, where a manila folder had been waiting all day—a folder he'd been avoiding.
With a resigned sigh, he finally pulled it toward him, flipping it open to reveal the SHIELD intelligence report his agents had compiled. The heading read simply: "Agent Margaret 'Peggy' Carter - Status Update."
His eyes skimmed the clinical text, each word making his frown deepen.
"Following the Onyx Room operation, Agent Carter began volunteering exclusively for similar infiltration missions... relationship with target Marcus King continuing beyond operational requirements... intelligence suggests King now coordinates her 'assignments' with various high-value targets... Agent Carter appears to be operating outside standard SHIELD protocols..."
Clipped to the report was a surveillance photograph that made Howard's breath catch. Peggy—unmistakably pregnant, perhaps eight months along—standing outside the Onyx Room in a dress that could barely contain her transformed figure. Her face wore an expression of complete contentment, Marcus's possessive hand visible on her lower back, guiding her inside.
Howard stared at the image of his once-most-trusted agent, the woman who had helped him build SHIELD from the ground up. She looked radiant, yes, but so far removed from the Peggy Carter he'd known.
What would he tell Steve? How could he possibly explain that the woman Captain America had carried in his compass, the woman he'd crashed into the ice thinking about, had transformed into... this?
With a heavy exhale, Howard closed the folder and placed it in his desk drawer.
"Sorry, Steve," he murmured to the empty office. "Some things are better left unsaid."
He turned to the window, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the city skyline, wondering when exactly he'd lost Peggy Carter—to Marcus King, to her own newly discovered desires, or to a mission that had spiraled far beyond anyone's control.
The answer, he suspected, didn't matter anymore. Peggy had made her choice, and judging by the photograph, she had no regrets.
~ THE END ~