Dr Strange S Love

Dr. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, spoke in a remarkably clear, focused voice. "Feel your power flow and ebb. Let it rise and fill you, but always be prepared to put a stopper on it. Be aware of how much energy you draw into yourself—for now, allow it to build."

Clea, his disciple and student, listened to his words intently. "Yes... it's building nicely," she moaned, barely able to stop herself from biting her lower lip. Her body was speeding now to take Strange's instruction most acceptably, driving up and down to kiss his throbbing length both softly and deeply.

As a master of the mystic arts, sex magick was just one of the many expressions of Dr. Strange's power. He could ill afford to let twentieth-century Puritanism keep him from exercising it, or from instructing the lovely Clea in its usage. In fact, in the masonic privacy of his Sanctum Sanctorum, the more pressing concern was in giving sex magick only its due lecture; not putting excessive attention on it.

"It's good, Stephen... so good." Clea was a very good student. Most eager to learn.

Atop the silk-sheeted bed whose coverings were themselves woven with occult runes against the demon Nightmare and others who might take advantage of the occupant's sleep, Strange leaned down upon his lover, pressing his body's meager weight upon her sex. He did not return Clea's verbal affection; the proper time had come in the rite to chant some of the Maundering Melodies of Mordun.

Though her white-tressed head rolled from side to side, he stroked his fingers across her sweaty face to guide her attention back to him—clearly and slowly he enunciated the proper cantrips, his face set and stern. Clea stared up at him, marking the upswing of his soft words with each thrust into and withdrawal from her gripping passage. As she tried to keep careful mental note of each and every pronunciation, her hands slithered down his naked back to the muscles of his driving ass... at another hearty thrust, she gripped him tightly, squeezing as though she could force her own orgasm out from somewhere in his wiry body.

"Fuck me, Stephen!" she demanded hotly, her magenta-tipped fingernails in Strange's skin now jarring even his well-honed discipline. With the strength of the Faltine, her arms drew him down to crush her breasts under the weight of his chest, making him delightedly aware of the hotness of her nipples rubbing through his chest hair. "Oh, complete my pleasure! Nothing in any realm I have journeyed to has ever fulfilled me as does this!"

But Strange held himself painstakingly aloft from Clea, completing the present incantation with a guttural twist to his words before he gave in, indulging her, kissing her on a mouth that was waiting eagerly for his tongue. He found the sweet, secret honeycomb between her lips; Clea lashing her own tongue against his as if trying to repel an invader. When he broke the kiss off, she was still enthralled in it, and went wild upon his distinguished face—licking it, kissing it, trying to draw him into another passionate soul-kiss.

Cresting one hand to her brow and splaying the other over her sternum, Strange held Clea in place as he continued to drive himself into her. "You must pay attention, Clea—do not lost yourself in the specifics of this ritual. Concentrate on the desired outcome. Mind the energies you conjure."

"Yes, Stephen, you're right..." Clea nodded desperately, then she arched up with her breasts, bringing the stiffness of her lavender-tipped nipples into the light. "Suck them, please—I'll come if you suck them...!"

Strange let little of his frustration translate to the motions he made into Clea; he could tell this would be a decidedly unproductive session. All he could do now was conclude the ritual to the patron-god Mordun's satisfaction and hope Clea had enjoyed herself.

Though he had to admit, he certainly had himself.

Ignoring her hands clawing in his hair, trying to force him to her perky bosom, he hunched down on her jerking body, rushing through the proper rites as Clea raised her legs like cannons preparing to fire. To either side of him they jerked around helplessly, like a puppet being mangled by his thoughtless usage. Strange ignored their well-muscled smoothness, only allowing himself to think of the minor negative energy and poltergeist activity he hoped to dispel from Columbus Circle with this ceremony.

Finishing the incantation with a gentle touch to either of Clea's heaving breasts, her left ear, and her right shoulder, the doctor allowed himself the pleasure of Clea's visage. He looked down at her, allowing his baser, bodily instincts to enjoy the sight of her small firm breasts, her pointed nipples, her desperate words of succor—

"Fuck me!" she moaned, as if chanting herself for the magic of bodily pleasure. Her hips worked up and down, trying to swallow the unrelenting hardness of his driving prick. "I'm going to come—I need to come! Oh, Stephen, Stephen—"

So it was when the firm but respectful knock of Dr. Strange's faithful manservant, Wong, sounded upon the chamber door. With a grunt, Strange reached out with a cursory spell and allowed the sounding hole to be unlocked. Wong would not intercede without good reason, though there was some business Strange attended to in his inner sanctum that could brook no interruption. But with the tiny portal unlocked, Wong was free to open it and send his voice into his master's chambers.

"Beg pardon for my discourteous intrusion, master," he began, though Strange sensed his eyes rolling at the well-worn custom after their years of friendship. "But an urgent matter has been brought to our door. The vigilante Spider-Man has apparently—'sold his marriage to the Devil'." Wong spoke the phrase with clear recitation of another's words—a clear rebuke to the foolishness of

some people

. "I suspect a hasty resolution is needed."

Strange nodded; though his body still swayed with Clea's, his mind—as it would be in a voyage of his astral form—was already far away, comparing this new information against the library of knowledge enclosed within his mind. "You were right to bring this to me, Wong. I will be along presently."

"As you say, master," Wong replied courteously, closing the portal once more.

With no further thought, Strange detached from Clea—his cloak of levitation flying from where it was hung to cover him as similar spells cleaned the sweat from his body and clad him in the familiar vestments of his post. In seconds, only Clea was left as proof of his prior activities—lying upon the room's simple platform bed, her body still colored with rushing blood and the violence of their lovemaking, cunt a vivid pink and red, white hair rebellious from the nape of her neck to her sweaty brow.

"What--? Stephen, you—you can't just leave me like this!"

Strange was quick to examine himself in a nearby mirror, both to maintain his appearance and to check his aura for any sign of displeasure from Mordun. "Forgive me, my dear. An interference with the spider-totem is of the utmost importance. I can only pray to the Lords of Vishanti that its discovery leaves adequate time for whatever disaster it portends to be averted."

"What of the disaster in my cunt!?" Clea demanded, jumping to her feet in a most enticing display for all her anger. "I was just about to—you were so—

Stephen!

"

"As I said, I am truly sorry, but the Twelfth Melody of Mordun was only brought to a stopping point, not completed. With ample time, we could've continued through the remaining three culminations—" And Clea's body shuddered in anticipation at the thought. "But at the present, I lack the proper time. You must be patient, Clea—another quality required of a great sorceress."

"Can't you just finger me or something?"

"I fear not, dear Clea. If you had your culmination outside the ritual, Mordun would withdraw his power from this sphere for a time, in his offense. The barriers that separate this dimension from those yonder would be ever more weakened. No, Clea—meditate on my teachings. Allow the mystical powers that have accumulated in your body to dissipate. When I return from my dealings with this most unwise of arachnids, I will tend to your desires." He smiled serenely. "And it will be done only in honor of you, my love."

With that, he was off, his scarlet cloak billowing around his slender frame as the door parted to allow him exit. Clea was left alone, her body still awash with pleasure.

She tried to do as her paramour had said, committing the instruction she had received to memory, but the combination of her unfulfilled passion and the lingering review of their lovemaking made her feel sullen and resentful. And horny. Her body felt like it was on fire, her breasts swollen to the point of bursting, her nipples too raw to feel the clutch of clothes.

Out of frustration with her paramour, she did not long heed his words. A Faltine born and raised in magick, a blood relative of Dormammu and Umar,

she

had come of age in the Dark Dimension. While in Stephen's native Earth, magic was considered no more than a parlor trick by most! She could complete

any

ritual on her own; satisfy herself and give no offense to Mordun. After all... how could he not enjoy the show?

She pressed her hands into her lap, wishing to do anything but suffer her raging desire. Clea did not wish even to think of Strange in that moment. Instead, she thought of a woman. The easiest reference point was herself—she imagined a duplicate of her own young body. Youthful, but far from undeveloped—simply small and lithe, her mystical power leaving her physicality that of an antique Dresden doll. Her body, pale and pink, sported breasts that were high and firm, with blossoming nipples of delightful lavender. She was told this was unusual on Earth. Her belly was soft, as were her flanks, but she was not totally without muscle. Her arms were wiry, her legs long and supple with elegantly powerful calves and thighs that had been known to pleasingly hold a man. And, unusually, both her brief hairdo and the downy patch of fur between her legs were of a lunar white.

So Clea imagined a woman who was her and not her, a woman of a slightly more toned body and darker hair. An older woman, with a less... innocent look. Smoldering eyes under midnight hair—tight, revealing clothes, a dress of skintight green—a woman who enjoyed being seen, even with the crude glances of Earth. One who directed her slender form around in fluid poses and postures meant to draw attention to herself. Yes... yes, she would have a body that spoke of the heat boiling within it, her breasts swelling under her dress, no bigger than Clea's, but well-shaped, and still as firm and proud.

Clea rolled over on the bed, her hands locked over her groin, the flow of her chi bringing her more pleasure than her fingers ever could. It was with a start that she realized she had visualized Umar of the Dark Dimension, sister of Dread Dormammu himself. Though Fate had rendered them enemies, for Umar had sworn to destroy Dr. Strange, she was still Clea's mother—and a very beautiful woman. And the taboos of the Dark Dimension were not those of Earth.

Clea imagined her mother stroking her soft white hair as she had done when she was a child—and caressing her pale body as she had done initiating Clea into the ways of womanhood. She recalled how they had kissed, an unbroken contact that demanded their darting tongues melt together. Her body responded to the imagined feel of Umar kissing lower, lower, until Clea's thighs parted as if for a lover who was really there.

Hardly aware of her own responses, Clea clawed at her burning thighs until her fingers reached into her pussy. She had not masturbated since her recent exile to the Realm Unknown, but now her incestuous imaginings inflamed her without end. Her legs spread wide as the fingers of one hand rubbed at her clitoris, the fingers of the other stroking her sex as firmly as Dr. Strange had before.

"Mother, that feels so good!" she muttered, as though talking in her sleep. It was as if the tongue she imagined slithering into her pussy was really there. "Keep going! I'll come in your mouth if only you keep going!"

But even in Clea's fantasies, Umar was not so easily commanded. The woman departed from her daughter's body, crouched over the prone sorceress, drawing the skirt of her dress aside to reveal the smoothly shorn juncture of her thighs. In the next moment, Umar had laid down atop her with her cunt demandingly presented to Clea's face. Clea could almost smell its heavenly perfume for real!

All of Clea's mind was turned to the imagining of Umar; never in her life had she been so aroused, not even with Stephen Strange. Her hands blurred upon her groin, and though she knew she should slow them, be more gentle with her sex's delicate makings, she found herself unable to control her rising passion.

Clea recalled the taste of her mother's pussy, a drug so powerful that one sample rendered her a craven addict. "Mmmm," Umar moaned in pleased response. Even the great baroness of the Dark Dimension willing to reveal her appreciation for such homage. "It is good to know you love my sex much as I love yours! Such daughterly devotion deserves reward!"

And, bearing down on Clea's face, angling still more of Clea's tongue inside her sex, she climaxed in liquid satisfaction. Clea gulped down her mother's 'reward' as if her life depended on this meal being fully consumed. And as she sucked, she felt Umar's tongue make its long-awaited return to her sex.

Seeking to truly have the pleasure her fevered imagination told her she was experiencing, Clea pinched hard at her swollen clit. It hurt, but the pain was delicious, driving her naked ass in wide, lewd circles against the fingers plunging furiously into her cunt.

Clea thought she would come any moment, just from thinking of Umar's sinister tongue in her sex and her sinful taste in Clea's mouth. But then she felt that long tongue lapping, not at her pussy, but lower. Clea's asscheeks were spread, her hole invaded by a tongue as wicked and winding as a snake.

At that moment, Dr. Strange, Wong, and the Ancient One himself could have walked in and Clea wouldn't have cared. The only thing she gave a damn about was how delicious her oncoming climax would be. Her hands circled and thrust, pulled wildly to her groin as she thrashed about on the bed, every other part of her body given over to the pleasure she was feeling. Her ecstasy was so advanced, it felt like not just her sex, but her entire body would explode.

And when it did, at the height of her pleasure, Clea shouted out unaware, "Fuck me, Mother,

fuck me!

"

And worlds away, Umar moved to do exactly that.

***

The burst of mystical energy, confined as it was to the depths of the Sanctum, nonetheless drew Strange's attention away from his study of Peter Parker's case. Sighing in frustration, he dismissed the relevant documents and memories. Apparently, Parker had recently switched souls with none other than Doctor Octopus. Strange was most eager to discover how he had not been able to sense such a thing.

But that burst of eldritch power... Some god whispered to him of its urgency.

Rushing back to Clea, he found her lying on her back upon the floor, the room in disarray around her. A quick check with his astral senses showed nothing spiritually amiss, and Clea was already getting to her feet. He resisted the urge to summon a set of clothes for her; her continued nudity didn't speak well of her discipline.

"Are you hurt, Clea?"

"No... no, Stephen. I am well." Her eyes sparkled as she walked up to him, hips rolling, errant shoots of her hair catching the light with damp sweat. She embraced him quickly, and he felt the fervor of her breasts through his tunic. "Oh, Stephen, don't deny me any longer! Make love to me! I'm yours; why won't you be mine?"

Cupping her shoulders in his hands, he gently pushed her aside. "As I told you, Clea, there are more pressing matters to attend to. I am Sorcerer Supreme—"

"And yet you can't fuck the woman who loves you? All that power and you can't allow yourself five minutes to satisfy me?" Hugging him tighter, she lifted her hips, rolling her sex against his crotch. Inside his trousers, his cock pulsed with life.

Strange was speechless. Clea pushed at him. He could only resist so much without falling over or pushing back. And so it was he was sat down atop a nearby desk, his long legs swinging off the side. Bulge growing at his groin. Clea pressed herself to him. Kissed him once. Lowered herself along his body, stroking her nipples over the soft wool of his tunic, then his trousers.

She placed her hands on his knees. She pushed them apart. Gave a little kiss to that growing, faithful bulge. It jerked wildly at the touch. She smiled. A little stimulation and the master of the mystic arts was at her service. Without further ado, she unveiled him.

Strange looked down at her in complete bewilderment as her lips opened to encompass his straining cockhead. This was so unlike her. Her tongue moved in rough circles, lashing him wickedly forward. He gasped for air. She thought he sounded like a dying animal; sucked harder.

The first few inches of him were in her mouth now. Her teeth scored the collar of his prick, but the fierce red marks she left behind put him in no pain. The blood that rushed furiously into his cock only made the feeling of pleasure more immense. Now she got down to business, engulfing another inch of him with each bob of her shuddering head, her tongue sanding the underside of his cock. His cock bucked into the back of her throat, each vibration echoing his racing heartbeat.

And as Clea continued to let his cock strain into her throat, a powerful voice sounded in Strange's mind.

Enjoying yourself, Doctor?

His gaze shot up from the spectacular sight of Clea devouring his prick to see the astral form of Umar standing across from him, her wavy visage watching him with a cruel eye. She was harmless here in his inner sanctum, but the insolence of her presence put him in a mood almost foul enough to end Clea's blissful attention. "Umar! Why do you disturb me here? Haven't you caused enough pain in this sphere for one lifetime?"

Still his manhood vanished into Clea's pale pink lips, her tongue swirling around him like he was caught in a tornado. Umar watched with some amusement.

Perhaps I just enjoy the sight of my darling daughter at play.

Once more, Strange looked down at his lover's nude body, finding her now moving her hands back and forth on his spread thighs. She went to unfasten his belt. Distantly, Strange thought of how curious it was that he didn't mind Umar seeing him in such a state, and that he felt no urge to hide their intimacy from Umar. "I see now—misused tantric energy have allowed you some access to this plane. I will have to chide Clea—" With his belt off and his trousers similarly removed, Clea's nimble fingers now found his testes. "Later! Still, I will not allow you to leave this Sanctum and wreak any of the havoc you're so fond of."

Oh, do you see?

Umar's telepathy was rich with sarcasm.

Take another look, my good doctor!

Summoning the all-seeing Eye of Agamotto, even as his cock jumped to the press of Clea's tongue atop his tip, Strange realized his mistake. He had forgotten to check for the Illusions of Ikkon—the first thing any wizard should do, making sure that the reality they sought to manipulate is as presented to them! With a quick spell, it was undone, and now he saw the truth. It was not Clea at all kneeling before him, but Umar herself!

Yes, 'my love'. It's no wonder you didn't recognize the change. I did teach Clea all she knows. And now that her foolish mistake has allowed me into your sweet little world, I will enjoy teaching her still more—and you as well, doctor. I should think a man of your—caliber—will do ample service as breeding stock.