Trial Deadpool

This is a trial story about the "chatty mercenary" Deadpool.

I don't really like talking about myself in the third person. Actually, don't you think I'm gaining some popularity? They made a movie, and now I've ended up in a porn story...

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So here I am sitting on the roof, legs dangling somewhere around the twentieth floor, and below them is a dirty alley with a couple of dumpsters. I'm in a tight red suit with two katanas on my back. Swords like that. You've seen them in the movies. And if not in the movies, then you've definitely stumbled upon them somewhere on VKontakte, and if you managed to avoid that too,

then you definitely looked at the picture made for this story.

The sun is pleasantly warm, making you feel a bit high, like after downing a bottle of vodka in one go. A cool feeling. You've probably already wondered: what is Deadpool doing on the roof? And Deadpool will tell you: I'm waiting. But what I'm waiting for—I won't say. You'll see for yourself soon. The hands on my watch on my right leg are just about to reach the time when everything should start.

Yes, right now a girl ran into the alley from the street, and a man was following her. Catching up to the girl, he shoved her shoulder, hurrying her along. You tuned into the story just in time, right at the start of the action. Though, when else would you tune in? Hardly anyone would be interested in reading about how I jerked off to my wild fantasies for an hour and a half. But if anyone asks, tell them that white stain on the roof is spilled paint.

The man kept hurrying the girl along, and I got up from my spot and ran to the elevator. In the worst case, it's less taxing on my energy. I came out of the building just as the man and the girl disappeared at the other end of the alley, and I headed after them. In the puddles around islands of dirt, newspapers and little boxes drifted.

The alley led to a dirty part of the city. Scrawny, dying houses made of rotten cardboard stood here and there, trash bags littered every plot, and often even without bags, rusty skeletons of cars. The girl ran into one of these houses, and the man went in after her. In an ordinary living room with a small TV and a holey sofa, he hit the girl in the face, shouting:

— Whore!

The girl recoiled from the blow.

— Fuck, did you think I didn't see you making eyes at that four-eyed freak?

— Calm down, John! — the girl shouted.

The man swung again, but then someone tapped him on the shoulder. John turned around and saw me in front of him. Yeah, this probably sounds weird, but this author is kind of crazy. One moment he writes about me in the first person, as if I'm writing about myself from my own perspective, then he switches the narrative from the third person to third parties, and then back to me...

— What are you babbling about? — the man asked.

— Ah, don't worry about it, — I replied and with a punch knocked all the unnecessary thoughts out of his head.

From the blow, John froze in place, then, like a statue, tilted to the side and collapsed, sprawling on his belly. The girl looked at him in confusion, then at me.

— Are you Spider-Man? — she asked.

Nah, I could have said yes, I am him, but I only say that to kids, right? And porn with teenagers is forbidden, and the girl must be of legal age, so I said:

— No, I'm Deadpool.

— Cool, — the girl admired. — Are you a superhero?

— I'm not a hero, I'm just super, — I replied. Not too pompous? It'll do!

The girl came up to me and placed her palm on my chest.

— And you help poor girls?

— Probably.

Well, what was I supposed to say? That her sister got tired of her husband beating her, and I ran out of money for condoms and had to take on this job? Just kidding, of course, condoms have nothing to do with it. It's a slightly different matter.

— And should I thank you somehow? — the girl persisted.

— Of course, — I replied. — And you even know how.

With these words, I put my hand on her ass and pulled her to me. The girl had to press against me, placing both hands on my chest and lifting one leg, otherwise she'd just be hanging in the air.

— Really? — the girl continued playing hard to get.

— Do you really cheat on your husband?

— How could you not cheat on someone like that? — she answered my question with a question, which was my answer to her question. We both looked at John sprawled on the floor. — He can't even last ten minutes...

— Well, don't be afraid, I can last ten minutes. Where's the bedroom?

The girl dragged me into a room where, besides a bed and a couple of large and small cabinets, there was nothing. Closing the door, she pounced on me and tried to pull off my mask, but I held her hands back, saying:

— Don't.

— You want it like this? Okay, then...

Then the girl got on her knees, unzipping my belt, then unzipped my fly, and my cock sprang free. The girl looked in confusion at the spotted skin, which made the penis resemble a snake that had taken on a leopard's coloration. I pushed the back of her head, and she began to swallow my huge cock.

Well, yeah, a huge cock, what's the big deal? It doesn't bother me at all, even when it gets hard in the suit, for example, when I'm beating up evil female heroes... I mean, when I'm admiring birds in flight... uh, that's not it either...

— Could you help me?

The girl, stopping the blowjob, said:

— I kind of have a cock in my mouth... And I don't understand what you're talking about at all...

— Okay, don't worry about it. Or rather, take it in your head... — I said and helped her do it.

During the blowjob, the girl tried to pull my pants down lower, but I stopped her, and she had to accept that besides the cock, she wouldn't see anything. She only sucked on the head of the penis, and with her hand she worked the rest, sometimes pulling the skin up to the head, sometimes pushing it back.

— Sex? — the girl asked.

— Let's go, — I agreed.

She stood up, unzipping her pants, I helped her get rid of them, pulled down her panties, and bent the girl over doggy-style against the bed. She kept undressing while I positioned myself behind and shoved my cock into her all the way, immediately taking a fast pace, I started fucking her. Somehow, the girl managed to get completely undressed, even though she kept her hands braced on the bed. Well, or I just rarely looked at her.

When the pace slowed enough to ask calmly, the girl did just that:

— Where do you cum?

— I'm not cumming yet, — I assured her.

— Where do you want to? Want it in the ass?

Nothing more needed to be said. My cock left her vagina, shiny with lubrication. I spread her buttocks and positioned my tool between them, pressing hard. It surprisingly easily disappeared into the girl's ass. Apparently, she's been dabbling in anal sex for quite a while if she swallowed my shaft so easily without much preparation.

— What are you talking about? — she asked, jerking from my thrusts.

— I'm not talking to you.

— Then who? — the girl asked fearfully, looking around.

— You won't see them.

— Who won't I see.

No, how can I explain it to her? I'm not Morpheus to explain to Neo that he's in the Matrix. And Morpheus probably wouldn't have done to Neo what I'm doing to this girl now... although, in their post-apocalyptic world, people are wild, you can expect anything.

And, to avoid answering, I, using all my superhuman effort, started drilling her ass, and the girl panted with pleasure, while I was sweating in my suit. Well, not going to take it off? The sight is pretty scary... I don't even jerk off in front of the mirror myself. Well, not as often as before...

I froze, hanging slightly on the girl, and groaned with pleasure. I felt the semen shooting up my cock and merging into the girl's ass. I moved my hips a few times, each time penetrating less and less, and still kept cumming!

When I pulled out my cock, semen flowed from the hole between her buttocks. The girl lay on the bed exhausted, I stood in front of her, zipping up my pants, then my belt.

— Are you leaving already?

— Bye, — I said, waving my hand at the girl.

I left the room, slamming the door. This sound brought John to his senses. He lifted his face from the floor, then got up on his hands, clumsily rose to one knee, and looked at me. Passing by the man, I punched him in the forehead. The man returned to his previous position on the floor.

— And don't hit your wife anymore, — I told him. Though, he probably didn't hear me.

So I left that rundown little house, heading towards the dirty alley where our story began. You're probably wondering—what happens next? And Deadpool knows what happens next. Next comes Nothing with a capital N. Because the story ends here and there won't be a continuation if it turns out not to be popular on the site. What if he—the author—starts writing something else, more in demand, instead of me? Like Spider-Man or Batman?

And yet, you have to keep your balls in your fist and be optimistic. So, until next time!