tagCelebritiesxXx-Men:Man Mutant Cyborg 24/7 Ch. 02

xXx-Men:Man Mutant Cyborg 24/7 Ch. 02

byX Writer©

Warning:

The following story contains a little bit of just about every possible sort of sex one can have, and in some cases, some sorts of sex that are impossible for us non-powered humans, no matter how hard we wish we could. Enjoy, and if you find parts of this offensive, well, just remember, it's only a story! I can only hope that if you weren't a fan of the X-Men before, perhaps, through my writing, you can share and appreciate the fondness for these characters I have had since 1978. As always, your feedback is readily welcome!

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In the world of Marvel's merry mutants, where strange powers meet strange desires, one team stands as mutant kind's last and best hope for a kinky co-existence with humanity...

X Writer proudly presents: The New xXx-Men!

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Chapter Two: In the Heat of the Night

The Xavier Institute, Westchester County, Upstate New York.

1:13am

Bobby Drake noticed that the television room had just grown dark. Well, I guess whoever was in there is done for the night. The young would-be voyeur glanced back over at the other screens lit before him. Ororo Monroe, a.k.a. Storm, was still taking a midnight swim in the gymnasium compound. Iceman had been watching her make laps for a while now, her sleek creamy chocolate form sluicing through the crystal blue waters smoothly. Ororo never believed in using a swimsuit. Heck, Ororo never believed in clothes, for that matter. Of all the xXx-women on the campus, the Nubian weather goddess was by far the least modest. Bobby would have even gone as far as to label her an affirmed exhibitionist. Nude was her au natural state of being. Of course, if every woman was endowed with as fantastic a body as Storm had, the fashion industry would be out of business, and men worldwide would be sporting the perpetual hard-on.

Bobby grabbed the controls of the security monitor and zoomed in. Ororo's tall frame, large gravity defying breasts, firm flat stomach and long muscular legs moving fluidly through the pale blue liquid was a vision of grace and beauty. Slender arms thrust firmly through the strokes, caramel breasts with licorice nipples cresting the waves, bobbing round cheeks of a phat ass that just wouldn't quit, and strong sculpted athletic legs built to wrap around your waist and never let go, each delectable part appearing and disappearing underneath the swirling waters in an unconscious act of self-exposure.

Locking the camera onto the moving target, Bobby sat back, stretching his arms, interlacing his fingers, and tucked them behind his head. He kicked his feet up, to rest upon the large console, and watched the Amazonian sized woman turn in the water and push off for another lap of the Olympic sized pool. The Iceman wouldn't have minded making a play for the powerful woman, but he didn't think that she'd go for it, considering her odd tastes in men. She had a thing with Forge, and her and Bishop were unusually close. Bobby suspected that the two had, or were considering, a one time fling together. Just one of those, "It just happened" situations waiting to occur. Same gut feelings Bobby got when he saw Ororo dining with Victor Von Doom, of all people. There was a mutual attraction, unspoken, but thick in the air about those two.

Iceman simply figured that he was just a little too white bread for Storm's tastes. Still, one shouldn't knock a guy about getting a case of jungle fever especially when looking at one fine specimen of Nubian womanhood such as Ororo. She was worshipped as a Goddess in Kenya, where she grew to adulthood. It was there that Charles Xavier, founder of the xXx-Men, met her, and offered her the opportunity to serve all of mankind. She took it, with no hesitations.

Years later, it proved time and time again to be one of the best decisions that Charles Xavier ever made. Strong of will, merciful, even handed, she was a worthy leader when the need arose, and guided the xXx-Men to victory again and again. And now? Now, she was just simply amazing to behold.

"Chill, Bobby," Iceman shook his head, "she's out of your league." Tearing his eyes away, hesitantly, he refocused on what screens were still lit on the internal security monitors. The Headmaster's Office and the Danger Room were the two only other places lit. There were no interior cameras in Xavier's office, but there were at least a dozen in the Danger Room. Bobby wondered which insomniac was running a Danger Room scenario at this late hour.

Leaning forward in the chair, Iceman flipped the monitors to show the Danger Room. Instantly, the screens filled with otherworldly visions. An orange sky with violet clouds, three moons colored green, blue and yellow hovered in the sky, bizarre twisted spires stretching to the heavens, thin rocky archways bridged between tall plateaus, and large puffball fungi littering a rusty desert canyon valley. Bobby had been many places with the xXx-Men, but couldn't recall ever having been to such a place.

Betsy Braddock leapt into view, her black leotard with its red sash standing out clearly against the alien background. Psylocke was another delectable babe that Bobby wouldn't have minded tagging, but once again, she had a thing for another of the xXx-Men—the high flying Archangel, one of his very best friends in the world. Bobby remembered when the British lady joined their ranks. She looked very different back then. A broad face, stiff upper lip, pale skin, she was the epitome of British breeding. Then, the goddess Roma's Siege Perilous took all of the active xXx-Men, when they faced Forge's mortal enemy, the Adversary, and dispersed them to the far corners of the world, memories wiped clean. Bobby hadn't been there, but he remembered reading the reports that the team filed, once they managed to get back together, and get their heads right. Betsy had been changed the most, out of all of them. Somehow she had been transformed into the very image of Revanche, an oriental assassin for the ninja clan known as the Hand and the latest love interest of the nefarious Mandarin. The transformation went deeper than merely surface appearance, for the sedate Miss Braddock now found herself to be an adrenaline junkie, with an insatiable appetite for extremely kinky sex.

The martial arts training she had somehow been imparted with during the transformation kicked into full gear now. Whereas Ororo had fluid motion through the Olympic sized swimming pool, Psylocke now demonstrated that graceful skill upon the dry unearthly landscape. Nearly unnatural in her movement, she seemed to glide like some phantom image on Bobby's view screen. He still could not recognize the training scenario she was running, so he pulled up the program on a supplemental monitor.

Limbo. Magik's realm. Betsy was running Illyana's personal training program.

From the corner of her eye, Betsy saw the movement. They were small, nasty looking beasts, low to the ground and coming in fast from under the puffball fungi. How many, she could not ascertain, but one thing was certain...there were a lot of them. Reaching deep inside her, she felt her new power, her telekinesis, raw and clumsy. Even deeper still, she could feel the calling of her telepathy, but knew better than to access it. Betsy Braddock was a very rare telepath, and it was the uniqueness of her mental matrix that made her a living trap for the entity known as the Shadow King. Its original name was Farouk, an evil Egyptian that once met Charles Xavier in a psi-war that ended up killing it's body, but not before the malevolent beast could escape into another's psyche. It had been body hopping for the last forty years, until it attempted to gain control over Betsy. It tapped into her telepathy, and she in turn, shut it off, locking it away inside her very mind. Even now, she could still hear it's voice, calling to her, silently, beckoning her to unleash it's awesome power.

That would never happen, she swore. She would die before allowing the monster who nearly destroyed the xXx-Men with it's perverted desires to be free again. Strangely enough, for her sacrifice in retaining the Shadow King, her mutant mental powers expanded, developing powers of telekinesis that she never knew she had. For the adrenaline junkie, this was an incredible blessing. Now, instead of forming a psychic knife that cut through the shields of even the most gifted telepaths, she manifested a telekinetic sword blade, mentally severing molecular bonds of anything that she sliced through.

She unsheathed her psionic weapon now, as the creatures quickly approached. It was invisible to the naked eye. In truth, Psylocke supposed that only telepaths and telekinetics had actual awareness of the power she unleashed. To the psychically challenged, she was merely a woman in a black leotard, waving her arm around. To the more adept, however, the virtual katana glowed like a small star, hovering just off of her fingertips. She wasn't sure which category the little beasties she saw swarming in to attack her fit into, and honestly, the adrenaline junkie within her didn't care. Bring it on.

Iceman watched in anticipation with mixed feelings of dread and awe filling him. He knew she had deployed her psychic weapon, not because he could sense it, but because of her particular combat stance. She was leaning into the onrushing attackers, one arm dragging behind her as a counterweight. The first demon spawn rushed out from under the fungi, it's appearance resembling that of an overgrown Rottweiler with porcupine quills adorning it, flinging them at her with deadly precision as it closed the gap.

Betsy swung her telekinetic sword with ease, deflecting the poisonous darts, much to the beastie's surprise. She continued her flowing kata form, bringing the weapon up over her head, and then down upon the spitting maw, slaying the foul creature. Simplistic, nearly mindless in performance, the maneuver was second nature, coming to her as easy as breathing. Still more of the monsters emerged from the fungus foliage, their sizes ranging from a tiny house cat to a massive workhorse, some resembling humanoids, others far more bizarre. Psylocke moved with the grace of a dancer amongst them, her psychic blade weaving an intricate pattern in the air, slicing effortlessly through the various attackers. When she wasn't deploying the weapon, she merely pushed them away from her with the blunt brute force of will.

Iceman was in awe. Betsy was truly a sight to behold. Even without the advantage of telepathy, Psylocke seemed to have a supernatural awareness of where the monstrosities were, striking at the creatures without even needing to turn to face them. As they continued to press their attack, Bobby noticed that now Betsy was hefting large rocks with her telekinesis to repel the demons. They were getting close now, claws nicking her, shredding at the leotard, pushing her back away from the valley of fungus, towards the high rocky ridges. She leapt from the collective hoard, landing upon a large rocky overhang, overlooking the valley. The creatures were snarling and screeching en masse before her, held at bay by one hand generating an invisible force field of telekinetic might. She was breathing hard, sweat pouring from her brow. The sheen of perspiration coated her bare flesh, soaking through the leotard. Bobby watched silently, wishing that her costume had been a thin white instead of the dark color that only opaquely hugged her skin. His jaw dropped open in surprise, as a large rock behind her shifted, unfolding itself into a very large and very familiar threat, rearing a massive arm back, ready to strike.

Sym. Magik's extremely unpredictable and treacherous demonic familiar, for lack of a better term. To Illyana, his loyalty was literal and absolute, but for anyone else, certain death would be far welcomer than what the demonspawn would be inclined to do.

Bobby leaped for the intercom system, toggling it on. "Betsy! Look out, behind you!" he screamed.

"Bobby?" Psylocke cried in surprise, turning into the coming blow. The sound of hard demonic flesh slamming into Betsy's lean oriental figure made Bobby flinch up in the Monitor Room, watching in horror as her body sailed through the air in a loose rag doll flop over the gnashing snarling monstrosities and into the massive puffball fungus field with a large poof of spores and a sickening thud. The monster known as Sym flexed and stretched, almost casually, dark purplish wine colored skin stretched tight over the massive rippling muscles usually found on a bodybuilder. The dark pupil-less eyes gleamed with malevolent glee and the toothy maw of the demon hitched up to a crooked smile on its face.

Psylocke was still sprawled out within the large noxious looking cloud of spores, barely moving. The horde of creatures, shy after Betsy's brutal taming session, slowly stepped closer to her vulnerable prone form.

Bobby reached for the remote safety interlocks override, and realized that Betsy had disabled them. Again.

"Shit." Iceman swore. The simulation in the Danger Room wasn't going to simply shut off now that Betsy was in peril of losing her life, as it normally would. Bobby had been craving some excitement tonight, and it appeared that Psylocke was going to provide it, although not in the pleasant relaxing manner he had been hoping for. Jumping up, Bobby Drake grabbed a mobile communications pad and ran out of the room, heading towards the Danger Room.

"Psylocke! Come on Betsy, answer me!" Iceman cried into the two-way device. No response. "Shit! Storm! We have a situation in the Danger Room! I need you there, immediately!"

"Bobby?" Storm stopped in mid-stroke, her svelte caramel breasts bobbing just beneath the cool waters. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Betsy's in trouble, and she disengaged the safety interlocks...again!" Iceman replied, still running down the corridor. "She's running the Limbo program, and it looks like Sym is going to tear her apart!"

"Goddess! I'm on my way, Bobby! I'll see you there!"

"Thanks, Ororo!" the poolside intercom system piped back at her as she swam to the edge of the pool and pulled her naked form out of the pristine liquid. Summoning a small wind, she swirled it about her body, while lowering the ambient humidity, wicking the moisture from her, leaving her dry. Had the situation not been so urgent, she would have been tempted to remain there a few more moments and enjoy the caress of the windstorm. However, she did not have that luxury.

Betsy felt the pounding in her head behind her temples. She was hurting, and her lungs were burning, and she could feel her leotard being shredded sloppily from her damp sweaty flesh. Something was definitely wrong here, and she couldn't focus. As she opened her eyes, the colors seemed bright and alive, almost swirling and moving by themselves. She could feel the strange tingling upon her skin, and had she been aware of the psychoactive nature of the giant puffball fungus spores, she would have understood what was happening to her. The bright orange sky with it's violet clouds looked like cotton candy to her, and her tingling skin felt alive and vibrant, with a mind of it's own. Every touch was a joyful caress to her, a symphony of sensation that made her nipples hard, and her pussy wet.

"You ain't my Mistress, chickie chickie." Sym sneered, the lone horn on the top of his head glinting in the bizarre sunless lighting, as he leapt down from the bluff overhang to stand before her. "Sym isn't bound to serve you, only Magik. Since my Mistress isn't here, guess what, lovely? You are going to service Sym, and when I am done with you, you will beg to serve me forever!" Psylocke looked up at his massive muscle bound form, tight coils of steel covered by thin dark mauve skin. Her eyes, vibrating with hallucinogenic seizures, drank the most interesting visuals before her in deeply. Here was a magnificently built, but strangely ugly, man standing before her. His body was sculpted, like some phenomenal statue of Adonis, stacks of rippling muscle sans any body hair, glistening oily sheen covering his every curve, the strange orange tinted light glinting off the hard form like burnished copper. This strange man wore a black leather vest, left open in some retro seventies style, and a black leather loincloth, draped long, between his legs. He also, very strangely, seemed to have a tail, but then again, she had seen many mutants who did. It wasn't long and prehensile, with a large triangular head, like one fuzzy elf she fondly knew. This ugly man did look sort of familiar, but Betsy was far too interested in his nipples, now that they had caught her eye. They were a darker purple, contrasting with his wine tint, and came out to little conical points. She swore he said something to her, maybe it was the clouds that said it, or the strange pets of this man surrounding them, when his hand with the oddly long and pointy fingernails pulled the flowing black leather skin of the loincloth aside.

He was huge. It was like a small child's arm attached between the tall mauve being's legs. At first, the thought going through Betsy's mind was that she was seeing the ugly man's tail, but she could see that swishing menacingly behind the long thick angry looking slab of cylindrical meat that stared with one eye atop a deep purple head back at her. Her body, under the influence of the spores, was torn between two emotional polar extremes. One was a hallucinogenic induced euphoric horniness; the other was an absolute fear. This being was a demon, as far from her beloved Archangel as one could get, a creature to be feared, and yet, part of her excitement was this naughtiness of being taken by this well hung monstrosity.

The last of her leotard and sash was ripped from her torso by some toothy jawed beast that seemed to be little more than a giant mouth and tiny eyes set in a ball of fur about the size of a bowling ball. Some lizard-looking thing slid a long slimy tongue over her torso, caressing her nipples into hardened brown points on her golden oriental skin. Waves of pleasure rippled outwards from her breasts, and deep into her uterus.

Betsy...this monster is going to fuck us like some cheap East Ender if you let it.

"Who...who are you?" Betsy asked the disembodied voice that echoed in her befuddled brain, caressing her into calmness from the dark corners of her mind.

"I told you that I'm Sym, sweetheart," the beast of Limbo sneered, chuckling, and waving his enormous prick at her, "What's the matter, the idea of getting fucked by me got you all distracted?" He jumped down, standing before the prone figure of Psylocke, and grabbing her ankles, lifting them into the air. I am you, Betsy. A figure shimmered into view behind Sym, one of Betsy herself. This version of Betsy, however, was wearing a black leather leotard, the Crimson Dawn tattoo glowing eerily with dull blood red light over one eye. I am you complete and whole, Betsy. Telepathy and telekinesis talents both, at their peak powers. I can stop this from happening. All you have to do is give in to the pleasure that you feel, and embrace me. Embrace your power, revel in it, and I can free us from all this.

"Y-you're...th'...Sh...sh...da...King, aren'...you?" Betsy slurred, hearing very little of what Sym was saying.

"That's right, baby cakes, I'm your king," Sym hissed, his massive prick straining towards her sopping wet pussy, "You're soaking wet, bitch. I think you want my cock, don't you?"

The Shadow King? Betsy, I am you, complete. You are the only being in the last fifty years who has been able to contain and control that essence. The Shadow King cannot use you. In truth, the exact opposite is true. You have the power to use the Shadow King's abilities. Imagine, Betsy, what power we have, combined. Telepathy and telekinesis honed and harnessed. A psi-blade that can render asunder both molecular bonds and mental shields. We can be untouchable, if you unleash our fullest potential. The vision shimmered before Betsy's eyes, manifesting a shining silver blade of energy. What shall we name our symbol of power, Betsy? Reaver? The dark vision turned to look at Betsy with smoldering eyes. Come now, Betsy, are we going to be a victim again, like when Mojo took our eyes? Do you really want this monster to fuck us? Don't you want to be in control? Don't you want to be complete and whole, and invincible? We can control this monster if you let us. Don't you want that?

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