#evilmarkgrayson

“Shiiiiiiit,” Mark groaned, pushing your thighs further apart, eyes locked in on the place where you sucked him in. Your pretty pussy was glistening, skirt shoved up, framed by a perfect rip in your tights. Your chest heaved above, back flush against the desk below you—the one you’d been working at only moments ago. 

Mark was a good guy. He was a hero. Being a hero came with a few perks. This was one of the unspoken ones. 

The way women fell to their knees before him. With open mouths and spread legs. You, for example, moaned like a common street whore underneath him. Mark suppressed a laugh as he bucked into your sweet cunt, growling at the sheer tightness. 

Guess your husband didn’t fuck you right, he thought as he glanced at the ring on your left hand. He could fix that, he mused. 

Mark was a good guy, an even better hero. The figure with knives for hands that had tried to rob this place earlier now lay in a heap on the floor, out cold. Light work for Mark, really.

Mark had taken one glance toward your desk, where you’d been cowering underneath, and it was game over. 

He'd heard your breath catch, your heart race, and had smelled the arousal that had gathered in your core. It was too easy, really.

In the smoky haze, he’d flashed his white smile and had dragged you over the top of your desk, pictures and pencils clattering. 

Being balls deep in someone else’s wife was a feeling like no other, Mark thought as he pounded in and out of you. 

You cried and writhed and arched, making those pretty sounds that Mark wished he could memorize and keep with him always. 

Your pussy was so good he almost debated losing the condom. A dumb idea, but if you felt this good now? He couldn't even imagine bagging you raw. 

His hand shot out as his balls began to tighten, fingers locking around your jaw. 

“Look at me,” He growled, his other hand gripping your hip. God, he wasn’t even sure where he wanted to come more. Your face? Maybe smear that mascara… 

Or over your tits, peeking out through the satin blouse you wore. 

But inside that perfect pussy—Jesus Christ. Maybe you and your husband weren’t serious…

You came, because of course you did, whimpering his superhero identity like it was your God.

Invincible, invincible, invincible—

Mark made you come again and again, just for the hell of it, savoring the look in your eye. That dread through the haze. 

Yes, he’d ruined all other men for you. No one would ever be as good as he was. 

He’d done it to many women before, but somehow it didn’t please him like it did now. 

Mark grinned like the devil, leaning over you until his nose brushed yours. 

“This pussy,” he grunted, nudging against that sweet spot inside of you. Tears gathered in your eyes from the delirious sensation. “...Is mine.”

He came a minute later, in the condom for once, imagining he was filling you up. Breeding you. Claiming you as his.

And then he was gone before you could blink, leaving you a mess of clothes and sweat atop the ruined desk. 

Mark was a good man and a great hero. The best there was. But somehow, that didn’t stop him from following you home. From peering into your window as the sun set, seeing the pathetic excuse for a husband you’d tied yourself to.

He found himself eager. And maybe even nervous. Wondering what that piece of shit would do if he saw what Mark had done to you. A part of him wanted your husband to see what had been done to his wife.  Another part was so furious that he breathed the same air as you.  

But Mark was not brash. He did the wise thing. He waited. He waited until the world was silent and dark, where not a soul would hear what he planned to do. 

Mark was a good man.

Or, at least, he tried to be. 

Part two here!

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