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“Alright so, uh, could all of you kinda stand in a line so I can see you?”
A dozen perfectly synchronized voices: “Yes sensei!”
Saitama winces, this is too much. Having one Genos around was enough of a pain, but twelve? They barely fit in the apartment and he was going to get a migraine from all the talking. He never thought that one punch could get him into so much trouble.
“Okay, so that witch monster cloned you with one of her curses and uh, she’s dead now so I guess we have to break this curse ourselves. Do one of you remember what she said before I punched her?”
All of the Genos’s raise their hands like Saitama was some kind of school teacher. He falters before pointing vaguely at the Genos in the middle. “Ehh, you.”
“The witch said: You worthless fools! None of you could ever compare to my magic. You rely on brute strength yet, not even brute strength can compare to the power of chaos! My curses will disrupt the boringly mundane lives you lead and-”
Saitama cuts him off, “No! I don’t want the whole transcript. Just the stuff she said before you got cloned and I punched her.”
“I remember what she said, sensei!” bursts out the Genos on the far left of the line.
“Yeah, spit it out.”
“The curse she used went like this: A dime a dozen you heroes stand, so shall you be multiplied by my hand. In this chaos you will stew, until someone finds the mark on the real you. I guarantee that is an exact rendition,” the Genos finishes almost primly. The other versions of him turn their heads and glare in jealousy.
“That’s pretty straightforward then.” Saitama smiles and scratches his head. “All I have to do is find this mark on whichever one of you is the original and you’ll go back to normal.” To be fair, Saitama thought killing the witch would end the curses, which would have been even simpler.
It takes two seconds for the Genos’s to fall out of line and start yelling again.
“I’m the original, sensei!”
“You liar. It’s me that’s the original!”
“I cannot tolerate such foolishness! It is clear that I am the real one.”
“I will turn you to ashes for making a mockery of me!”
All twelve of them erupt in a chorus of angry chatter and the whirr of incinerator cannons priming. Saitama can already see his apartment in flames if things continue this way. It’s time to get serious.
“ALL OF YOU. SHUT. UP.”
Silence falls instantly on the Genos horde. One of them mutters, “Yes, sensei,” without thinking and is elbowed in the side by another Genos.
“There will be no incinerating, you hear?” Saitama growls, eyebrows drawn down and fists clenched. The twelve Genos’s nod meekly. “And get back in line!”
They scramble over themselves to comply. In ten seconds flat all twelve are standing straight and tall in a perfect line, chins up and arms at their sides like soldiers. Saitama paces while massaging his temples. “Alright, I’m going to go down the line looking for this mark until I find the one of you who has it. Got it?”
“Yes sensei!”
Saitama grinds his teeth. Could this kid follow directions for more than a few seconds? Whatever. He stops at the Genos at the rightmost end of the line. “You!” he jabs his finger at the Genos’s chest. “Take your clothes off!”
“Sensei, that’s so forward.” The Genos puts a hand over his mouth like some sort of actress.
“Just. Do. It.” Saitama has no time for this. What a bad day for Genos to evolve a sense of humor.
He strips down with no further protest and Saitama circles the cyborg, frowning, trying to see anything that could be considered a mark. He pushes up his arms and for some reason the Genos starts blushing. Did he have ticklish armpits or something? Could cyborgs even be ticklish? When he finds nothing on his arms or sides he tilts back the cyborg’s head. Squat on his neck or jaw either. He even checks behind his ears. Grumbling, Saitama squats down. “Spread your legs.”
“Um…”
“This is unfair!” The Genos directly next to them bursts out, steam swirling from his vents. “Why does he get to go first? I want to be touched by sensei too.”
“Eh?”
“You are so disrespectful! Saitama-sensei said to be quiet.”
“This is unfair! I’m all the way at the end. What if sensei doesn’t get to me?”
“I will grind you to a pulp for disobeying him! You aren’t fit to be his disciple.”
Saitama tilts his head back and looks to the ceiling for some sort of miracle. How could it be possible to get along so badly with yourself? “There will be absolutely no grinding. Now please settle down. I’ll get to all of you, or whatever.”
Aside from a few grumbles, the Genos’s calm down and Saitama begins his exploration of Genos’s inner thighs. Good thing he’s a cyborg and doesn’t have human parts or this would be really awkward. “Nothing here either,” Saitama sighs. “Okay I’m gonna look at your feet now.”
Genos wobbles while standing on one foot, which is weird because Genos usually has exceptional balance. Saitama just shrugs it off.
“I think what’s really unfair is that Saitama-sensei gets to touch us but we don’t get to touch him,” a Genos says lowly. Saitama does a double take. There’s no way Genos could have said something that strange.
“Uh, what?” Saitama puts the Genos’s foot down and stands up. None of the Genos’s will meet his eyes.
“It is rude to assume we would simply let ourselves be touched without any contribution on his part,” the Genos in the center says casually, looking off to the side.
A light flush creeps up Saitama’s neck. “What...What does that even mean?”
“It means,” the Genos that had been steaming steps forward boldly, “That you need to take your clothes off too.”
“Hey, wait a second!” It’s too late, one Genos is already pushing up his shirt, metal hands skimming over his torso. Another starts unbuckling his belt from behind. The pinkness in his cheeks transforms to a mortified red as the Genos’s break formation to cluster around him.
“I want to undress Saitama-sensei!”
“As the original Genos I should be the only one to touch him like that. Back off you dirty clone.”
“I made the first move, it should be me!”
“You’re the real clone here! I know he didn’t find a mark on you.”
Saitama flounders, pressed in on all sides by angry cyborgs trying to strip him, grasped tightly by at least three of them at once. And yet they talk like he isn’t even there. “Uhh, guys I’m still here,” he says.
Mistake.
Twelve pairs of golden eyes swivel onto him. Saitama shrinks from the combined fierceness all directed on him. There’s a low gasp in his ear from the Genos behind him and Saitama shivers. The Genos’s all look at his crotch and Saitama gets this horrible sinking feeling in his gut.
“Sensei…”
“...He likes it.”
“We were right…”
Saitama glances down to where everyone is looking and yup, his pants are at his knees, boxers swelling with a very conspicuous bulge. “I-it’s just a normal reaction,” he stutters desperately. “Any guy would...after being felt up like this.”
His protests sound weak even to his own ears. Slowly, the Genos’s light up with these insufferable little smirks and Saitama knows he’s done for.
~*~
“Ahhh, fuck fuck fuck,” Saitama’s chest heaves and his breath comes out in harsh pants. His whole body is slicked with sweat and saliva and he feels like he’s drowning.
Two of them are sucking on his dick, mouthing it and drooling all over his balls and kissing it with soft lips. Hands toy with his nipples as someone kneads his ass, fingers teasingly pressing at his entrance. There’s a tongue on his neck and a dick rubbing against his thigh. One of them starts sucking on his toes and Saitama whimpers. There’s too many hands on him to count, but no way all twelve can get to him at once. They must be taking turns, of course only cooperating when united against him. His hips twitch but he can barely move, held down at every end. All the strength in the world means nothing in this state and, for the first time in years, Saitama feels helpless.
The two Genos’s at his dick pull back and he’s pushed to his hands and knees over another Genos. His muscles tremble just to keep him up in this position. Not from a lack of strength, but an ecstasy-induced bonelessness. The Genos under him rubs their members together and groans, curling a hand around them both as he starts to set a steady pace. Saitama’s toes curl and his head dips down, a string of drool dripping from his open mouth.
“Sensei.” Another Genos kneels down and presses his dick unceremoniously against Saitama’s cheek. “Please.”
Pliant, lust-hazed, Saitama slips his lips around the weeping black cock. The hands are at it again, so many of them, exploring every inch of skin they can reach, stroking him and petting him with fingers much softer and warmer than metal had any right to be. Must be some sort of textured grip, Saitama thinks fleetingly. The Genos thrusts shallowly in and out of his mouth, holding onto the back of his head as if Saitama was planning on going anywhere. There are definitely fingers in his ass now, prodding him, stretching him out, and Saitama’s fingers scrape the floor as his hands ball into fists.
Genos’s dick, despite being black, is pretty damn realistic. It feels almost like real skin against his tongue, and from the way Genos is sighing and moaning above him (and below him, and to the sides of him) it had to have the same sensitivity as one too. Shit, he’s really turned on by this. Not just the obvious parts, but the way Genos sounds, the way his eyes scrunch up when he feels really good, the fact that Saitama is making him feel really good. The way the Genos beneath him whimpers more cute than an S-class hero named Demon Cyborg had any right to.
The fingers in his ass curl just right and hit something that makes his half-lidded eyes widen and he chokes around the dick in his mouth. Genos pulls out at once with lewd wet sound, member slick with Saitama’s saliva. Saitama gulps for air.
“Found it,” comes a smug mutter behind him. The Genos in front of jerks himself twice and comes on Saitama’s face with a guttural cry.
“Sorry,” Genos says unconvincingly.
Saitama squints his eyes and says between ragged breaths, “Why the fuck...Do you even have jizz…” Some of the come drips into Saitama’s mouth and he licks his lips out of reflex. It doesn’t taste like anything.
The Genos beneath him cries out and coat both their stomachs with the gooey substance.
“It’s a water based lubricant...”
“...it’s the same substance as our saliva.”
“We’re build as realistically as possible…”
A husky voice breathes into his ear, “Why haven’t you orgasmed yet?”
Well, if that didn’t give him chills.
“I uh, I have a lot of stamina.”
Mistake.
“Is that so?” Genos’s tone is dark dripped with honey. Saitama shivers.
He’s pulled back into someone’s lap, an obvious hardness pressing against his ass. Genos tongues his neck and Saitama tilts back his head, eyes still only half open from the come on his face. It seems to be drying away fast, not getting all clumpy and sticky as the real thing, thank god or he would get really grossed out.
“Please let me fuck you,” Genos says in that smooth, deep voice. Unfair, even when he begs he sounds so cool.
“Y-yeah, go ahead.” Why the hell not? After all this, why not get fucked in the ass too?
Genos lifts up Saitama’s hips effortlessly, positioning him and then pulling him down on top of his dick, hard. Saitama yelps, tensing up at the unfamiliar sensation. It doesn’t hurt, but the stretch, the sensation, it’s so strange. Like nothing he’d ever felt before.
Genos moans shakily, resting his chin on his shoulder and breathing fast on his neck. “You feel so good, Saitama-sensei.”
“Don’t call me sensei….at a time like this.”
More Genos’s crowd in, murmuring about how hot he looks like this, about how they want fuck him too. Saitama makes an incoherent hiccuping noise as the Genos inside him starts to move, as he’s showered with the most lewd praise, as his heart races. Too much, it’s all too much. There’s a Genos under him again as he’s pushed forward by the other one’s clumsy thrusts. This Genos lifts his ass up and curls his legs around both Saitama and the Genos behind him, a hand guiding Saitama’s rigid dick into his ass.
“Oh shit, o-oh fuck.”
Genos groans and manages to get into a rhythm, finding the angle that makes Saitama whine and push his ass back. The Genos beneath him licks his lips and sighs as he adjusts himself on Saitama’s member, lubed up by his own internal mechanics, and then he too starts to move his hips, eyes closing and a back arching.
Saitama sobs from the pleasure, it’s so much, so much. His prostate is hit with brutal precision at every thrust, the other Genos fucks himself on Saitama’s cock in time, he’s pulled up by his shoulders and with eager pleas two Genos’s push their dicks in each of Saitama’s hands. Somehow, he’s coherent enough to curl his fingers around them and start to jerk them off. Skillful fingers start toying with his nipples again. Another black member finds its way into Saitama’s mouth and the strongest man in the universe is reduced to muffled whimpers around the cyborg’s cock. A chorus of heady, desperate, noises, surrounds him as five of them use him at once.
“Mmph.” Drool drips down Saitama’s chin, Genos’s precum slicks his pumping hands, his ass is dripping with it, dark hickey’s cover his neck and shoulders. Genos’s dick slides over Saitama’s tongue, stretching out his lips, leaking in his mouth. He feels so full on both ends, and his own dick is squeezed tight, rubbing against Genos’s insides that felt like heaven. His eyes roll back and the Genos’s can tell he’s close. The Genos behind him, teeth grit, steam swelling from his vents, snaps his hips faster. Saitama groans deep in his chest and his whole body goes limp as orgasm finally washes through him. He tries to pull his head back but Genos’s hands keep him there as the cyborg keens and comes in his mouth and then the other two reach their peak as well, shuddering and releasing over his arms, his shoulders. The one fucking him and the one being fucked by him call out his name in unison as they come.
Genos finally pulls his dick out of his mouth and Saitama gasps for air, sinking down atop the Genos below him as his hips jerk a few more times. He buries his head in the other’s chest and trembles, aftershocks still coursing through his veins.
Seven down. Five more to go.
They don’t even give him a moment to rest, and within seconds he’s lifted up in one of their arms, dripping in come and a dazed afterglow. “H-hey,” he says weakly, “C’mon.”
Strong hands hold him up from under his knees and spread out his legs to put him on full display. He pants, squirms, utterly mortified. Genos strokes his inner thighs, careful to avoid his painfully sensitive member, dragging his fingertips down his flushed flesh. The Genos holding him sucks on his earlobe, a tongue laps at his exposed asshole, and Saitama’s head falls back with a defeated groan. His dick is already perking back up.
They’re more gentle now, and the room is quiet except for the hissing of steam, the scraping of metal feet against the floor, little sighs, little murmurs, and the strangled cries one very undone Saitama. All five of them focus entirely on him, dancing fingers over his sweet spots, licking and kissing all of him. Saitama can’t think, he can’t breathe. The Genos holding him slides inside and Saitama moans, toes curling. And then there’s another Genos pressing against his front, hooking Saitama’s knees over his shoulders, pressing his dick against Saitama’s already filled entrance. Was he going to-?
“Oooh, ffuck.” Two, there’s two dicks inside of him. Holy shit.
Saitama trembles as they begin to move, little desperate hiccuping sounds burbling from his throat. And through this all hands are still somehow touching him everywhere. One curls around his once again rock hard dick. He’s pressed in half, so full, surrounded on all sides. So overwhelmed with pleasure he can’t even make out the figures around him, vision blurring into stars, senses shrinking down to touch, mind rising up to the clouds.
“Please, please,” he begs.
“Please what, Saitama?”
They move torturously slow inside him, hissing between their teeth as their dicks rub against each other, squeezed tight, stretching him out so bad. The grip around his dick is teasing him, not firm or fast enough. Saitama tries to buck his hips but he can’t do anything in this position so he just sobs, “Please!”
They don’t give in, keeping everything slow and steady to push Saitama to the brink, edging him until he cries, muscles spasming from the effort of trying to orgasm. Who knew his disciple could be this cruel? Saitama’s hands scrabble at Genos’s back and each breath comes out as a deep moan. It feels so good it hurts, he needs to come so bad. Once it’s clear his pleas are only egging them on he tries the only other tactic his scrambled self can handle.
“Genos, Genos, Genos,” he chants breathily, soaking the words in his lust dripping tongue. There’s a tremble in the hands holding him up, a sharp intake of breath, and finally they fuck him for real. Saitama wails and orgasms so hard he sees white. They thrust into him even as he spurts his last, milking him for all he’s worth before they too find their release with heady moans, More cries echo through the Genos’s as some finish jerking themselves off.
Twelve Genos’s might not be so bad after all, thinks Saitama vaguely as he drifts down from his high, as the Genos’s pull out, as he’s laid down gently on his favorite heart print blanket. One Genos leans down and kisses his pliant lips soft and deep, fingers caressing his jaw line. Saitama opens his eyes a crack to see the words ‘the real one’ on Genos’s closed eyelids.
Saitama pulls back. “Hey, that looks like a mark doesn’t-”
In eleven poofs of smoke the Genos clones disappear. Saitama stares stunned at the cyborg in front of him and Genos himself seems frozen as well. The apartment is suddenly so empty with just the two of him. Genos’s mouth works, but no words come out, steam pouring from his vents and he’s turning so red he’s practically glowing.
“Seriously? After all that...now you’re embarrassed?”