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The Summers Drive: Stay With Betsy
🕑 Added 2020-01-02 13:35:07 +0000 UTC
“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!”
“Can’t believe I waited so long for this!” Scott gasped out, pumping into her faster, faster, the wall creaking behind her, plaster cracking. Betsy knew he still was holding back, wasn’t using his full strength for fear of breaking her, but her mind was still shattering far ahead of the wall. “Oh yeah, oh Betsy, your cunt feels so good!”
He bellowed as his cum exploded from his plunging cockhead, ropey wads of it spewing all over the walls of Betsy’s sex. Betsy’s eyes rolled back in her head feeling it inundate her pussy, thick and viscous, burning with heat that made Betsy feel like her belly was on fire.
“Yes! Oh God, yessss!” Betsy cried. A blast of rapture unlike anything she had ever experienced crashed over her, almost making her pass out with its sheer force. It was a wall of sensation that made all her other pleasures seem trifling in comparison.
Desperately, Betsy pulled Scott closer to her, even managing to lift her limp legs and wrap them around his hips. She needed him inside her as he spurted his cum, each ejaculation she felt seeming to explode her consciousness all over again. Every rope of cum he launched into her depths made her feel a racking jolt of heat, so hot that she felt it from her core to her furthest extremity. It was like each dose of his seed was her first orgasm, her first feeling of a prick entering her body.
This is impossible, the small remnant of Betsy that was still capable of thought said. She drooled, her lungs pumping for air, her heart racing, but she was only dimly aware of her adrenaline high when the flood of cum filling her womanhood occupied all of her senses. I’m being fucked through a wall by another woman’s husband, I’m hoping to be impregnated by him, and I’d only be the second woman he’s done that to in twenty-four hours—and Emma isn’t his wife either!
Not that it mattered. Nothing else mattered, because nothing could have the kind of effect on her that Scott did. She could try to justify it all she liked: romance, soulmates, even reversing the mutant birthing crisis. But when it came right down to it, she wanted to be Scott’s whore and she enjoyed it like nothing else.
“Mine,” Scott husked in her ear, bringing another of her endless orgasms through her body. “My whore.”
Finally his cock emptied, even grew a little limp, leaving her with only a massive feeling of fullness. An eternity after that, her own orgasm died away. It’d been the only thing keeping her up. Betsy slumped in exhaustion down the wall until she was level with Scott’s loins, staring blankly at his dangling manhood and his powerful legs. The hairs on his thighs were glossy wet, as were the coarse hairs that darkened his belly. She’d come all over him and he’d returned the favor, filling her relentlessly with enough seed to make a score of children for him.
“Jesus Christ, Betsy.” Scott leaned against the wall over her, his hands outstretched to catch himself as if he were feeling out the hairline cracks they’d left in the plaster. “And I thought I could handle all three of you. You alone just about killed me.”
“Barely,” Betsy purred, summoning all her strength, all her will, to animate herself for the few motions it took to move her slack body against Scott’s leg. She cuddled warmly against it, feeling his sweat and her own juices as she rubbed her face against his muscular thigh. “I need to redouble my training. Taking down a Sentinel is easy compared to riding your todger.”
“The Sentinel’s less motivated,” Scott said, reaching down to run his hand through her purple hair one last time.
Betsy moaned, feeling his excess semen oozing lovingly out of her splayed cunt. They’d managed to avoid drenching the bedspread, which was beyond repair anyway, and now the carpet was collateral damage too. She’d have to ask Emma for some interior decorating tips. If anyone knew how to hold an orgy while maintaining chic furnishings, it’d be her.
“Guess you have to check on Jean and Emma,” she sighed.
“Guess so,” Scott said. “But not yet.”
He picked her up, with what strength Betsy didn’t know. From what little conscious control she retained over her telepathy after that apocalypse of sensation, she could tell he was utterly exhausted, but quickly getting a second wind. He carried her to the bed, set her down on the pillows, and pulled the sheets over her body—naked, shuddering, bruised, and worn out. Shockingly gentlemanly, considering what a whore he’d turned her into. Or at least, revealed her to be. This was what she’d hungered for all those years ago when she’d tried to seduce him away from Jean—she’d had no idea what she was getting herself into.
More of his cum ran out of her, destroying the sheets anyway, though that fact faded along with many others that couldn’t hold her attention in this new life she’d started. Lofty goals and heroic quests seemed unimportant next to curling up against Scott’s firm body, the feel and warmth of their lovemaking lingering in her senses to bring her sweet dreams. It was a shame she had to settle for holding a pillow instead of him. Next time, she’d wear him out far more.
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