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The Summers Drive: Take Her Down
🕑 Added 2019-05-01 13:37:39 +0000 UTC
Scott only smiled up at Betsy. “You hit hard, Betts. But I think we can both agree that breaking my visor would be a bad move.”
Scott could see her brow furrow in concentration as she realized the tactical misstep she’d made, but he didn’t give her time to think her way out of the checkmate she’d backed herself into. His left hand came up in a dazzling slap, landing squarely on Betsy’s ass. She was shocked, scandalized, the English Rose totally unused to being treated so vulgarly, and she instinctively turned to her left to see who had dared lay a finger on her.
Scott’s right hand jammed against Betsy’s hip and shoved her off of him, rolling over her so that he was on top, belly to back. He wrenched her gi jacket back and down, so that her arms were pinned to her sides by it, then he twisted the material of the jacket to tighten its grip on Betsy. He was now straddling the small of her back, her jutting ass behind him, her strong back laid out before his groin, mostly bared, teasing him with a succulent look at the sides of her breasts. Even having seen the whole picture moments ago, it was still a huge temptation.
With one hand holding her makeshift straitjacket in place, Scott reached down with the other and traced his finger over the curve of Betsy’s breast, hearing her suck in air as she registered the touch. The flesh was as pert and perfect as it looked, and warm and sensitive as well. In the heat of battle, with her adrenaline raging, Betsy wasn’t used to being touched so intimately.
She let out a very dry British laugh. “You’re good, Scott. You’re very good. In a straight fight, I’d bugger you, but you don’t let me have a straight fight, do you?”
“Not much incentive for it,” Scott pointed out, equally dry.
Reaching behind himself, he grabbed Betsy’s loose pants by the waistband and lowered them down her sweet ass. He had a good idea of just how sweet it was from how the well-rounded cheeks bloomed out around her thong, but he wouldn’t be in this position—literally topping Psylocke—if he were all that vulnerable to temptation.
Instead, he watched Betsy’s face, her cheek pressed down to the mat, straining, flushed, as if she were trying to get out of a submission hold. Only Scott couldn’t feel her trying to escape. And as her waistband cleared the pert curvature of her swelling buttocks, he saw her close her eyes in rapture. A throb went through Scott’s erection. That was the real prize. Seeing the stoic, closed-off warrior realize she was being stripped naked, that there was nothing she could do about it—and that she liked it.
Then Betsy sucked in breath, as if remembering where she was. Maybe reading his mind had given it away. “Of course, you can’t hold me down forever. The moment I get up, what’s to stop me from ending you?”
“Maybe you’ll think of something better to do,” Scott intoned, running his forefinger between Betsy’s asscheeks, touching down just shy of her cunt and swiping upward until his fingertip buzzed over her anus. Betsy gasped, either thinking he was going to sodomize her—or disappointed that he hadn’t.
“You’re a telepath, Betsy. You must know what men think of you when you walk around, dressed the way you do. They see your big tits, your fat ass, and they get ideas. Do you enjoy knowing they can’t act on any of those dirty, nasty thoughts? Or are you hoping one of them will?”
Betsy took a deep breath, sensing Scott’s intent just before he struck—his hand chopping down on her bare ass with a sharp, swift slap. “Ooh!” she shrieked, feeling the blow reverberate through the weighty heft of her buttocks, making them jiggle with the same enticing flow as when she walked around in her high-heeled boots with her thong cutting between her asscheeks. Scott wondered if it felt as good for her to feel her ass shake around as it was to watch it.
He slapped her on the other cheek, the pain flowing into the virgin flesh and thrumming as well in the lightly reddened skin of her other buttock. Betsy opened her lips, her teeth gnashing, absorbing the pain and more, the sensation of being on display and used and controlled. She had to be thinking about how one of only two things that kept her from battering down even his formidable psi-defenses were the rules of this twisted game they were playing. And Betsy was honorable, but no fool.
The other thing, though, was the possibility that she enjoyed this. Enjoyed every rippling, painful smack that went through her ass as Scott held her down and spanked her.
He brought his hand down again, whistling through the air, but this time stopped his palm right before it impacted Betsy’s trembling buttocks. And he heard her groan.
“You’re a smart girl, Betsy. You know you’ve been bad.” His hand hovered closer to her. Closer. Barely shy of touching her. He knew she could feel it all the same. In a lot of ways, the closeness of his hand was more potent than his actual touch. “Trying to seduce me. Throwing yourself at me.” He lowered his voice and his hand, bringing it down to her exposed cunt, but not touching, never touching. Just letting her know that he could, while she listened to his soft, cool voice. “Maybe even thinking about me. While you touch yourself. One big loop. You show off your tits—your ass—I think about them, think about you, think about fucking.” His fingers inched closer. Bare millimeters separated the tips of his callused fingers from the moisture of her pussy. He could feel her trembling. He could feel her warmth. “You read my thoughts. What I want to do to you. How I’d fuck you. And you think about it while you fuck yourself.” He curled his fingers into a fist. All but his pinky. That he laid against her cunt.
Betsy moaned.
“Does that sound naughty to you, Betsy?” Scott asked. “Something that deserves to be punished?”
Betsy was on the verge of orgasm. Her pussy dripping wet. Sucking at even the tiniest part of his finger. Getting off on just feeling the edge of his fingernail on her tender cunt. She drooled. “Bastard… can’t just fuck me… have to… have to be the big man…”
Scott dipped his pinky inside her. She clenched around it. And she tried to hold back her moan, but she couldn’t. She was too close, too hot—too naughty.
“You know what I like about you, Betsy? You're a dirty English slut in an innocent Asian body. So while you may love cock, your tight little cunt doesn't know what to do with it.”
Her cunt spasmed around her finger. If she wasn’t coming outright, she was so close to it that there was no real difference. She was gagging for it. Needing it. Needing it too much to even fight. Tears were in her eyes, sweat dotting her forehead. He whispered to her: “Even Emma didn’t drool before I put it in her.”
“Big man,” Betsy said angrily, though Scott imagined there wasn’t a man in the world who couldn’t see the lust she was trying to hide. As he dragged his pinky out of her, leaving her stranded on the verge of orgasm, she keened and whimpered like she was being tortured—all from being denied the touch of one little finger.
“Do you feel like a big man!?” Betsy demanded as soon as she recovered. Scott smiled evenly; she didn’t mean it. She was just frustrated with herself for getting so worked up, so easily. After years of being in control, both of herself and of any man who came near her, now she was at the bottom of the food chain. And, even more frustratingly, enjoying it. “Fine. Fine. You can get me wet. Lots of men have!”
Scott let out a wry chuckle. “Lots of men?”
Betsy colored and, for the first time, struggled against the jacket holding her arms to her sides. She nearly slipped free; Scott had to grab it with both hands. Then she was well and truly trapped. And she panted, aroused by that.
“Just because you can turn me on,” Betsy insisted shrilly, “doesn’t mean you can satisfy me. So go on, Scott. Fuck me. Make me come. Have a go if you think you’re hard enough!”
Scott was ready for her challenge. He ripped the jacket down her arms to her wrists, where he tied it into a firm knot, sparing a wan grin as he did so. They always called him a boy scout…
With Betsy securely bound, he rolled her over onto her back. She was naked from the waist up, the top of her gi now wrapped around her wrists, while her pants were down around her thighs, in the back at least. In front, they still partially covered her crotch, allowing him to see only a shock of purple hair at her pubis. Scott didn’t worry about that now. He straddled her chest, holding her down with his weight, and ripped open his pants at the seam.
“This hard enough?” he asked her.
Betsy stared with wide-eyed shock at the massive erection that whipped out of Scott’s town pants. It was twice the size of any other cock she had seen, long and thick, with fat blue veins running up and down its stolid length. His purple cockhead looked as wide around as a billiard ball.
Scott did not look smug as he knelt over Betsy, skinning back his foreskin, showing her all of his knob, its tip glossy with precum. Betsy was unable to speak, barely able to think, as if she were hypnotized by the mammoth prick Scott had challenged her with. But Scott’s mouth did turn upwards at the ends, in calm, collected acceptance of his victory. It was the tight-lipped smile he would wear at the end of a battle—the reassurance that his plan had been carried out successfully.
However she might have resented how Scott had chipped away at her defenses and stripped away her supremacy, Betsy was utterly unable to resist his trump card. Scott could almost hear his own words echoing in Betsy’s head. You're a dirty English slut in an innocent Asian body. So while you may love cock, your tight little cunt doesn't know what to do with it.
But she did. She knew exactly what to do with it. And she was eager to show him her skill.
He thrust into her before she could gather herself, make any plans, prepare her body. She was wet enough to take him and had been for a long time. Her mouth gaped—her entire being suddenly centered around the vast penetration that had taken place, her new impalement, the subdued pain grating against almost unbearable pleasure. Betsy threw her head back, thudding it with muted bass against the exercise mat. She bit her lip and whined, not so much with what she was feeling, but with the swirl of emotions and sensations that were impossible to separate. Scott could feel her psi-shields slipping, letting out her innermost desires, her most private thoughts.
Scott being Scott, he had arranged schedules and curriculums so that during this part of the day, not only were they unlikely to be disturbed, but most every telepath was attending a special lecture across campus. Only Scott was there, with his keenly sensitive yet mundane mind, to divine the meaning of the psychic chaff spewing from Betsy’s stricken mind. The pathways of his psychic bonds, first to Jean, then to Emma, gave him a secondhand understanding of telepathy—like he had bridges going from his mind to the two women’s, and from those bridges he could look down and see what Betsy was pouring into the ocean.
It didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.
“You like it,” he whispered.
Shit yes—please—I fucking love it—please—fuck the piss out of me—
Scott kissed her gently on the lips, closed mouth, hoping the softness would reassure her. He was going to fuck her, hard and fast, but it wasn’t because he was a brute. It was because it was the only thing that would satisfy her. “I intend to,” he said in his commanding voice, the one he used to tell traumatized civilians that everything would be okay, and for all the insight he had into Betsy’s character, it still surprised him a little when she clenched around his cock like she had decided not to let him go.
He pumped into her rhythmically, rapidly, knowing the tempo would be irresistible, and it only became more pleasurable as he learned Betsy’s sensitivities, the way she liked to be touched. With her broadcasting her thoughts as she was, and him adept at gleaning Emma and Jean’s telepathy, there was no way he could be ignorant of how to please her. Soon, she was desperately clinging to him, her legs scissored around his hips as he pistoned down into her. She gasped, she wailed, but no petty sound she made could convey her lust better than how her cunt sucked at his thrusting prick.
“Oooooh, Scott!” she shrieked with delight. “This is… wonderful… this is the greatest!”
“I’m just getting started,” Scott told her.
Betsy’s head thumped again into the exercise mat. Her eyes were worried, but her smile couldn’t be denied.
Now confident she could take it, Scott increased the already rapid pace he was setting. Betsy squealed and writhed, dropped suddenly into a sea of bliss. Scott grinned down at her and she tried to meet his eyes, but was only able to see a faint glimpse of them as he lustfully drilled down into her swollen cunt. He liked the thought that in trying to see him, she was only seeing her own lustful reflection in the ruby quartz. She didn’t look away. She had admitted to herself how much she loved being fucked. Her entire body shook with pleasure as Scott bore into her, leaving every single nerve in her body awash in rapture.
“That’s fucking,” Betsy panted—Scott thought he’d overheard another errant thought from her before realizing she’d spoken aloud. She really was out of control… stripped of everything but her lust. “That’s real fucking…”
“Want more?” Scott asked her, with a bit of sadism. Of course, judging from her reaction to the spanking, Betsy didn’t mind that.
“Ohhh, yes!” she squealed, too far gone to hold back anything. “Yes, yes, you beautiful big-cocked blighter! Fuck me!”
Her pussy was a flood of hotly gushing juices, but it still clung tightly to his driving cock, accepting his thrusts, sucking him in, barely releasing him when he rocked his hips back to leave her. The clinging, sucking tightness of her cunt was being harshly tested as he plunged himself into her up to his balls, leaving with fat droplets of her cream dripping from his slippery length.
“Fuck—me—fuck!” she cried.
“Do you trust me?” Scott asked her.
The sex-crazed Betsy, once a trained ninja and skilled telepath before all reserve and logic had abandoned her, wildly threw her cunt up to meet his every brutal stroke, taking the spiking pain so long as it came with jolt after jolt of ecstasy.
“Trust you, I trust you,” she babbled, her convulsing pussy reaching climax, tightly stretched around his massive cock. “Keep fucking me, love! Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”
Scott didn’t stop. What he did was move his hands to her throat, wrapping them underneath her jaw, expertly digging his fingers into her pulse, her airway—too skilled to cause any damage, but leaving no possibility she was receiving any oxygen. And still his cock plunged into her, ratcheting up her ecstasy until it was all she could feel… not her dwindling air, not the numbly growing blackness, only his hands and his pleasure and his mastery of her.
Dark spots appeared in Betsy’s vision, marring her view of Scott’s handsome face as she strained—not to breathe, but simply to stay conscious to feel her orgasm. It was so close, right on top of her, bearing down on her. This must be what it feels like to watch yourself be struck by lightning, Betsy thought nonsensically, staring at Scott’s cool smile, his grisly satisfaction in a plan coming together.
Her climax was glorious, only made better by the feel of his seed pumping into her, deeper than even his magnificent cock could go. The thick, hot cum warmed the walls of her cunt, pushing her into greater rapture than she would’ve thought possible. Betsy was just barely aware of Scott’s hands coming away from her throat, allowing her to gasp in air, rekindling her orgasm into a second climax right on the heels of the first. And that joy finished her off, kicking straight into her flailing mind and dropping her right out of her skull.
It felt heavenly.
***
Through it all, Scott didn’t feel one inkling of Betsy’s power. She didn’t try once to free herself, she didn’t panic for a moment. She trusted him implicitly. She was his. Dog collars, leashes, all the paraphernalia that Emma so delighted in—it was only a showy play-acting of the intertwined trust and obedience that Betsy had just shown him. He could only hope the orgasm that had went nova inside her as she lost consciousness was sign enough of his appreciation.
Scott did not dress himself after coming in Betsy. Quite the opposite. He stripped off what remained of his gi and picked Betsy up, her own body more or less naked. Some might call it a harem, but he would treat his lovers like a team, and he would never ask any of his team to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself.
Besides, he had Emma watching his back. The powerful psychic simply made it so that no one between the gym and his own quarters registered seeing the leader of the X-Men and the headmistress of the Institute carting around a naked, purple-haired ninja.
In Scott and Emma’s shared room, Scott carried Betsy to the closet. Emma got the door for him. Scott placed her unconscious body gently inside, making sure to place her so she would sleep comfortably and wake up well-rested. Then he shut the door again. The slatted closet door, like a set of Venetian blinds, were open enough to allow her to see out, but in the darkness of the closet, Betsy would be nearly invisible.
Emma sat down on the bed. Perhaps out of solidarity, she was dressed no more modestly than Scott and Betsy. In fact, she wore virtually nothing. Thigh-high boots, elbow-length gloves, a cape trimmed in ermine, but on her chest and around her hips, there was nothing but a gleaming, glistening array of small diamonds strung on necklaces and body chains. They did nothing to hide her breasts, nothing to hide her cunt, the pubic hair shaved into a small, perfect diamond. Perhaps she thought the glitter of all those tiny diamonds would sparkle enough to hide her nudity. It did nothing to dissuade Scott’s ruby-shielded gaze.
“Well done, Mr. Summers,” Emma purred, crossing her legs to give herself just a hint of teasing modesty. Her breasts heaved impressively high, as if she were arousing herself by doing so. “I do believe you’ve fucked Betsy’s brains out. It’s a good thing she’s used to these kinds of out-of-body experiences. Perhaps this time she’ll wake up as a mulatto—that’s very trendy these days.”
Scott gave her a humorless glare, even while inwardly admitting that the jibe was a little funny. Oh well—if the biggest concession he made to the Dark Side while saving mutantkind was finding Emma’s bitchiness amusing, so be it. “Jealousy is unbecoming, darling.”
“Me? Jealous? Of being choked out by a man’s bare hands like some commoner?” Emma’s lips twitched with slightly overplayed titillation. “Here in civil society, I expect you to use a silk ribbon if you want to choke me.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Scott said. “I did bring Betsy here to put on a show for her.”
Now there was nothing at all playing about Emma’s devilish grin. “Oh, bravo. Paying her back for all those little shimmies and shakes she tormented you with back when you had a ginger chastity belt on.” She beat him to it: “Don’t talk about Jean that way,” she said in a passable imitation of his voice.
Scott grimaced. “It’s part of the plan.”
“You’re so good at coming up with plans, darling. And I’m so good at making them better.” Leaning over—and truly making a production of it, especially the way her breasts never seemed to quite give into gravity while also never seeming the slightest bit fake—Emma opened the nightstand.
In fact, Scott really only had Emma’s word that her breasts were surgically enhanced. He wondered if she had a dark enough sense of humor to lie about that, knowing all along that her triple Ds were real.
Emma came up with a set of silk scarves—the kind that had never been worn in public. “You want to truly drive Betsy wild?” Emma asked, relishing the prospect so much that she sounded positively masturbatory. “Imagine if she wakes up from being your incontrovertible bitch to find that little ol’ moi gets to tie you to the headboard and ride you like a mechanical bull? I’ll make it good for you, Scott. You have no idea the kinds of pleasure I can give you once you let me into the driver’s seat.”
Scott thought it over. He had broken Emma in, so to speak—he had no doubt about that. Maybe it would make a nice gesture to step back and show her that he trusted her enough to take control. He certainly had no doubt it would be every bit as blissful as Emma implied.
But then again… “And what would you say if I wanted to go another way?”
Emma’s face fell and she pouted a little, but it was hard to tell how serious she was. She stretched out on the bed, holding her hands against the headboard, a scarf pulled tight between them. “I suppose I could let you be on top and I’d… try to enjoy myself. Maybe it would make Betsy feel better, seeing that even her social and cultural superior bends the knee—and stretches the cunt—for her fearless leader.” Emma’s eyebrows were working overtime, implying both the unseemly pleasures in store for Scott if he decided to top her and how much more he’d enjoy himself if he let her have her way. The woman barely needed telepathy; she could conduct a sympathy with her sultry facial expressions.
Scott had to admit, he was hardening already, even though it’d felt like he’d drained himself in Betsy’s exquisitely suckling cunt. But there was the plan to consider. And the one thing Emma enjoyed more than a good fuck, whether on top or on bottom, was being truly dominated—driven to the edge of madness before finally being satisfied. For all her virtues, Emma couldn’t shed herself of the pristine persona she’d created, her diamond edges. But if someone could do that for her… strip her down to a wild animal of lust and desire, and satisfy her while she was no more than the wanton whore she had once been in the Hellfire Club’s brothel…
Well, that was why Scott had Jean’s number on speed dial.
He had accounted for Emma bringing out the silk—she had the damn things in the nightstand, after all. But he’d gone into this with no intention of actually satisfying her. After binding her securely, gagging her, even putting an inhibitor collar on her to make her truly powerless… only then would he invite Jean in. They would make love in front of a hapless Emma while Betsy Braddock watched in her own voyeuristic frustration. All three of them would end up his mates, his lieutenants in this new X-team…
But was that plan too complicated? Too many moving parts, too many variables? Should he settle for ushering Betsy into this ‘harem’ of his by showing her there was no disgrace in submission? And if so, would seeing him let Emma on top destroy Betsy’s respect for him or would it show her he could set his ego aside and give his partner what they wanted? Or did Emma need to dominate at all? Could it be what she really wanted was for him to confirm, once and for all, that she was his property, his bitch, his slut as much as she was his lover?
“How about it, Scott?” Emma asked, biting a silk ribbon between her teeth and pulling at either end, making a spectacle of herself that had his erection leaping back to life. “Are you done being a leader yet? Ready to leave Auntie Emma in charge?”
Bad habit to get into, vacillating between this decision and that. He would have to cut his choices down to the best option and go from there.
A. It takes a real man to be the little spoon. Let Emma dominate you.
B. What’s a White Queen to an X-Man? Top Emma.
C. Enough fucking around. Bring in Jean and settle this love triangle once and for all.
Comments
Shendude
Fun!
Zhilbar
C is tempting, but I'd say A should come first. One-note dominance can get dreadfully boring for all involved (save the reader, perhaps); being flexible is the mark of a truly skilled leader. Let's get some A!
