mobofair
patreon
The Summers Drive: Tell Jean You Love Her
🕑 Added 2019-12-16 17:00:01 +0000 UTC
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.
Comments
Shendude
How does something so smutty manage to inspire WAFF?
