X-Men: The Summers Drive Pt. 10

Jean and Emma pressed into Scott's sides like they were two growling dogs, trying to get at each other through the fence of his body. Scott ran one hand down Jean's back, feeling out the swell where her trim waist became generous hips, a surprisingly rounded ass, and he patted it a little chidingly.

"I love you," he told her, and felt Jean settle, nuzzling her lips along the side of his unshaven jaw.

I could tell, she teeped back. It's weird how having a foursome brings that into such sharp relief. When you were with me, you were only thinking of me. And only of Emma when you were with Emma. Even Betsy got your undivided attention.

Scott's other hand caressed Emma's bare, supplely muscled arm, then fingered aside the curtain of her golden hair to caress her delicate jaw—finally doing no more than petting her luscious hair. "I love fucking you," he told her, and Emma's lips quirked in acknowledgment of the unsentimental sentiment.

"Why wouldn't you?" she whispered into his chest, still a bit too dazed to be a proper bitch.

Scott looked down to where Jean's telekinesis had drawn the bedsheets over all four of them, leaving a hillock where Betsy's body laid between his legs. She held his cock in her mouth, but was too tired to give it a work-out besides the simple pleasure of having it inside those cherry blossom lips of hers. Having the feel of it but not the sight made Scott wish he'd gone along with one of Emma's home improvement ideas: transparent bedsheets.

"Betsy..." he began and Betsy's head raised attentively, but before he could continue, Emma reached down to palm the ninja's cranium and force her back down on Scott's manhood.

"Keep sucking," she interrupted. Then Scott felt Jean reaching under the sheet as well, taking hold of his balls. She massaged them gently as Betsy sucked.

"Welcome to the show, I guess," Scott finished lamely, speech soon beyond him as the only sound in the room became the slurping of Betsy's mouth.

Scott mumbled words of encouragement as sleep took him, his prick gradually stiffening into Betsy's mouth. Betsy would soon lose the awareness to do anything about it, but she felt warmly contented with the constant, throbbing reminder that he was hers. And, as proven by Emma's hand holding her down on his engorged erection, she was his as well.

***

Betsy came awake with the sour, satisfying taste of Scott's member permeating her mouth. She smiled as she came off of it to clear her throat. She'd actually slept the whole night with him in her mouth, keeping Scott at a steady ebb that even now was bloated and swaying. She didn't know if that was a testament to her skill or Scott's secondary mutation stamina.

Jean and Emma were gone, leaving only Scott tangled in the bedsheets. Betsy used their isolation to simply look at the sleeping Scott. The red morning sun and the tranquil slumber he'd enjoyed worked to smooth out the tension that Scott usually carried. At that moment, in all but his concealed eyes, Betsy could see pure beauty in Scott. The dimpled chin, the broad jaw, the perfect spray of hair. Not so weathered anymore, not so damaged, but the young man that had occupied her thoughts, filled her fantasies, driven her to temptation as she'd tried to tempt him to desire. Sure, maybe she'd been a slut, throwing herself at a married man the way she had... but her eyes moved down, looking at the hard broad chest, the strong arms, the athletic legs, and the massive cock she implicitly trusted to breed her. How could she not be a slut for all that?

Betsy lay her head down against one of his firm thighs, softly, not wanting to disturb him. His half-hard prick rested on his other thigh. It looked lovely lying there. In the hazy, early morning sun she saw a thin trail of glistening precum oozing from the tip and marking his inner thigh.

Betsy licked her lips. She might've gone to sleep with that taste, but she still found herself hungrily aroused by its memory. And Scott seemed like the early riser type anyway, no matter how they'd tried to wear him out. Ducking her head between his legs, she gently ran her tongue up his hairy thigh, lapping up the precum that had spilled out of him. Then she turned her attention to the dusky knob of his cockhead. She kissed it softly, running her tongue over the wrinkled skin of his collar, and felt him throb against her lips in reaction. She blew a cool stream of air over Scott's glans, thrilling at how it visibly pulsed in awakening.

Scott murmured sleepily and Betsy took his growing erection into her mouth, sucking it all the way to the back of her throat. His cock tasted wonderful, and she only liked its taste more as her tongue massaged Scott lovingly.

Scott reached down to tangle his hands in her raven hair, both hands. Betsy moaned around his erection, remembering how he'd gone to sleep clutching Jean and Emma while she kept a death grip on his manhood to remind him she was one of his MILFs too. Now they were alone. She didn't intend to make him beat her in a sparring match again to get into her pants.

Groaning up from unconsciousness, summoned by how Betsy faithfully nursed at his cock, Scott opened his eyes, the dull ruby quartz of his visor now alive with the glow of the optic blast it contained. For a moment, he looked down at Betsy in confusion, visor dimming as he blinked blearily, trying to discern the nature of the silky hair he held in his hands.

"I thought I was dreaming," Scott said fuzzily, his voice slurred from sleep.

Nipping one last time at his cockhead, Betsy came up to spoon with him: head on his chest, arms around him, legs tangled with his. But she was in too much of a mood just to cuddle. She kissed his nipple, rubbed the growing thickness of his prick.

"There's no way you can have dreams as good as I am, love."

"No," Scott admitted. "But not having any nightmares and then waking up to this—that's the best night's sleep I've had in a while. Where're the others?"

Betsy's expression almost flickered into a pout, but then she reminded herself who she was dealing with. Of course, with Scott, the team would come first. She reached out with her psi-powers. "They're in the kitchen, making us breakfast." Care to work up an appetite? She added telepathically as she occupied her lips by sucking his nipple.

"Emma's making breakfast?" Scott asked, and trained his gaze on the door to the kitchen.

He was no psychic, but he'd picked up a few things after years of being passed around different telepaths like a collection plate. He could tell there was a silence coming from the kitchen, like a vacuum of sound, an absence of the physical world that spoke to deep communication on the psychic realm. He could only assume Jean and Emma were getting into it. And considering that one of them could eat suns on a bad day, he should probably put a stop to that.

"So you've never dreamed about me?" Betsy asked, moving up to straddle him. "Even back in the day when I was rubbing up against you like a cat in heat?"

"I didn't say I'd never dreamt of you," Scott said evasively.

"Did you ever dream about my mouth wrapped around your cock all night long?"

"A few times," Scott said uneasily, as if it might still give offense to Jean to catch him thinking of a woman outside their marriage. It would take some getting used to, their marriage suddenly having so much less 'outside'.

"What else did you dream about?" Betsy asked, dipping her hips so that her pubis brushed against the tip of his erect cock. Scott gasped.

Then again, both Jean and Emma were grown women. Maybe he should leave them alone to work out whatever their issue was amongst themselves. Part of being team leader was knowing where he was needed and where he needed to delegate—and clearly, at the moment, Betsy wanted his undivided attention.

"I dream about your tits," Scott said, and saw Betsy blush at his coarse words. Still the English Rose, no matter what her body.

"Do you dream about sucking them?" She asked, bending over Scott so that one large breast hung near his mouth. "If you're going to breed me, I'll need some real experience having my tits sucked..."

Scott held himself carefully still as Betsy lowered her breast to his mouth. As her nipple brushed against his lips, he kissed and licked at it. She lowered it further. He sucked it into his mouth and as Betsy began to moan, he moved his hand to her other breast. The nipple in his mouth grew hard and engorged, while the nipple he pinched between his fingers was just as eager. All of Betsy was thrilled by the pleasure of Scott's lips and tongue at her breast. Now both hands crushed her swollen cleavage, fingers digging deep into the tender flesh while his mouth worked hard at the nipple until Betsy wanted to weep from the pleasure of it.

"Yesss, love," she moaned. "Suck my knockers. Suck and bite them. I like a little rough trade, Scott. Show me what you've wanted to do to these nipples since the first time you saw them poking through my costume."

His eyes literally flaring, Scott caught one of her nipples between his teeth and pulled at it fiercely. His tongue lashed at the sensitive nub while he gnawed it, the little jagged pains somehow helping Betsy to go mad with pleasure. Her pussy squeezed and throbbed, feeling so wet that even Scott's massive erection would have to slip right in.

"I have to have your prick, Scott," Betsy sighed, running her hands desperately through his brown hair. "Do you want your cock inside me? Wanna roger me?"

Scott practically growled through the teat stuffed in his mouth. His hands moved down to the toned thighs he'd been staring at forever, emphasized as they were by her long stockings, her pointless straps, and he did what he'd always wanted to do. His callused fingers worked into her dripping pussy lips, massaging the clenched folds until they were deep inside Betsy's cunt.

"Oh bloody hell," Betsy gasped. "Oh Lord—you're fucking me. Your fingers... making me come with your fingers..." Scott bit down on her nipple, hard, and Betsy cried out so hard that drool ran down her chin. "Oh fuuuuck!"

Scott moved his hand, slapping it down on Betsy's pert ass so she could feel her own wetness on her flesh. Another thing he'd always wanted to do, molding his hand to the voluptuous ass she always showed off, squeezing and caressing. It was impossible to get his fill, not of an ass so perfect that she could have it on display all day and still leave him wanting more, but he would help himself as much as he liked. Just with her eyes, Betsy was begging him to use her to his heart's content.

"Do you want my prick?" Scott asked her, and absurdly saw her reddened face blush, as though she were getting more turned on by him talking dirty to her than she'd gotten with his fingers stroking inside her. "Take it. Take my cock. It's all yours, Betsy. Show me what you do with it when you don't have to share."

Betsy couldn't help herself. Her mind filled with the déclassé, with lapdancers and strip clubs, but she still spread her legs and splayed herself on Scott's lap, rubbing herself along the ridge of his cock as her weight pressed it flat against his belly. She nearly leapt from the bed when she first touched her sensitive slit to the underside of his manhood. The heat of his member burned into her wetness, her pussy, until all of her was quivering for more, to have him inside her as his fingers had teased her.

"I've got to have it, Scott," she moaned, raising slightly and gratified to find Scott's cock bob up into the air and his big hands wrap around it, guiding it between her twitching lips. She knew what a slut this made her—she couldn't even blame the peer pressure of Jean and Emma—but far better to be Scott's slut than a lady anywhere else. "I've got to be yours."

Bringing herself down slowly on the impalement Scott offered, Betsy closed her eyes and sighed, feeling him spread her, push into her, enter her depths.

Oh yes, Betsy thought, afraid to breathe or speak for fear of destroying this fragile connection, yet unable to stop herself from moaning as he took her, had her, as she was his. It felt so frail, like a dream she could wake from at any moment, but only because she'd waited for it so long, anticipated it so long.

Betsy had never realized how much unfinished business she had with Scott. How much she wanted him. How real and forceful her desire for him still was. She'd made herself a whore for him and he was rewarding her for it, but it wasn't seedy. It was almost too beautiful to be true.

She lowered herself down the shaft of his swollen erection, feeling the heat of his manhood all along her wet, trembling walls. The pain mounted. She didn't know how she was taking so much of him, how he could fit when her body was so small and fragile. But Scott knew just how to feed it to her, a little at a time, his hands on her hips, steadying her and making sure she took him slow and steady.

Finally, he was all the way in her, buried so deep inside her that she could feel his presence in her belly while his wiry pubic hairs tickled her gaping labia. Betsy couldn't believe he was touching so much of her at once. She looked down and saw her pubis bulging where even her Amazonian body was barely enough to contain him.

"God, Scott... God," Betsy moaned. "I'm such a tart... a fucking slag..."

Usually here she would lower herself down upon her lover, swaying so that her breasts rolled over his chest, exciting him and teasing him before she took her ride to a full gallop. But with the way Scott was impaling her, she didn't want to move. It was already strenuously tense just holding him inside her; she could feel the ecstasy of it in every little shift, full of friction, pulling at her mind like madness. If she wasn't careful, she'd become a chippy speaking in tongues while wrapped around his prick, even though she was on top.

Instead, she reached down to his hands and brought them up to rub against her cleavage. Doing it for him brought an autoerotic verve to the act. Her fingers linked with his upon her breasts and it was like she was only touching herself, masturbating with his help, while his cock filled her like a sex toy. Though no toy could ever dominate her the way his wedding tackle had, consuming her thoughts and sensations until it felt like she was meant only to provide a hole for it to push into.

"Oh, Scott—I really do have fabulous taste in men," she sighed. "That cock feels so good... so long and thick... I feel as if it's never going to come out of me..."

Scott twisted her nipples, altering the alchemy that was consuming her body. With that little pain there, the pain she felt in her stretched pussy receded into the background, letting in a flood of pleasure. Betsy moaned. She felt herself swell, then release, ejaculating a stream of her juices onto Scott's belly.

"Hhhaa!" she gasped as torment and relief hit her in almost the same instant, her orgasm almost too painful to bear, yet she wanted it to go on and on.

Scott sat up, holding Betsy in his lap, wrapping his arms around her. She was nearly numb now, her cunt radiating soft pleasure, the ache still lessening as he held her, caressed her, soothed her. He lowered his head to chest, mouth licking and sucking at her breasts. The pleasure buried the intense pain and replaced it with pure contentment. And that barely had a chance to get ahold of her before her pussy was clenching and twitching again, wanting more. No fucking wonder Jean and Emma had fought over him so hard. After all his planning for dozens of X-Men and hundreds of other variables, figuring out how to reduce a woman to an orgasmic mess was veritable child's play.

"Take it," Scott husked, his hot breath pouring between Betsy's cleavage, bringing her alive after her last climax had nearly killed her. "You want it, Betsy. Take it. Be the slut you've always wanted to be—the slut you dressed up as—the dirty little whore I've wanted to fuck for years."

Moaning at his very words, Betsy gingerly began to rock back and forth, swaying on Scott's cock as if she were riding a rocking horse. Back and forth, his prick rolled inside of Betsy, his knob moving through the depths of her womanhood and leaving nothing untouched.

"Suck my tits," Betsy gasped, wrapping her arms around Scott's head and holding him close as she rode his hot shaft. "Suck them while I fuck myself on your sweet prick!"

His hands pressed into Betsy's back, Scott bit into her breasts. He softly growled as Betsy moved even more violently on his cock, her hips rutting against Scott with jostling force. She didn't know if she was doing it because the pain of being stretched was lessening or because she was trying to recapture its potency by wrecking herself even harder on his manhood.

Ghh! Scott! My God!" Betsy gasped, kissing at Scott's scalp through his hair and around the edges of his visor. "I keep coming... and coming... and it just won't stop!" She had to freeze then—suspended between pain and pleasure, everything so tight, so taut, and then she was climaxing, gushing, the pressure slipping out of her to cover Scott's abs.

"It's because I want you to," Scott said, easing her through it, petting her hair, kissing the side of her face. "Jean's my wife. Emma's my mistress. You're just mine. I own you and I want you to come. Come for me, Betsy."

He pumped his hips, his motionless cock suddenly thrusting inside her, and Betsy screamed without sound as she bounced on his lap. Jesus fucking Christ! she thought as she settled on top of his cock again, desperately gasping for air. He did it again, and again, knowing just how to lift her up and down on his erection so that she was balanced between excruciating pain and the thunderous releases that kept the hurt at bay. She heard the panting grunts she herself was making and thought how much she sounded like a bitch in heat, a mare being thoroughly rogered.

It's so good, she heard herself say somewhere in the back of her mind. His cock is just too bloody good.

Wave after exquisite wave of sensation broke over Betsy, neither pain nor pleasure, only more. With each rocking of Scott's pelvis, she pitched up and down on his erection, coming again. There was no end in sight. No sooner would she feel one orgasm dying away then there would be more racking convulsions in the depths of her sex. Her lust-fevered mind swam and went black. There was nothing in the whole of her world but the need to keep going.

I could die of ecstasy, Betsy thought in a rare moment of lucidity, without enough consciousness to care one way or another. She would keep fucking him until her heart gave out, until he'd ground her to dust with his thrusting cock.

Suddenly, she felt Scott in motion, her own body borne against his as if she were weightless. He swiveled his legs over the side of the bed, stood up, carried their combined weight to the nearest wall, and then Betsy was pinned against it, held squarely in place as Scott rammed himself into her. Their bodies crashed together, flesh wetly slapping against flesh, Scott's skin drenched in sweat as it rubbed against her, Betsy feeling her cream roll down her legs as she came helplessly. His, she thought almost religiously, HIS.

"I want you full, Betsy," Scott grunted as he rutted into her again and again, feeding her orgasmic pleasure until it was nearly continuous, separated only by the jagged peaks of his thrusts. "I wanna come."

Betsy was far beyond speech at the moment, but her mind screamed at his words. Come inside me, Scott! Fill my belly! Breed me like you did the others! I'll give you strong children! I'll be your whore!