Just How Grateful Hellcat Can Be

Comics, opatsy walker, hellcat, tit fuck, anal, cum

This story is inspired by Defenders 56, in which Bruce Banner saves Patsy Walker (Hellcat) from radiation poisoning. When she wakes up, she says, "When the right time comes, you're gonna find out just how grateful Patsy Walker can be!" It's a super-brief moment, but one filled with a surprisingly clear sexual implication for that era (1978). I banged the main part of this story out pretty quickly, rather than working on another way-too-complicated (but also comics-related) story I've been working on for a long time. It's short and sweet, nothing major. Hope you like it.

While this does not try to be perfectly in-line with continuity, I'd generally think of it as a story Patsy is telling retrospectively, from a perspective sometime shortly after Marvel Divas.

*****

"When the right time comes, you're gonna find out just how grateful Patsy Walker can be!"

Yep, that's what I said, and I meant every word—and I meant every bit of sexual subtext one might read in that statement. Bruce Banner saved my life, and I was going to give him sexual pleasure in return. Nothing complicated about that.

His face got red after I said it, and he stammered some kind of response, trying to pretend he didn't understand what I was saying, but he understood, alright! His embarrassment was so cute it made me all the happier to show him my gratefulness!

Initially, I just planned to give Bruce the best combo tit-fuck/BJ he's ever had. That's my specialty: it's what I like to do, and I'm good at it. When my first ex-husband, Buzz (you'll hear more about the jerk later), was away in the war, he told me that's what kept him sane and alive—jerking off to memories of me sucking him off in a slow and languorous blowjob, then finishing him all over my perky tits in a giant cascade of cum. Hell, once he told me about it, I jerked myself off to the same idea.

Then I went right off to a happenin' surfin' spot with my gal-pal, Hedy, and when she failed to score with some guys, I took 'em both off behind a sand dune and jerked 'em both off onto my tits. I didn't blow 'em, ya know—that would've been cheating! But a couple of simultaneous hand jobs, what's wrong with that? I just needed to feel the cum of two young hunks with giant wads shooting on the skin of my tits, dripping off my hard pointy nipples...shoot, even telling this story is going to make me want to hunt down somebody to rub my raisin!

I guess I'm good at a lot of things, not just BJs and tit-fucking—I don't wanna give you the wrong idea! I'm a top athlete, a great fighter, and I've been a headlining model. But yeah, this story is about sex, and I'm talking about sex when I'm talking about what I'm good at.

Now, I know I'm probably not the first superheroine you think about when you're thinkin' sexy super-ladies. My rack is nice, it's curvy, but lotsa super-ladies got me beat in that department. And I dress in a full body suit—there's no boob window, no under-boob, I don't wear a thong instead of pants, you can't see any of my goodies. And I don't tend to pose with my tits and ass pressed out in opposite directions to give folks ideas about what they can do with me. But that's just 'cause I'm a pragmatic gal. When I'm super-heroin' around, I don't wanna have my tits falling out of my costume mid-flip.

You know, lots of people look at me in my old comics, the ones my mom had published to make me a teen sensation and help my modeling career, and they think I'm a total prude—although others think it's all a repressive cover-up, and I'm really a blow job queen. No middle ground. But the truth is always somewhere in the middle, don'tcha think? For instance, I was a blowjob queen who also liked to get rimmed out before I had ass sex. Oh wait, I guess that's not really in the middle.

Well anyway, I've had a long history in the public eye, and I've got a lot of stories to tell. For instance, I once mentioned in the letters columns for my solo series that took place in Alaska, that I had this one dream where I had a threesome with Dr. Strange and Tony Stark. Well, to be honest that was a family comic series, so I had to call it a fantasy, but it was reality. I made one magical master and one billionaire inventor very happy guys.

And since we know that both Doc and Tony have had past experience with multiple partners (you'd think Tony does it more, but that Doc travels in very kinky tantric-sex circles, where anything goes; and quite frankly Clea comes from another dimension where people really have no sexual hang-ups whatsoever), I was pretty impressed with the fact that I was able to completely drain their balls. Literally—their balls were incapable of manufacturing any more sperm once I was done with them. I especially enjoyed having both of their cocks in my mouth at once.

Luckily they're both long and thin, so we were able to make it work from a pure anatomical perspective. And while Tony especially won't admit it, I could tell he came extra hard from having Doc's cockhead rubbing up against his. Taking two cocks-worth of cum at the same time made even me almost choke from the overload.

And it was a hella fun experience overall for me too-I have particularly fond memories of both mustachioed men's heads down in my pelvis, Tony eating out my pretty pussy, and the ever-adventurous Doc licking out my asshole but good. Honestly, I didn't expect Tony to be such a generous pussy-eater as he was, so that was a bonus right there, but I especially didn't figure Doc to be so enthusiastic about slurping out butt holes.

I'm not sure I could come just from a butt licking and nothing else, but that in combination with getting my pussy licked-and all those mustaches tickling me—it made me come way more than twice as hard as usual. Whenever I see Doc these days I still can't help but think of his tongue in my butt—and I think he's thinking the same thing. One of these days I need to get in on one of those nights that Clea is feeling a little extra rambunctious.

That wasn't actually my first time with Tony. Way, way back, when I first put on the Cat suit, I had to do it with Cap and Tony right there, in the middle of a warehouse! Sure, I asked them to turn their backs, and they did, but as I learned later, Tony had his suit's 360-degree sensors checking me out, and even squeaky-clean Cap couldn't help checking me out in the reflection of his shield! Hey, you don't see a former model stripping off all her clothes, only to squeeze into a skin-tight body suit, every day! I guess I didn't have to take off my underwear in the process, but I was feeling adventuresome, what can I say?

It ended up being a good decision, because those guys got extra horny checking out my T&A during my strip show, and one thing led to another that night. Cap took my "correct" hole and Tony, always taking the edgy route, went up my Hershey Highway. I'll tell ya, that Cap has one thick dick! And he's always considerate of the lady's pleasure. He must have made me come four times before he finished—on my tits, of course, just in case I wasn't on birth control! And boy did he come, that man is a super soldier and a super ejaculator. Meanwhile, Tony was his classic selfish self (I think it took a few years before he learned to love pussy), and he came twice in my ass while Cap was taking care of me.

Anyway, getting back to my idea about giving Bruce one of my patented BJ/tit-fucks, I started thinking—we all know Bruce turns into the Hulk when his stress level goes up. He's tried to manage that problem various ways over the years. What I couldn't believe, once I started thinking about it, is that we in the super heroine community hadn't realized that we could help solve this huge problem! A little sexual therapy would work wonders to keep Bruce as Bruce, saving the world billions of dollars in property damage from every time he Hulks out. I determined then and there to blow Bruce as often as necessary to keep him human.

I would start with what I thought of as an unending blow job. There's Infinity Wars, Infinity Crusade, why not Infinity BJ, right?

Again, getting back to the topic at hand: if I just I blew him once til he came, he'd eventually somehow end up having increased stress again. All that work for nothing. Well, not nothing, I'd get a good snack of cum, but you know what I mean. So my theory was, I would blow him, then immediately blow him again, and again, and again, until he was completely unable to come. I'd drain his balls like I did to Tony and Doc. He would be utterly depleted of all capacity for stress.

Hopefully, it would act as a shock treatment, radically changing his body and potential for stress for all time!

If it didn't work permanently, I would be available on an around the clock blowjob call. If he felt the slightest bit of stress, I would have my lips down by his pubic hair in seconds. Sure, this would change my own role in life. But as heroes, we talk about sacrificing ourselves for the greatest good all the time. What could be greater than ending the menace of the Hulk?

But first, I would attempt the unending BJ.

(Really, what I was annoyed about was that damn Betty Ross. What the hell had she been doing all this time? Clearly, either she was not putting out on a regular-enough basis, or she was putting out, and she just couldn't fuck or suck to save her life. Either way, her pussy was not doing its job, and now I was going to take up the slack.)

Anyway, back to the story.

One day not long after making my initial offer to show him how grateful I was (which he totally understood, and received with a red face), I cornered Bruce in his lab, and explained what I was going to do.

"Relax Bruce," I said. "The happy-go-lucky Hellcat has had plenty of dicks in her mouth, she enjoys licking a pole clean more than any kitty out there." (Except maybe Tigra—she's not only the woman who first wore the costume I ended up making my own, and she is a total slut! I say that in the most sex-positive way possible.)

OK, another aside: just remember that I started out as a model, and you don't want to know what I had to do to get those modeling jobs. Sure, I had my own comic as a promotional tool, but it's a tough business. And a lot of those guys who read my comic, it just gave them years of fantasies about me that they wanted to get a chance to bring to life if they ended up meeting me in the business somehow. Let's just say that if you chemically analyzed my stomach contents when I was 18, you'd find that I was getting an enormous percentage of my daily caloric intake from sperm.

Hell, I was swilling so much sperm that I had to limit my intake of actual food to stay at my professional modeling weight. Those modeling agency guys-and a few of the ladies too (they had spent just as long fantasizing about my comics)-just couldn't get enough of my face between their legs. But, that's what we all had to do.

Hell, you don't think that other redhead, Mary Jane, just became ultra-famous solely because her adoring public liked to see those awesome tits of hers, do you? (Not that her tits had nothing to do with it.) But no, you please the agency execs before you please the public. She swallowed snorkel-fulls of spermatozoa with the best of them. (Not really sure where that snorkel imagery came from in that last sentence, but I like alliteration and you can imagine how much cum you'd fit in a snorkel!) My biggest problem when I went around looking for modeling jobs was that she had already cleaned the pipes of every male in the building before I got there!

Ha, I remember one time when MJ, Chili Storm, Dakota North, and I all went out to some yacht party. Even Jean Grey was there, this was during the super-brief time she was trying to be a model (that's in X-men 48 for those of you following along in the comics that the fans make about us). And at the last minute we picked up this girl Amber, she was a friend of this third-string hero Omega the something or other, I forget...anyway I met her when I was in the Defenders, and she was another hottie, she oozed sex and had quite the rack. She had sort of a Ginger plus Mary Ann look, if you know what I mean. Glamourous and girl next door at the same time. Plus, we wanted to make it a night of all redheads going out.

Oh, the trouble we got into that night. We made quite the line of hot gingers! I don't remember it all, we had quite a few drinks, but it definitely involved us making a bet about who could blow a line of party guests faster. Chili isn't into guys, but she was happy to munch on some rug, so she kept our pussies lubricated while the other five of us spent a long, long time on our knees. Jean dropped out first, after only a few cocks; she decided she'd rather fuck than suck, and took at least five guys into the back room. I wonder if that's what the X-men get up to all the time—gang bangs at the X-mansion? But me, Dakota, Amber, and MJ stuck it out, because a bet's a bet, and we sucked down a lot of cock—and Chili kept us nice and happy while we did.

As best I can recall, Dakota dropped out after 6. She's hot, but not everybody's jaw is made for industrial-scale oral. For me, it's kind of easy—I just open up my mouth and gullet, and let 'em fuck my face. If I'm giving some guy a loving, slurpy BJ, which is what I did with Bruce, then yeah, it takes work. But this kind of chain-sucking? Let them do the work, I say. Dakota was putting too much work in to each cock, and that killed her endurance. Amber blew 10, then got tired of the repetition of nothing but blow jobs, and went looking to see what Jean was up to. That left MJ and I, the two remaining (straight) redheads. We kept going until finally I won, 16 to 14.

I still hold that contest over her head. She keeps claiming the guys in her line were intentionally holding off their orgasm to remember the experience better, and that tired her out, but whatever, she knows who won. And I could have kept going, honestly, we just ran out of dudes to blow; even the guys who got back in line a second time got tired out eventually. You can only take so many blowjobs from someone with our skills. Man, our faces and chests were messy! Luckily Chili doesn't have an aversion to sperm, so she licked us clean as we lay dazed and glazed on the floor, the curves of our faces and tits positively covered in sticky white spunk.

Now my ex-first-husband, Buzz Baxter, I mentioned him before. If you read my comics, you know he was an abusive bastard. But it took me a while to realize that I didn't need to put up with him. I was just raised as a good girl who did what hubby told her. So when he would throw me on the bed, position my head upside down over the edge of the bed, put his cock down my throat, and just face fuck me like he was just fucking any hole in the ground, treating my head like an object that only existed to make him cum instead of something that happened to hold my brain in it too, well I just let him.

And when he would tie me onto the bed, or bent over the counter, and bring in one of his Air Force squads to run a train on me as a reward for a mission that went well, I just let him do that too. I can tell you, getting fucked by twelve guys in a row, several of whom feel the need to go more than once while they've got the option, is tiring business! Yeah, I don't mind blowing a bunch of guys on a bet, but I'd like to have some choice in the matter of whose dicks I put inside me! I mean, it was some kinky stuff, and I did get off on it, but it's not the same as being fully in control.

And cheese and crackers, the cum one accumulates in a long gang bang like that, it's a messy situation! With that many guys, no matter how many of my holes they used, the last guys in line were getting some pretty soggy Patty, that's for sure. (I wonder how Jean Grey dealt with that with her X-cocks?) I would have cum running out of my pussy and butthole, and down my legs, like a stream for hours afterwards. And I've got a pair of the tightest, round ass cheeks you've seen, so for cum to escape out of there, that's a feat. Although honestly during that point in my life, my asshole itself wasn't all that tight, from all the fucking. But my cheeks themselves were rocks!

Buzz would usually not fuck me himself at that point, he'd just jerk himself off on my face when everyone else was done, as if he was showing me that I all was was a target for his cum. Then, whether he was fucking my face on his own, or making me the reward for his team, he'd make me thank him, or whoever the hell had just fucked me, for the experience. Eventually I realized I didn't need to put up with that shit and dumped him. If I'm gonna fuck a bunch of dudes, or just suck one off for hours, it's gonna be on my own terms.

Anyway the point of all this was just to say that I was professionally raised to show my gratitude by putting guys' cocks down my throat! Cheese and crackers, I love it!

So anyway, there I was telling Bruce my plan. Honestly, he didn't resist at all-there was no "but I have to stay true to Betty" nonsense. I peeled off my tights, then removed my bra, showing off my bouncing babies, which are hella round and hella firm C-cups. They're on the big side of Cs, but still Cs.

Thinking back to MJ one last time, the one thing that girl had on me was her tits. Those babies were double Ds; I was nowhere near her size. I know, because sometimes the modeling execs wanted a break from BJs and had her and I make out together instead. So I've licked my way around her rack pretty well.

Not that I'm too jealous of her in particular. I hung out with the Black Cat from my time with the Marvel Divas. Now THAT lady has some tits! Even MJ was jealous of them, she would talk about it during modeling sessions, although I'm not sure why she cared so much, it's not like she was in competition with her for the same man or anything! Sometimes that's all she could talk about, how that bitch Black Cat thought she was so hot because she had such big tits, parading them around all over the place. I'd just sit there and nod and think, yeah she does have some pretty buoyant boobies, that's for sure. And, also, what the hell is your problem, MJ, you've got some of the most photographed tits in the world! Geez Louise, MJ's knockers have been front and center on more magazine covers than there have been kitties on Cat Fancy!

But yeah, the Black Cat's tits, cheese and crackers, I've had a fair amount of time to check 'em out from when the two of us were hanging out (since even when she's in civilian clothes she wears a plunging neckline), and I'd guess they're in the G cup range, and they sit up pretty on her chest like they were an 18-year-old's B cups! How she gets them to stay in place when she wears her costume unzipped to her navel is beyond me. I mean, we both tend to do a lot of flips and stuff, but my costume covers me all up and keeps my puppies in place, like I said; I can't believe those things of hers aren't popping out and smacking her in the face when she's flipping around.

There's a lot of super-ladies who are busting out of their costumes, and I've been on teams with a lot of them. Wanda's always overflowing her bustier, the guys don't even bother to hide it when they stare at her cleavage. She bounces like a kids' bounce house when she just strolls along the sidewalk, let alone running around in a fight. Good lord, I can't believe her melons stay inside her cups at anything more than a light jog.

Black Widow runs around with a hell of a lot of cleavage and a half-unzipped costume too. I don't think anyone understands how Emma Frost's costume stays attached to her tits, she must use some crazy X-technology to keep those wispy stands of cloth attached to her curves. She's a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. That Dagger girl is a bold one; she's got small boobs for a super heroine, but how she keeps her nipples hidden in that costume I don't know. Shanna at least has an excuse for her fur bikini since she runs around in the jungle. And let's not even talk about She-Hulk, who's probably the only one that could give Black Cat a run for her money when it comes to pure mammoth mammaries; her suit isn't that revealing, but I don't understand how she keeps those ladies in check.