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A MARVELous Mishap!

Kamala Khan has a problem: her powers glitched on the training grounds of Avengers Academy leaving her at barely the size of a doll. The bad news? She desperately needs to get back inside before night falls and the school's outdoor security measures confuse her for an intruder. The good news? She manages to barely get inside of one of the open windows of the academy, and even better, it just so happens to be the office of her beloved idol and mentor, Carol Danvers! Who is currently on her way back from an interstellar mission, has no tolerance for intruders, and also has a fat, thick cock for some reason! Wait, did I say this was good news? Bad news. It's all bad news.

Tags: F/f, Futanari, Noncon/Dubcon, all-the-way-through, shrunken woman, Marvel, Kamala Khan, Carol Danvers, lighthearted

Author's Note: Written in a blaze of horny energy over the course of two days. Have at it, I found this incredibly fun. Would you believe it's less violent than my usual fare? But I adore Kamala and I am always ready and willing to see more of her in size scenarios. I'm mainly releasing it now because I feel a bit bad I haven't released another chapter of the Shrunken Girls as Pets story, but work has been killing me lately, like genuinely. Enjoy this in the meantime!

“C’mon, Ms. Marvel… you’re better than this…! It’s not even that high of a leap!”

Then, Kamala Khan took a glance over the ledge, let out an involuntary yelp, and flattened herself against the windowpane.

“Okay, bad idea, very bad idea.” The girl locked her vision strictly outward… though the seemingly-endless moonlit horizon wasn’t exactly soothing her fear of heights. Briefly, Kamala tested out if closing her eyes might fix the problem altogether, but doing that caused her to sway in a dangerous fit of vertigo, and she abandoned the train of thought.

“Ya Allah… Imagine how much cooler this would be if I were, like, scaling the Burj Khalifa… or the Empire State Building!” Kamala grumbled as she shuffled nearer and nearer to the side-edge of the sill. “If I were rescuing a civilian, or chasing down, like, Birdguy or Goblin. Saving the city! Something awesome. But instead…” Kamala’s lips pursed in shame. All she wanted to do was get some nighttime practice in the training yard, but after one overexertion too many…

Kamala Khan was currently… compact. As in, six inches tall, compact. The girl was barely the height of a Barbie doll. And the building she currently scaled was not the Empire State Building or the Space Needle, but it was the glorified office park that was Avenger’s Academy. Third story, to be precise.

Kamala sidled further along the windowsill, cursing herself with G-rated swears her Ammi would probably kill her for if she heard her daughter say out loud. With any luck, control over her powers would come back on their own after a good night’s sleep, but the girl did not want to be caught outside when the school’s security measures activated. After some tiny parkour, Kamala had almost made it to the only open window on this side of the school.

“Okay… open window, just a hop, skip and a jump along the wall.” Kamala squatted a few times and limbered up. Then, taking a few steps back, she sprinted and leapt.

For a brief moment, the six-inch superheroine was flying, floating above a drop that seemed endless. The gap itself was cleared easily, but the moment Kamala’s boots met the concrete outcropping of her landing zone she had to buckle her legs and roll into a stop. Blinded for those brief milliseconds, she had to hope she didn’t lose control and somersault off the edge. But, after slowing to a halt, Kamala got up and dusted herself off, quite content with the maneuver.

“Nice, nice! Hard part’s over.” The window before her was, like all the windows in the school, a design that slid side-to-side rather than upward. This was ostensibly supposed to be more energy efficient by allowing a greater amount of natural light, but Kamala knew the real reason for the design—a not insignificant amount of heroes tended to return to their dorms and offices through the windows when pressed for time, and it was far easier and less accident prone to get in and out of windows that opened horizontally rather than vertically. Though technically this presented a security risk, after several mishaps where heroes flew through windows they thought they’d left open but gravity closed by themselves, Stark Industries saw the writing on the wall and as a cost-saving measure replaced the vertical apertures with their more horizontal counterparts.

Whatever the case, Kamala thanked the Almighty that this window was wide open—clearly whoever frequented this room was a fan of dynamic entries. But it was nighttime, so Kamala wasn’t too worried about getting caught. Getting back to her dorm would be a cakewalk once she made it in—

“WAGH!!”

Kamala tripped, fell the equivalent of ten feet onto the seat of an office chair, and then sprung upward, flailing helplessly through the air before faceplanting on a hardwood desk.

“ACH… agh… could’ve stuck that landing a bit better…”

Kamala peeled her rubbery limbs off the hardwood desk and tried to grab her head to keep it from spinning. “Alhamdulillah… at least I’m in here and not out there.” Standing up was a challenge, but eventually Kamala managed to place both boots on the tabletop that doubled as the ground and not fall over while doing it.

The overhead light was off, though from the sliver of moonlight that entered through the open window Kamala could make out most of her immediate surroundings on the desk, which included picture frames, paper weights, a computer monitor, and—serendipitously—a no-frills desk lamp. The girl trotted to the device and had to use both hands to pull the switch, bathing the desk and the room at large in a warm chiaroscuro. “Now… I need to figure out where the heck I am… and see if I can find someone who can… help…”

In the darkness, it’d been impossible to make out. But with the added glow of the lantern, the picture frames became stark. A military graduation. Air Force regalia. An Avengers group photo. Nova Corps accolades. Fan meet ‘n’ greets. All centered around one blonde woman with a hard-jawed grin and a utilitarian pixie cut.

“Oh. Oh no.”

Kamala recoiled backward, inadvertently knocking over a nameplate that she rushed to set back up before jumping away as she read the title.

C. Danvers.

Kamala Khan had somehow managed to sneak into Captain Marvel’s office.

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

Thankfully, Carol tended to be off-world more often than not, whether saving a far-off galaxy from a multiversal monstrosity or facilitating interstellar relations with other sapient planets. Despite her role as a tenured professor at the academy, the chances of Carol being in her office at any given time were slim. Still, Kamala Khan was nothing if not cautious. Kinda. Making a fool of herself in front of her idol was a chance even she didn’t want to take.

The door was closed, but there was enough space underneath that with some effort, Kamala could belly crawl her way past the threshold and hopefully try to reach someone that was less likely to blast her with a star-bolt for snooping around her stuff. Kamala was about make that leap from the desk to the floor when something stopped her.

An errant thought.

Kamala turned to the photos again. One of them showed her shaking hands with the president. Kamala gave a caustic snort, then turned to an exhibition match between her and Storm as a show of camaraderie between the Avengers and the mutant community. One showed her signing autographs at a school in the Midwest, and another with her teaming up with Spider-Man of all people to take down Doctor Octopus. Hanging out with Captain America, no surprise there, though in that one she was wearing her old Ms. Marvel leotard, clearly posing for the cameras. Steve, you sly dog, Kamala thought. She knew exactly where Rogers’ eyes were pointed. And frankly, Kamala couldn’t blame him.

Once the desktop photos had been exhausted, Kamala turned her attention to the wall photos and clippings. These were harder to make out at her size, but most were candid shots, some even taken during her own tenure as the original Ms. Marvel. Lots of goofing off with her Nova Corps colleagues, a few photos taken during villain fights, and even some regular shmegular hangouts getting coffee. Monica Rambeau, Jessica Drew, Tony Stark? And plenty more adults that Kamala had never even seen before.

As Kamala wandered across the desktop in a daze, examining photograph after photograph, the teenage hero only had one thing going through her mind:

“Why do none of these pictures have me in them?!” she blurted out.

It’s not like how it used to be when she just started out; they’d known each other by name for at least a year now. Kamala had demonstrably helped her save the city several times. They’d taken plenty of photos together—Carol was even smiling in a few of them! Kamala kept the clippings in a scrapbook in her dorm! But, for some reason… Carol had zero photos in her office of her most trusted protégé?

That hurt.

“Astaghfirullah, Ms. Danvers,” Kamala whispered spitefully. “And here I thought we were friend—WHOAGHA!”

In her frustrated sulking, Kamala hadn’t noticed she was once again about to stomp right off the edge of the desk. Her fall was thankfully cushioned, and Ms. Marvel had to dig her way out of the soft padding that she’d inadvertently slammed through. Papers and sheets, each one poster sized, buried her. Ms. Marvel fought her way out of the suffocating pool of dingy-smelling paperwork, feeling more frustrated and angry than ever before. Once her head popped out of the pool, she realized she’d fallen into an open desk drawer. But Kamala had lost interest in her mentor’s office. She wanted to be as far away from here as possible.

She clambered on the rim of the cabinet drawer and was about to leap down to the floor when by happenstance she took another glance at the pile of papers she’d just dug her way out of. And she noticed something.

“Wait… what the…?!”

They weren’t ‘just papers’… they were photos.

Of her.

“Oh… my God.” Kamala reached down and grabbed ahold of one of the photographs. Unrolling it revealed her, in a clandestine shot surely taken by a paparazzi. For as much as Kamala pored over the media’s pics of her idol, she successfully managed to avoid seeing her own photos plastered over the net. And as she looked at this shot, a booty-pic taken from afar of Kamala lacing up her boots, she realized she made the right call. Kamala’s heart pounded and her stomach groaned with nervous anxiety as she shuffled through to the next photo.

This one was a classic, and it made a muffled gasp leave Kamala’s mouth. She hadn’t even expected anyone got footage of this, but it was Kamala after first getting her powers, involuntarily transformed into the bizarre hybrid of herself and her idol, complete with the original Ms. Marvel black leotard. Kamala’s legs weren’t nearly as shapely as the Captain’s, but they still had a girlish charm to them. The longer she looked at it, the dryer Kamala’s mouth became.

Another photo, this one far more recent. Taken during a class in the Academy, somehow. It was Kamala clocking Squirrel Girl in the temple with an immaculately timed spitball.

“What the—what?! How did she get this?! Where?” Looking more closely at the photo, Kamala realized with creeping horror that it must’ve been taken from outside the building using a high-powered camera. Carol Danvers was a serial snooper.

But that didn’t shock her as much as realizing that many—most, in fact—of these photos were marked up. Red highlighters and sharpie circling Kamala Khan’s underdeveloped chest, the way her ass stretched against her taut leggings, her Persian nose that crinkled when she smiled. There were hearts drawn around photos of Kamala clocking a villain in the jaw with an embiggened fist, cartoony sparkles when she magnified her entire body to become a hulking colossus, lipstick marks everywhere.

“I… I need to learn to be more careful what I wish for,” Kamala mouthed. She should’ve left then and there and never spoke about this find to anybody ever again.

But she didn’t.

Because the discomfort that flooded her was accompanied by something else:

Satisfaction. Satisfaction at being found… for lack of a better word, ‘appealing’ by her idol, her hero… and so Kamala Khan examined more and more photos.

“Oh my God…” the young super mouthed, biting her lip. Once she got to the bottom of the most salacious paparazzi pics, Kamala’s cheeks burned as she discovered Carol’s fixation didn’t stop there. There was a healthy market of online artists who drew superheroes in risqué situations, and though few were able to get a truly accurate rendition of Kamala’s face on account of her mask, they absolutely were able to render her body correctly enough. Even if liberties were, on occasion, taken.

“Holy… my ass is massive in this one.” Kamala whispered. “H-Hey! I’d never do that! Not without lube first at least… i-is that… me as a furry?!” These were somehow even more engrossing than the photos—they painted a picture of more than merely how Carol saw Kamala, but what Carol wanted Kamala to be. Which, in this case, was almost always a cock-obsessed slut (and, sometimes, as an anthropomorphic spotted hyena). It was humiliating in a secondhand way, but like spectating a twenty-car pileup, Kamala was unable to stop herself from digging from one piece of art to the next. She was so entranced that she didn’t hear the whistling until it was too late.

The kind of whistling that foretold the arrival of an interstellar hero approaching at 500 miles per hour.

“Oh no.”

Kamala had half a second to cover her ears before the streaking comet blasted through the open window. The shockwave that followed was enough to blow the drawer shut, along with sending a shudder through the hanging photos on the wall and knocking over several of the frames on the desk. Energy crackled—even trapped in the drawer, Kamala Khan could taste the power that now filled the room, rolling off the latex sleeve of her six-foot-tall idol’s blue, red, and gold costume.  

Carol Danvers was back.

Trapped in complete and utter darkness, Kamala reckoned with just how irrevocably screwed she was. Carol was here, in her office. How long had she even been here—an hour?! All Kamala had to do was leave, like any sane person, and she’d be in her bed by now! Still tiny, probably, but at least she wouldn’t be in the absolute worst possible place she could be.

Briefly, Kamala’s mind went to blackmail. Technically, she had plenty enough dirt on the Captain that it would be trivial to entice her to forget about this accidental breaking and entering. On the other hand, Kamala was very small. She was in no position to make demands.

“Hiding it is.” Kamala dove into the depths of the cabinet drawer. If need be, she could just wait it out in here. Carol was a notoriously busy individual; she couldn’t stay in her office forever. Kamala just needed to hope that Carol didn’t open this particular drawer.

Knock on wood.

But either way, it made Kamala’s heart pound. Quiet, heart! Just got to wait it out… wait it out…

Carol Danvers stood, stalwart and disciplined… before stumbling.

A wet burp erupted from her mouth, and the uniformed hero slowly limped back to her desk, grabbing the edge for dear life as her body swayed and another belch left her.

“Had… wayyy too much to drink…”

Carol stumbled around the desk, paying no mind to the half-dozen framed photo albums that had fallen on the floor, and only avoiding stepping on any of them by an utter miracle. “Those Asgardians… sure do know how to party…” Carol allowed herself a slight smile as she slumped into her office chair, legs spread.

“B—urp—ut… the girls there… just can’t beat that… h—hic—home-grown… appeal…”

Then, a slight rumble, and a shift. The drawer was opening. The drawer was opening! Quite literally the thing Kamala did not want to happen. With a start, Kamala wriggled deeper into the mess, obscuring herself beneath the photos before freezing entirely… and waiting.

If Carol could tell something was amiss, she didn’t show it. Excess lamp light trickled into Kamala’s hidey hole, followed by her mentor’s limp leather gloves. Despite the woman’s Kree DNA, the article was dripping with the vengeful ghosts of the all-too-human sweat that had evaporated during re-entry. The musky flavor beggared Kamala’s mind—what could the rest of her body smell like?

Then Kamala stifled another shriek—Carol jammed her bare hand inside of the drawer and rummaged. Kamala rolled to the edge, hoping against hope that any shifting paper caused by her body didn’t raise suspicions. Safely in the corner, Kamala waited as Carol’s pale, probing hands sampled the corners of photos and hentai alike.

“Hmm… did that one yesterday… angle could be a bit better… ugh, fuck this, c’mere, you…!”

Stuck in the corner, laying on her side, Kamala could just barely make out the photo the Captain chose before it was lifted up and away by her godlike hand: from one of the pair’s earliest joint public appearances, the camera had picked up the precise moment a smiling Carol pulled the starstruck Kamala in for a playful side-squeeze.

But Kamala knew better.

She knew that Carol’s hand, however briefly, had cupped the contours of Kamala’s rear end. On account of the destroyed building behind them, no cameras could pick up that angle. But for months, Kamala had laid awake at night thinking about that moment. Was that a flirt? A light-hearted rib? A pure accident? Was the shut-in geek waaaay overthinking it?

Well, as the photo slipped out from its contemporaries, Kamala heard a muffled grunt of satisfaction, followed by the sultry sound of unzipping. “Oh, this one’ll do. It’ll—hicc—do nicely.”

And Kamala had her answer.

The teen didn’t know if she should feel flattered, violated, or livid.

But when the wet sounds of masturbation hit Kamala’s ears, the girl realized however much she did feel all three of those things, she only felt one thing that really mattered.

And that was extremely fucking horny.

“Y-yeah…” The high-flying heroine’s husky voice came out in a whisper. “I know you wanna shake that tight little butt for me… ungh, God, such a fuckable piece of meat…

“Oh, Captain my Captain…” Kamala’s voice left her in a hush as she began to tease her nipples through her dress. Soon, it became more than mere teasing… she stretched her elastic collar down around her shoulders, yanking her arms out as the dress tightened beneath her now-free breasts before rubbing her fingers along the sensitive areolas. The heroine squirmed and writhed and panted in bliss, knowing that she did so surrounded by the largest collection of erotic images of herself that anyone’s ever known. Of the scattered assortment of wet dreams the young woman had over the years, a not-insignificant amount of them centered around her idol—the idea that Carol not only found her hot, but hot in such a visceral and taboo way? That despite the illegality and moral reprehensibility of it all… the Captain wanted her?! It made Kamala’s heart race and the heat of her Inhuman blood rush through her body. It utterly did away with any indignation she felt at not being included in the group photos. This was leagues better than being posted up next to a picture of the Hulk.

“Hicc—sh-shit… not… working!”

The fist that slammed on the desktop forced all objects on and inside of it to jump, including Kamala. She bumped her head on the roof of the drawer and yelped—“ACH, fuck!!”

It was a testament to her upbringing that Kamala’s first instinctive thought after saying that was Ammi would be mad if she heard that rather than, Oh shit, did Carol hear? But as soon as the second thought crossed her mind, Kamala could only barely stifle the paranoid squeak as she realized the Captain had gone disturbingly quiet.

Then, Kamala felt her world turn with agonizing slowness as a set of fingers grasped the handle of the drawer and pulled it out with uncharacteristic precision for someone so inebriated.

A hand whipped inside and probed for the offending pest. Kamala crawled—to where, she had no idea. Anywhere?! Anywhere to avoid her fate, but fate proved dastardly inevitable. A painful pinch, and Kamala’s leg was snapped up between a thumb and forefinger. “N-no! Get off!!” she screeched. “I’m indecent!” But the pincer was nonplussed. Stupidly, Kamala lunged for the photos as an anchor, in a move that merely ended with the teenage superhero hanging in front of Carol Danvers’ scowl while clutching a big-breasted ahegao hentai frame of Kamala Khan like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic.

“Carol! I—”

“That’s Captain to you… uhh…” Carol’s face approached Kamala, who wished only that she could shrink even smaller. The size of a crumb would be good.

Carol’s bloodshot eyes bulged, then narrowed in utter fury. “Kamala! What the—I thought—what are… what the fuck?!”

“Caro—Captain!! I can explain!” Kamala insisted, desperate as her now empty sleeves flopped past her ears. Her modest breasts hung in a way that labored Kamala’s breathing and put a weird pressure on her sternum. “I promise, it was an accident! I was just trying to…”

Kamala’s words died in her throat as her gaze drifted elsewhere—her mentor herself. Carol had unzipped her costume, slid down her pants, and released her bra, revealing the captain’s ample breasts topped with lush pink areolas. Beneath, her abs formed a mathematically perfect array of rigid, muscular hills that glistened and shone with leftover sweat.

But none of that prepared Ms. Marvel for uncovering precisely what her mentor was packing between her legs. She hadn’t been trying to cop a glance, but Kamala’s upside-down position at the time made avoidance of the sight impossible; and besides, considering what Kamala just stumbled upon, this seemed only fair. And yet, the realization still left Kamala speechless:

The Captain had a penis.

All this time, Carol Danvers had been hiding a penis.

And it was still hard.

Good God… that thing may just be bigger than I am… Imagine that… taking that thing, at this size… it would feel utterly insane… wrapped around it, being filled with the love of my Captain… it would be horrible…

“I knew the ‘Goody Two Shoes’ act was ju—urp—just… that. An act. Sneaking into my office while I’m gone, getting… handsy with my collection… You’re just a little pervert, isn’t that right?” A trickle of drool escaped the corner of Carol’s mouth, and Kamala could see that the Captain was swaying side to side. Carol barely knew where she even was, much less the exact gravity of the situation. But if that turgid dick told her anything, it was that there was only one thing on Carol’s mind. And if Kamala was right, this could be the only chance to get something she never knew she wanted, but now couldn’t live without.

Kamala took a breath.

Locked in.

And announced, in the sweetest, most sultry, flirty, and submissive voice she could muster:

“Yesssss I’m such a pervert, just a bigggggg little whore who wants nothing more than to be wrapped around your bigggggg cock! Please, I need to be punished, don’t you agree?” Kamala thanked the amount of bad fanfiction she’d read over the years for her script, but a part of her still sort of had to throw up in her mouth after saying such things out loud. Not even her worst villains could force such a performance out of her.

Luckily, Carol was far too drunk with lust and alcohol to care about the quality of the rendition. “Oh! Ha! Well, that’s the first good idea you’ve had in ages!”

Then, Carol kicked her office chair back, giving her more than enough space to truly slouch out. The bad hentai in Kamala’s hand slipped through her fingers, but Carol was more concerned with using her alternate hand to retrieve the trace arousal lost during their conversation.

“I haven’t had good pussy in weeks. Tight, wet… ungh, I need something on my cock right now, and… since Nat isn’t here, it looks like youuuu’ll have to do…”

Wait, Natasha Romanov? Those two were a thing?! Oh, this is just too good… Kamala was already envisioning a dozen fanfics in her head when she suddenly was draped in darkness. Kamala’s heart raced momentarily before realizing it was just the top half of her dress sliding past her shoulders, leaving her entire torso bare. Her leggings remained for but a moment before Carol yanked those off as well, their waist tugging painfully past Kamala’s decent-sized ass and finally leaving the girl completely nude.

“Ouch!!” Kamala yelped. “Watch it! That hurt, you know!”

Kamala received no answer because she was approaching Carol’s cock at an uncomfortably rapid pace. As she neared the growing monument, Kamala couldn’t help but wonder if this was a bad gamble. The cock being close to Kamala’s size was an understatement, as Kamala’s face approached the yawning slit, still glistening with precum, she realized with terror that if she herself was six inches tall, seven-and-a-half would be a conservative estimate for the dick’s full size.

“Uhm, ah, hmm… okay, so, maybe this is a bad idea after all?” Kamala glanced up at her mentor who looked at her hungrily. “I, I’m saying, you don’t have to do this, Carol! I-I’ve learned my lesson! If you help me, then we can forget all about this! I won’t tell anyone about your collection! Wallahi, I won’t!”

“Ever since I met you… I’ve wanted to know how those innocent, brown little lips would feel on my cock. Every photoshoot, every team-up, every hug, every training session, the only thing I could think was, when? When can I finally have you as my nice little dickslut? Nothing else has mattered.” Carol whispered in a way that filled Ms. Marvel with the kind of dread that got her heart thumping and sent her imagination into overdrive. Between her inverted thighs, precum was flowing down her body at a rate she’d never achieved reading her lemons.

“It would’ve been so easy, too. You’re so fucking obsessed with me… heh… I coulda made you my bitch anytime I wanted. And I really wanted it. B—urp—but… if the tabloids found out Carol Danvers was fucking her student? Heh… all of this? This job, my rep? Poof.”

Kamala couldn’t believe it. This information was a goldmine. If she survived this, she could make Carol do literally anything she wanted.

If she survived this.

That sentence danced circles in Kamala’s head as she was suddenly flipped right-side up and seated on the helm of Carol’s cock, facing her mentor’s washboard abdominal muscles as they radiated the Captain’s scent throughout the room. At this size, the fumes of arousal were intoxicating, so much so that Kamala almost didn’t care about the idea that perhaps the drunken Carol didn’t expect her to survive this.

“How’s I to know… that the chance to screw my little superfan would drop right into my lap?” As Carol said this, Kamala could feel the monster probing her rear entrance as it grew another few millimeters, slobbering like a dog with hot precum that mingled wonderfully with Kamala’s own discharge.

“So… any last words?” Carol looked down at her protégé and smirked. “I, for one, can’t wait to fuck you into my obedient little toy…”

“P-please…” Kamala whispered, closing her eyes. She spread her arms and screamed as loud as her tiny lungs could muster: “Do it! Split me in half! I need it, please!”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Carol said, and with zero ceremony, her hand squeezed around her protégé before slamming the girl’s body downward on the crown.

For a brief moment, Kamala didn’t really feel much of anything. Her asscheeks were simply too small to meaningfully part in response to a cock that massive.

How anticlimactic, Kamala thought, noting this down for future fics. It may not be sexually satisfying but it sure would be a funny plot twist. Probably not the best idea to get fucked by someone so drunk she can’t tell down from—

Wait…

Kamala felt it. The stretch, the result of almost twenty second’s worth of effort forcing the seated girl further and further down, and with that stretch came the tension of her body unraveling. In an effort to save her life, her powers may have doomed her to the biggest fucking anyone could ever get.

Oh my God. Kamala couldn’t imagine a worse (or best) time for her powers to trigger, but when her mentor’s cock finally inserted her ass by a whole inch, Kamala couldn’t really imagine anything. Her brain had been overwritten, and her bowels looked bloated on account of 1/7th of girldick inserted within. Her ass had been truly and thoroughly plundered, and she had nobody else to blame but herself.

“NGGHH, FUCK!!” Kamala screeched as dribble left her mouth. “STOP!! C-C-CAROL, I-I-I’M—”

“Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho… we don’t stop til…”

Another inch down.

“ACHHH, SHIT-SHIT-SHIT!!”

“Til I say we stop. And we’re not stopping until… you’re more dick than girl, slut.”

It wasn’t just that it hurt, Kamala realized in one of those rare flits of lucidity amidst the pain. It was the fact that the pain wrapped around such immense pleasure. Anal masturbation was something the little Muslim girl would never have gotten away with back at home, and despite her dorm giving her the freedom to explore her body to her heart’s content, it still wasn’t exactly on the list of things she ever anticipated wanting to do. The nerves in her ass were in overdrive, telling her something was going both extremely wrong and extremely right. Combine this with her Inhuman DNA, and what resulted was a cocktail of physical and mental sensations that no human on Earth had ever experienced before. Cognitively, Kamala Khan was in uncharted territory, and it was not a foregone conclusion that she would get through this with her mind intact.

Then, Carol shoved Kamala another inch down her cock, and all ability to form complex thoughts ceased.

“Not… nearly… enough…” Carol gave a strained purr as she yanked her protégé’s body further down the fuck-pole. Kamala Khan’s entire abdomen was now bloated with dick—her arms were like twigs and her legs were painfully splayed to the sides as the junior hero’s internal anatomy was overwritten with Carol-cock.

“P-ple-Car-Cap-I-I-it-g-guhhh…” In lieu of actual words, Kamala’s short-circuiting brain made a lukewarm attempt to preserve the existence of its host by spitting out the meaningless salad of thoughts and syllables currently swimming in the soup of her psyche. Kamala couldn’t move, save the involuntary ministrations of her split hips or the lewd lolling of her tongue, but in her unbearably addled state this was perhaps the only thing she could do to put an end to this demented confluence of mind-numbing pleasure and mind-breaking pain.

But Carol wasn’t having it.

“I shoulda done this the first time I saw you… I know your little virgin bod was tight, but this is unreal… don’t think we’re done, I’m not finishin’ til you’re stretched like a condom… ya ready?”

Kamala couldn’t quite make out what Carol was saying, though the tone was enough to tip her off to the fact their night was just beginning. So, when another super-powered shove down the dick of her mentor arrived, any last synapses of Kamala’s brain seemed to finally shut off, leaving the girl an empty husk to be replaced by the unfathomable presence of superpowered cock that inched its way up her sternum…

Neck…

The blank stare Kamala gave between labored pants was only mildly interrupted as the cock slowly, painfully, squeeeeeeezed its way through the narrow passage of her throat, bulging Kamala’s esophagus before blowing up her cheeks like a pufferfish, and finally emerging past her lips. Kamala’s mouth expanded into an O shape, the cavity of which was larger than her entire head had been previously. Her eyes had gone glassy—if she was breathing, or if she needed breath at all, she didn’t give any indication of it. But all that mattered to Carol was that her protégé’s butt was finally touching the root of her cock, tickled by the wispy bush of hair adorning Carol’s pubis.

“Hnngg… ggnnnnhhh… hnnn… ghhnnn…” Drool production hadn’t ceased—in fact, in response to the salty taste of Carol’s penis invading every cubic inch of her mouth’s volume, the girl was slobbering more than ever. Saliva slipped between the hero’s foreskin and the mentee’s thin-stretched lips, dribbling down her cartoonishly expanded chin, and further down her similarly cylindrical neck, sternum, and torso where her breasts appeared as eyes on the bizarre shape the rest of her body had taken as it molded to the form of Carol’s cock.

“Oh, we’re nowhere close to finishin’ up…” Carol growled, renewing the grip she had on Kamala. Kamala simply stared blankly, eyes oriented in perpendicular directions.

Then, Carol jacked off in earnest.

Immediately, Carol was hit by the sensation—it was like having a pussy in your pocket, one that actually conformed to your cock. She slid Kamala upward, and the teen girl ascended without friction, her goopy rubbery insides providing more than enough lubrication. However briefly, Kamala’s head reverted to its normal shape, though it still lacked the youthful vibrancy that had defined her public persona. Her pupils had expanded to fill her irises, but they saw nothing, truly. The total of Kamala’s response to regaining vocal function was to let out a single involuntary cough of slobber and precum before returning to mute.

Carol, on the other hand, could not be paid enough to care. Keeping up appearances as such a public facing hero was difficult. Despite her tough-as-nails act, Carol by necessity had to consider what the people of Earth thought about their interstellar defender, and the need to suppress her true desires—in this case, fucking an adolescent girl—burned at the best of times. But somewhere in the haze of alcohol and lust and circumstance, all those inhibitions melted away to the point where using her own student as a personalized fleshlight didn’t just feel okay, or even natural… but necessary.

Carol had pulled Kamala halfway up the length of her dick. Kamala’s legs had curled up on either side of the cock, greedily anticipating their descent, which Carol was more than willing to provide. Once again, the upper half of Kamala was filled with Carol-Cock. Her head blew up in much the same way a limp balloon drawn with marker does after being filled with air—all the defining features had been displaced in a way both familiar and strange. But Kamala’s face quickly deflated as Carol pumped her new sex toy upwards again, before bringing her back down. Up, down, up, down.

Even in the girl’s catatonic state, the repetition blew past the mental barrier of pleasure erected around the girl’s mind. That simple pattern of being pulled up along Carol’s dick only to descend, of being free to think and swallow only to have the cock fill her mouth, of being a human only to become a toy.

Training was repetition. Kamala knew this well.

This wasn’t punishment.

She was being trained.

 “How’s it goin’ down there, slut?” Carol punctuated that last word with a drawn-out squeeze of her toy and a pump that sent the tip of her dick a whole inch out from Kamala’s blown-up face. “N—hnng… n-not… that I… c-c-car—”

It was coming.

“Oh fuck, it’s like a fucking vice down there, it’s too much, I…”

Carol’s pumping sped up, and thoughts inside of Kamala’s head were expelled along with her drool as the wet mammoth-cock snaked its way through Kamala’s southward orifice, lubricated itself along Kamala’s guts, and escaped past her mouth before repeating the process, all at multiple strokes per second. Neither participant put thought into the realization that no human would’ve been able to survive this—for that matter, it wasn’t certain that an Inhuman could take being ravaged by the cock of one of Earth’s most powerful heroes.

As Carol neared her limit, her cock responded in kind. While it had reached what seemed to be the maximum of its length, the cock was also expanding, ever so slightly, in terms of girth. For Kamala, this meant the stretching sensation that overtook her body would become more potent—the cylindrical curve that lined her hips, stomach, neck, and head only became more taut. Kamala had always felt like she was about to explode, but only now did those fears truly and earnestly begin to possess her, even breaking through her horny catatonia. But as Kamala opened her mouth to hopefully say more brain-broken words, those words were stolen by a dick that, at this stage, was truly unconcerned with whether Kamala lived or died. All it cared about was the pleasure it felt it was due from this young girl, and it was going to get it one way or another.

That’s what I’m being trained for, Kamala’s realization shook her to her core.

Not a hero, not even to be a girlfriend. She’s training me to take her cock.

It was like a switch had gone off in Kamala’s mind, and suddenly the world made sense.

With this switch came Carol’s climax. Carol grunted with a force and ferocity that Kamala wouldn’t’ve been surprised if it had woken up this entire wing of the school. The cock was jammed in Kamala’s throat, with the girl’s head planted whimsically atop her distended body as semen spurted out of her mouth and nose at uncontrollable rates. It splattered along the table top, picture frames and all. Several goopy globs ended up inside the open drawer of Carol’s photo collection. Many ended up on Carol herself, coating her abdomen and breasts in thick white baby batter that contrasted nicely with her black bra and leggings. And, of course, much of it coated Kamala. The girl’s body, already layered in a sheen of sweat, was soon heavy with white, goopy layers of glaze. Her frizzy hair was awash with it, so much got on her face that her eyes were jammed shut with the stuff, backsplash ended up expanding her rubbery belly beyond what Kamala would’ve thought possible, and of course her cute little butt seemed to do a dance with each droplet of white cum that slid along the smooth contours of her twin mounds. Kamala had been completely creamed.

“Ahhh… ahh… ah…”

Carol panted, even as she pumped, milking the last extra bits of cum out of a nearly-eight-inch dick. As the arousal inside of her was exorcised by way of climax, what was left was a low-level burn, one that gave her a much greater sense of duty and responsibility. A responsibility that, in this instance, told her she should probably peel the girl from her cock and figure out what the hell happened.

But.

She just feels so good.

And besides, Carol reasoned. Just look at her. Belly full of cum, legs spread like the whore she is, whole body utterly encased in the white stuff, and still snoring like a baby. It was insane that Carol ever tricked herself into thinking the whore’s body wasn’t made for this.

“Yeah… you’ll be my little pocket pussy…” Carol murmured as she slumped, her fatigue after a long night of partying in Asgard getting to her. “I’ll… I’ll take you with me… and when I’m horny… or angry… or—hicc!—or… just fuckin’ bored… I’ll pull out my little Kamala… and if you make me feel like that every time… then you might actually be worth keeping around.”

Carol dragged a finger across Kamala’s glazed, quickly drying face, revealing her more obscured features. And she gave her mentee a truly loving smile as she dipped the finger in her mouth, swishing it around a bit before swallowing.

“Isn’t that right?”

And she allowed sleep to take her.

***

“GAH, the fuck?!” Carol awoke with a jump. Her head was throbbing, and a weight was on her chest, but her eyes were too blurry to make out anything. Mid-morning sunlight streamed through the open window, utterly eclipsing any light emitted by the desk lamp. And weirdest of all… she felt something warm and wet on her…

Wait…

“No… no, no, no I did not fucking do that, no, no… fuck.”

Carol’s heart pounded as her vision slowly and steadily cleared, and she realized with dismal horror that she was face to face with Kamala Khan, her smiling protégé.

“Did you have a nice nap, sweetie?” Kamala cooed, voice dripping with sarcasm as she laid a wet kiss on Carol’s cheek. Even though she got zero sleep last night, the feeling of her mentor’s cock suitably impaled on her ass was enough of a pick-me-up to get her through the morning.

“K-K-Kamala… I… uhm…” Then, Carol sighed. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything. If you can keep this quiet.”

“Whatever could you mean?” Kamala said with a smug look and a wiggle of her hips. She wrapped her arms around Carol’s shoulders, who shifted uncomfortably as the heat of Kamala’s body became impossible to ignore. “Why exactly should the ‘great’ Carol Danvers be fearful of me? I mean, it’s not as though she’s been hiding a stash of porn of me, secretly jerks off to me, and then raped the helpless shrunken body of her number one fan. Ohhhh… wait…”

“Kamala.” Carol said it in the same cadence that she gave her most brutal commandments to villains, but her expression had none of her usual steel. Carol’s brows were knit, and her mouth quivered. With a voice so tiny and so strained, the high-flying hero could only squeak out, “P-please…”

Kamala’s smile widened. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Three times a day, or whenever I get bored.”

“W-what?” Carol asked, as Kamala braced her hands on the back of the chair and extracted the ever-erect cock of her mentor from her ass. It was a struggle, and it came with a noticeable amount of leakage that dripped down Kamala’s thighs, but she managed eventually, planting her bare feet on the carpet of the office. Kamala scanned the floor for her vestments—having been separated from her body, they’d reverted to their median sizes, and she took her sweet time putting them back on before she spoke again.

“You. Me. In here. Three times a day,” she finished, pulling the hem of her shirt down past her hips. Kamala made sure to angle her rear in Carol’s direction, still splattered with cum, before pulling her leggings up her thighs. “This is what you wanted, right?” Kamala finished, obscuring her buttcheeks with the leggings that, truthfully, hid nothing about the real form of her derriere.

“I… it’s, just… I mean, yes,” Carol stammered. “But, like—”

“We can save the shrinking for special occasions. I don’t know how many of those types of sessions I have in me. But regular sex, anal, or oral? I’m honestly cool with any of them if you are.”

Kamala slid on the last of her boots before turning to face Carol with that happy-go-lucky smile the junior hero always wore. “I mean, that’s what you were training me for, wasn’t it? Captain?”

Carol’s mouth fell open. Is… is this really happening? This can’t be happening.

She stammered. “I’m… I mean… I sorta thought there’d be… more, somehow.”

At that, Kamala laughed.

“Ah, hah! Ha. Oh, there will be.”

Carol gulped.

Kamala cupped her chin. “But, for now, this is all I can really think of. We can get really nasty later on, after I’ve had some more practice. And—oh! One other thing!”

Kamala marched right up to Carol, who seemed to shrink back in her arm chair.

“I get to call you my girlfriend.”

“Wh—”

“Ahp, let me finish!” With a word and a gesture, Kamala shut Carol up effortlessly. And continued. “You don’t need to call me anything… but in public, or around the school? I get to call you my girlfriend, and you’re not allowed to object. You’re my girlfriend now.”

Carol thought of how such a weapon could be used. The potential for humiliation was astounding. Carol immediately spat out, “No way. Not happening, soldier.”

Kamala shrugged. “Would you rather I call you Master instead? I really don’t care. Oh,” she said, adopting a falsetto, “I’m sorry Doreen, I have to go, Master has requested an urgent meeting in her office. Mister Stark, I’ll be with you shortly, just finishing up attending to my Master’s wishes. Miles, long time no see! Have I introduced you to my Master, Captain Marvel? Howdy, Ms. Romanov! Did you need a taste of Master’s delicious cock too? Mwah, mwah, mwah!”

Each fake kiss grated away at Carol’s resolve, until she buckled, and broke.

“Girlfriend is fine.”

Kamala straightened up. “Excellent. See ya!” And she sauntered out of the door, taking great care to let her developing teenage butt jiggle with all the wobbly goodness she could muster, before slipping out. Muffled, Carol could barely make out a declaration of “Captain Marvel’s my girlfriend now!!” as the girl pranced through the halls.

Carol stayed there, motionless, in her chair, trying to contemplate exactly what happened.

She’d arrived at the office, drunk, in the middle of the night. And worse, during that time, her mentee happened upon her most dreadful secret.

And as punishment for this transgression, she would get to fuck the ass of her obsession at least three times a day.

Carol’s breathing steadied, and she truly considered her situation. And as she kicked her boots up onto the desk, she realized:

It feels damn good to be a superhero.

Comments

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