Mating Call of the Phoenix Ch. 03

He entered her; she let out a piercing scream and flowed with it, locking her legs around his back, giving a series of needy, heavenly clenches against him. The ship tilted again; they rolled end over end across the floor, his cock throbbing madly inside her, he could've fainted from the heat, the pressure, the surging pull to orgasm in his own loins. Although later he'd remember Emma and Jean as being just as sweet, just as capable, at that moment, he couldn't have ever remembered such friction.

They stopped again. She thrust on his cock, impaling herself, eyes big, lifting under him, overcoming his weight with sheer muscle, going "oh, oh, oh!"

The boat shimmied again; they slid across the floor, still locked, before coming to a rest. Scott grunted and rocked himself rapidly in and out of her tight cunt.

"Scott!" Lee cried, almost begging.

He could not help her, not in his moment of exquisite friction. He was totally lost in the interplay of their bodies, in the sweet flesh, the enveloping cunt, the satiny clenching of her wondrous muscles. Water showered them—porthole, he'd left the porthole open—but he ignored it.

"Permission to come aboard?" Scott gasped, ramming her wildly.

Lee laughed. "You asshole!"

The ship really swerved—they spun, gravity closer to the wall than the floor, so he fucked her there. Her strong body strained up, locked, her cunt going into spasms. She shot herself against him and he pushed down on her, as if fighting gravity, staying in this divine pleasure. She stayed with him, buttocks tight, loins grinding on his. She keened: "Ahhhhh!" He drove into her while she whined and moaned and throbbed, coming again and again until she thought she would black out with delight, then gravity resolved and the ship righted itself and he landed on his feet, Lee wrapped around his body, chin on his shoulder, exhausted, eyes dazed, body shining with sweat.

It was all his now. He returned to the bed, aching all over with need, laying her down and mounting her and ramming himself all the way into her cunt, close to his own pealing orgasm. Pure erotic power surged through his body as he planted himself deep inside Lee, thrusting hotly into her, the sway of the ship only seeming to move in his direction. It was like he was fucking her so hard that he was literally rocking the boat.

Then pleasure gripped him like a giant fist, squeezing sudden tension into his belly, thighs, manhood. He let it tighten him, paralyze him so that all that could escape was a wounded grunt. Then it released dizzyingly, an exalting feeling of immense power going through him. He spurted; his cock relaxed into one long ejaculation, separated only barely by twitches and pulses. Everything else was a long ribbon of jism fired deep within her ravished sex.

Lee felt it all gushing inside her, soothing her overworked walls, her stretched lips. Aroused all over again, she flexed herself around his cock, thought she succeeded in provoking one more push of ejaculation from him.

Whatever tension was left in Scott's body after he'd awoken at sea, it left, unlocked and broken open by his gorgeous ejaculation into Lee. And Lee was totally receptive to it, utterly submissive, clinging to him like there was nothing more precious to her than holding him in her sex as he pumped her full of himself, centering his seed deep, deep in her waiting womb. Her mouth fell in shock as she felt how virile he was in spurting for her, a river of cum flowing into her with throbbing, gushing effect.

It felt like something amazing had happened to her, Lee thought dazedly. She was filled with an incredible arousal, like she'd discovered the only real pleasure in the world. All she wanted was to fuck.

But she was borne along by Scott's feelings, and he was glowingly empty. Folded down on her soft, fulfilled body, feeling like a new man. The neurosis, the doubts, the castigation, those were falling further and further behind him. Now he felt loved, open-minded, friendly, and happy. Scott moaned and pulled himself out of her sex, leaving her flat on her back upon the bed.

"That was the best I ever had," he told Lee.

"Better than me?" Jean asked in surprise.

At the time. "Just wonderful," Scott added, barely amending himself.

***

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Illyana knew she was attractive to men, despite her wholesome, innocent appearance. Because of it. Most of them knew her chiefly as Piotr's kid sister, she had started out in their imagination as a child, and she dressed to prolong that impression. Fashionable, but a little outdated. Her clothes looser, more 'vintage' than they necessarily had to be. Hiding her fit, luscious body in clothing that only halfway flattered it.

Then standing a certain way, or sitting a certain way—showing off long legs crossed outside her skirt, or angling her torso so bare breasts pressed against her shirt. Leaving people unsure if she even knew she was doing it. But receiving, appreciating lustful looks from her classmates. Even from some of the teachers. People who knew her mostly as Piotr's 'little snowflake.'

Anyway, she didn't want to divert attention from her face. That was her chief asset, her most striking feature, especially among the hardbodies of the X-Men. Her face was downright angelic, round and lovely, almost saccharine except for the slightly wicked look in her eyes. She stood five foot five, her athletic body magnificently toned, a total war machine except for the long, honey-blonde hair flowing down her shoulders. She couldn't bear to cut it.

Today, she wore a pleated skirt, rustling and crinkling on her hips, pulling in daringly on the backs of her thighs. A baggy yellow shirt with a circled X in black upon the front declared her loyalty. Despite its folds, it fell caressingly upon her bobbing breasts, letting them push out against the fabric in all their splendor for about a nanosecond with every step. Her hips swayed salaciously, separated from her shiny white tennis shoes by smooth, golden-brown legs that tapered beautifully from muscle into bone structure. Red plaid knee socks encased her calves: the tightest thing she wore that wasn't underwear. Her pouty lips were glossed with pink lipstick, while seawater-green eyes and a petite nose set off her shining face. She was as well-armored as she'd ever been in Limbo.

Coyly unaware of how her skirt swirled around her ass—it was magnificent—she walked and pretended not to notice the stares her simple, clean stride netted her. She liked the lust she was provoking in them. It was a kind of power. One more way to get people to do what she wanted them to do. The thought gave her a smile she had to stifle. It was anything but sweet.

And she'd have to be sweet to catch hold of Mr. Summers. He wasn't into bad girls—at least, he didn't yet know he was. He would. She shivered at the thought of his clean-cut handsomeness, his All-American physique, the overall impression of pristineness he gave. How she'd love to see him decadent. All the other teachers had looked at her, at least once, but he was so intent, so upright, strong, moral. She wanted his cock in her mouth. She wanted his cum in her belly.

She arrived at his class. Not hers, mind you. Through the Plexiglass window in the door, struck through with security wire, she could see him leaning on his desk as he administered a test. He wore a dark blue polo shirt, tweed slacks, and a pair of brown loafers. A sport coat hung from a hall tree in the corner. God, it was unbearable.

Illyana pushed a finger against the glass as if it were a buzzer. Momentarily, Mr. Summers noticed her, meeting her eyes behind his ruby quartz glasses. Illyana gave him a big smile and wave and he looked put off. Even with Illyana biting her lip—he gave a look over the class, bent faithfully over their tests, and then went to the door, cracking it open an inch to let sound through. Illyana could hear scratching pencils inside, squeaking seats and isolated coughs.

"Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked, his breath fogging the Plexiglass between them. Illyana stuck her tongue in her cheek, bopping her head a little to distance herself from how obscene the little gesture could (and did) come off.

"It's my free period," Illyana said.

"It's not mine."

Illyana got goosebumps all over—she felt like she was all alone on him. It was so sexy, maybe having his eyes on him, but maybe not—impossible to know through those red sunglasses. She smiled demurely.

"I think I need to talk to you about my behavior," she said.

"Your behavior?"

"I don't know how well I'm doing in class—if the teachers think I'm doing a good job or not. America is still so strange to me. I just don't think I really know what's expected of me."

Mr. Summers looked at her in surprise; she could just barely read it off the curl of his lips. But he nodded. "You can come to my office after school this afternoon; we'll discuss it."

"Thank you, Mr. Summers," Illyana said, fogging the glass herself. He gave her a curt nod and withdrew back into the classroom.

Illyana put her two pointer figures on the little pool of condensation she'd made and curled them around to make a heart before it could fade away.