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The Bitch Queen: Betsy's Bitch
🕑 Added 2021-01-30 16:15:41 +0000 UTCEmma Frost had something to prove. Not just to Scott, and not just to Betsy Braddock, but to herself too; maybe to herself most of all.
She’d gotten what she wanted and dragged a more aggressive side out of Scott in the bedroom, but she hadn’t been prepared for just how aggressive he’d been or how she’d responded to it. In her head she was still going to be in control of everything even when she drew out the animal inside of him. More control than ever, really, because once Scott had lost himself in the sex, the frenzy, she’d be the one who’d taken control from him and held onto it herself.
That wasn’t what had happened. She had lost control of that encounter right away. As soon as she pushed Scott far enough to make him let go, he’d introduced her to a side of him that had swept her up in submission. She’d embraced being his toy—the little slut she’d play-acted for Shaw and the others, she’d become it for real with him. Embraced it, enjoyed it, and wanted even more.
It’d taken embarrassingly long for her to come to her senses. If this could be called that. Her Scott, who she loved, she now intended to loan out to another. All her zeal over pulling him away from Jean Grey, from her very memory, and now Emma would let a rival for his affections sink her teeth into him.
It chafed to think about how easily she’d fallen in line and allowed Scott to truly take control of her. She prided herself on being able to hold onto control at all times, and he’d wrested it away from her far too easily. The pleasure Emma got from that incredibly intense fuck was undeniable, and she felt a tingling inside of her when she thought about it, but her wounded pride had still not recovered from how easily he’d made her submit to him. She needed to prove that she was stronger than that, or at least, stronger than others. That anyone else would have been broken and bent to his will even more readily than she had. Tonight was the night she was going to prove all of it, with the help of Scott’s ‘work wife.’
Sitting in the teacher’s lounge, which was thankfully deserted enough for a potent privacy, she fixed her eyes on Betsy. Word around both the school and the X-Men was that she was Scott’s work wife, as close to him as Emma was, only without the romance and sex that Emma enjoyed. There was an obvious attraction between them and Betsy enjoyed flustering him as much as Emma did, but it was Emma who laid claim to his affections.
Not that that stopped their mutual attraction, as Emma well knew. But Scott was hardly the sort to be lacking in self-control, and so she’d never worried about Scott’s close friendship with another woman. In fact, she appreciated the jealousy. There was an ugly side of her that took pleasure in having what another woman wanted, reaping that envy like it was a cash crop. But now, Betsy could make herself even more useful. And she’d do it simply by getting what she’d always wanted.
Tapping at her phone, Emma sent the photo to Betsy. She watched as Betsy’s phone pinged and the woman answered it, slender eyes widening to see what her screen now displayed. “Bugger me! Of all the bloody cheek, who—Emma—wait, is that…?”
As Betsy went through the storm of emotions, Emma moved in to make the kill. Betsy’s psychic defenses weren’t so good that Emma couldn’t tell she’d reacted precisely as Emma had meant her to.
First, she’d seen the photo Emma had taken earlier of Scott in the shower. As Scott had to bathe with eyes closed and sunglasses off, he hadn’t noticed, but the picture had still come out nicely. It showed Betsy everything she was missing and everything Emma was enjoying. The tall, compact body, the broad shoulders that weren’t jockish enough to imply machismo, but held definite muscles. Then the thick arms and six-pack abs that every self-respecting X-Man seemed to have. Scott pushed all of them hard to be in peak physical condition and he asked even more of himself. And finally, the pièce de résistance. No training regimen was responsible for what hung between Scott’s legs, but between Jean, Emma, and all the other beautiful women who’d dallied with him, there was no doubt he’d learned how to use his natural gift.
Naturally, Betsy had been incensed to receive an unsolicited dick pic, but then she’d realized that it wasn’t actually erect. That size was when it was flaccid, and it had still been enough to make Betsy double back on her feminist leanings. And then she’d realized who that body, and that prick, belonged to. Scott Summers. Which meant it belonged to Emma. The same person who had ‘accidentally’ sent Betsy the picture in the first place.
Emma sat down beside Betsy, hitting her along with the realization, right when the iron was hot. “Oh! Dear me. That wasn’t meant for you, Betsy, obviously. I’m terribly sorry. Please, accept my apology and delete that dreadful bit of smut.”
She reached for Betsy’s phone, to handle the deletion for her, and Betsy automatically held it out of Emma’s reach. “Hold on a tick. If you’re that leery of others seeing your man, perhaps you should take more care who you send his picture to. This could make for a valuable lesson.”
Emma gave Betsy a poker-faced smile, meant to be as unreadable as it was stunningly photogenic. She didn’t want to give away to Betsy what she was thinking. Of course, she could keep a neutral expression, but she also wanted Betsy to make certain false assumptions about what she was thinking. Emma knew how Betsy thought, after all. There were only so many thought process that led to wearing a one-piece swimsuit into battle.
“I suppose you’re right. You and Scott are so close, after all. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you having such a thing—he can trust you to be discreet. As can I.”
Betsy looked at Emma warily. “Who were you sending it to, anyway? I know you, Emma, and it’s not like you to share the wealth.”
“Oh, what a horribly classist thing to say. Multimillionaires shouldn’t fight amongst themselves, Betsy. In the end, all us snobs have is each other.”
Betsy’s purple eyes bore into Emma, seeming to grow more vivid as her gaze grew more intense. Emma was confident in her psychic defenses to keep Betsy out. And she knew that like a horse to water, Betsy’s mind would go where she wanted it to go.
As much as she loved being a telepath, manipulating someone the old-fashioned way was such a thrill.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Betsy said after a pause.
Emma bobbed her head in consideration. “Just a friend,” she demurred.
Betsy scoffed. “Some friend. If I had a man like that, I wouldn’t spread him around.”
“Oh? You wouldn’t? You don’t think there’s enough of Scott to go around?”
Betsy licked her lips. “I suppose there’s not much chance of him being spread too thin. He is rather broad—in certain places…”
“That’s not what my friend said.”
Betsy blinked. She seemed distracted now. Given to fantasies. Emma had poured gasoline on the simmering flame of her attraction to Scott and it was all Betsy could do to stem that flow and keep the fire from burning out of control. “Oh no?”
Emma’s eyes flickered to Betsy’s phone, leading Betsy’s gaze to it as well. The screen had long since gone dark to save power, but Betsy knew as well as Emma did that all she had to do was unlock it and she’d be able to see Scott again. All of him. A feast for the eyes. But that only whetted Betsy’s appetite. A hunger like hers needed more to be satisfied.
Emma sighed. Inwardly, she had to keep from laughing. It was so easy to beguile Betsy. She should’ve done it a lot sooner, just because it was so very, very uncomplicated. “Well, she seemed to think that Scott was… too much. You know. For her, at least.”
Betsy pinched her luscious lips together. “Dumb witch.”
Emma laughed. “Yes indeed. Scott is quite a lot to handle, but—as you saw—he’s worth it.”
Betsy nodded distractedly. “Indeed.”
“I had so hoped she would help me share the load, but if she’s not interested, she’s not interested.” Emma lifted her downcast eyes to Betsy’s face. She spoke so innocently it wasn’t innocent at all. “I don’t suppose you are?”
“I’m what?” Betsy mumbled. Then she shook her head, as if to rid herself of some persistent thought…
Which was the last thing Emma wanted. “Interested,” she continued. “In sharing Scott’s load.”
“Oh.” Betsy’s face colored. “I…” Her eyes danced to the phone and back again. Her thumb actually twitched for the fingerprint scanner, but didn’t actually summon up Scott’s body. How could Betsy forget it, after all? “I…”
Emma smirked at her. Hook, line, and sinker. Eat your heart out, Mr. Summers. That’s how you dominate someone. “Be at our room at ten,” she said firmly. “And wear your costume.”
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