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The Summers Drive: Breed Psylocke
🕑 Added 2019-04-16 01:36:23 +0000 UTC
Betsy Braddock was a sight to behold. Even out of her justly famous costume, in a unadorned gi, she was a vision. Her delicate Asian features had a boldness and vibrancy belying their gentleness, with her blue eyes being especially fierce, somehow reflecting the Occidental psyche that animated them. And she had the height of a supermodel, her body tall and elegant, with robust breasts that swayed and jiggled around the plunging neckline of her gi. Despite its formless shape and simple linen, she filled out the martial arts uniform voluptuously, so unlike the stereotypically lean Asiatic body type that Scott would well understand those who accused her of being silicone-enhanced. It wasn’t so much that she defied race as she transcended it, somehow embodying the charms of both her ethnicities in one gorgeous package.
She was both well aware of Scott’s appreciation and unafraid to voice it. “Nice of you to come spar with me, Scott. It’s always hard to find a partner who doesn’t mind getting a proper beating.”
“Maybe they don’t want to mar that pretty face.” Scott smiled at her coyly. “Of course, I’m used to doing what needs to be done.”
Betsy’s eyes trailed over him, seeing his muscles brusquely outlined in his own gi, and the sizable member that was apparent even in loose pants. Or maybe she was just noting that he was only a brown belt, while she was a sandan black belt.
Of course, a sandan would well know that size could count as much as skill in a fight, and Scott outdid Betsy on both reach and muscle. It would make for an interesting contest—in many respects.
“You’re welcome to do what you like to my face,” Betsy retorted. “So long as Emma doesn’t mind.” She reached behind herself to gather her hair in a ponytail, keeping it out of the way during the match. “In fact, I thought you were avoiding me, considering all our past history. Now that you’re a taken man again. ‘Lead us not into temptation’?”
“That’s not really Emma’s philosophy,” Scott replied. He tightened the strap on his visor to a painful degree. He wouldn’t risk it getting knocked aside while he fought her.
“And what’s yours?” Betsy asked.
Scott only smiled and made a respectful bow. Betsy did the same. However, when she straightened, she found that Scott was not waiting patiently for her to defend herself. He was coming to her full speed, in lengthy strides that ate up the exercise mat between them. Betsy tried to ready herself, but with lightning quickness, Scott was reaching for her. Only he didn’t make an attack. He grasped the folds of her gi and wrenched it open, exposing her bare breasts to his eyes.
Betsy was so shocked that she instinctively reacted with a series of incensed blows, ill-considered in their strategy. Scott batted them aside coolly. Betsy hadn’t stopped to adjust her gi and so it stayed open, revealing her breasts’ ripe jiggle as she fought. And Scott took them in—she could feel his eyes on them—without it affecting his calm control one bit. He evaded, turned aside, and blocked her flurry of blows, until finally they were locked forearm to forearm, struggling bodily against each other. Betsy had lucked into the leverage, but Scott still had the power.
“That was awfully forward of you,” Betsy said, her face burning, and not just with embarrassment. She had dreamed of him making a bold move like that, but it’d been a dream for so long that she had little idea of what to do when faced with him actually doing it.
“I thought you liked forward. You certainly seemed to when you had a new bikini or bath towel to show off every day,” Scott said unapologetically, tensing his muscles as he pushed her back a step. Betsy realized that he was holding back to have this face to face with her, and her muddled emotions settled on being pissed off.
With a harsh war cry, she threw him back and drove into him with sharp jabs, staggering him and drawing a pained grunt before he marshalled a block. And still she didn’t let up, knocking him back until she had him against the wall, her forearm across his throat.
“It depends on whether I’m giving or receiving,” she told him.
“So which is it?” Scott asked her. “Do you want to give or receive?”
Betsy lifted her leg and rubbed her thigh against his crotch, unsurprisingly finding him half-hard. It was enough to make her bite her lip, even as she asked suspiciously “What’s gotten into you?”
“You tell me. Read my mind.”
Betsy regarded him scrupulously, wary of some trick. She did accept his invitation, but she did it with her psionic defenses fully raised. And still, slipping into Scott’s head was as easy as submerging herself into a warm bath. For a man as closed off as Scott, his experience with telepaths let her enter smoothly and gently, a nice easy ride. She immediately followed his chain of thought to what he wanted to show her.
The night before. Emma Frost and her amazing beauty, her seductive nature, and the quasi-domineering nature that made bringing her to heel so very satisfying. Betsy gasped as she relived how Scott had broken Emma and how Emma had wanted to be broken.
Unfortunately for her, investing so much of herself in mental defenses had literally taken her mind off the fight. While Betsy was shocked silent by the thought of Scott and Emma’s sex life, Scott threw her off him, only to wrap her in his arms. He kissed her hard and hungrily.
Betsy’s fingers dug into Scott’s back as she realized that Scott’s keen analytical mind hadn’t mistook Emma’s reactions. In his memory, he had seen her climax repeatedly, virtually overdose on the pleasure he gave her, and there was no exaggeration there. Betsy felt the same pleasure as Scott kissed her, touched her.
After their tongues had learned enough of each other, Scott lifted his hand to one of Betsy’s full breasts. He closed his fingers around its wonderful curvature, fingertips describing how it differed from Emma’s. While Emma’s breasts were pert and firm, Betsy’s were soft and pliant, changing shape in his hand as he squeezed it, flowing into his grip and spreading under his fingers.
“You shagged her,” Betsy moaned, lost in Scott’s memories of taking Emma, a woman Betsy never would’ve thought would be brought to heel so easily. Scott’s lips caressed her neck, offering pointed reminders that she only knew Emma’s pleasure secondhand, that she could experience Scott’s lovemaking for herself if only she gave in. “You… you bred her. Bloody hell… you’re going to fuck her every night until she’s finally… pregnant. She came again and again. Like a whore. Because you treated her like a whore.”
Scott’s arms cinched around her waist, his hands slipping under her gi. One clutched the sweetly round hills of her ass, squeezing, massaging, circling, even patting as if in ownership, with Betsy sighing heavily as the pleasures of his touch sank into her unawakened flesh, revealing it as tender and sensitive under his fingers.
The other hand went even lower, caressing the back of her thighs, sending shudders down all of Betsy’s long legs. She wanted to jump up and wrap her legs around Scott’s waist, force her breasts to his mouth, experience all the satisfaction she had seen Emma enjoy.
“Don’t think you can treat me like that, mate…” Betsy muttered, barely conscious with the cacophony of pleasure exploding in her senses. She could smell Scott’s musk—her hands flowed over his face, feeling his chiseled features, the grainy shadow of his stubble. “Like your little… bitch…”
He smelled her hair and she was in his head, she could feel him enjoying its mango scent, feel him enjoying her, relishing her as no one had in what felt like forever. This, this was what’d she’d wanted when she’d first pursued him. All the hidden passions, all the kinky desires, all the dedication and duty and studiousness, but applied to her. She wanted to be his mission.
She gasped like some lovesick little girl as he kissed her neck again. “Scott, I love… love this… wanted this, for so long… thought I’d never get it.” She breathed in his scent as she kissed him back, pressing her body against his, her flesh against his itchy gi. She wanted it out of the way, wanted to be skin to skin with him. Let him be shared with Emma, let him be doing this to mate with her like some wild animal in heat—she was an X-Man, her entire life was bloody well complicated, why should this be any different? All she knew was that she was happy. She’d known how compatible they would be for so long, and now finally it was like the universe had been convinced too.
“Then you’re okay with it?” Scott asked her, drawing her slightly out of the lust that was tingling through her body and tightening her cunt. “Breeding? And not being the only one?”
Betsy smiled. “We’ll see if you still want Emma after you’ve had me. And as for breeding…” She looked down again, seeing that he was either fully hard or close to it, his erection distending the crotch of his gi like a tent being put up. Emma, that poor, poor, lucky girl. No wonder she’d put aside her superiority complex for that. “Try it.”
She doubted it would work—even Scott’s potency couldn’t compare to her birth control regiment. But if she liked the effort, she’d do the same as Emma and drop her pills. And then, well—try, try again.
Scott moved to kiss her again, but Betsy stopped him, laying her finger over his lips. “One thing, love. If you’re not just going to shag me—if you’re going to bloody breed me—I think I’d best make sure you really have what it takes to be a daddy.”
“Do averted futures count? I could provide a few references that way.”
“Not that kind of daddy,” Betsy said.
In a flash, she’d put Scott through a hip toss, slamming him down on the mat and following through by straddling his head. With one hand she grasped his hair, the other fist she raised for a killing blow. And all the while, Scott’s nostrils were awash with the scent of her aroused cunt, situated just a few inches away from his face.
“How about it, Scott?” Betsy asked as she knelt over him. “Do you have the good sense to surrender now? Or the balls to keep fighting me? Because you’re not going to get this bint without one or the other.”
A. Let her win.
B. Take her down.
Comments
Shendude
Well, this is fun. And I do love the contrast in seduction style here. Betsy isn't Emma, so obvs. a different approach would be required.
Ai Muhao
I concur.
Zhilbar
Take her down! As much fun as she would have being in charge of Scott, it's that loss of control and urge to be overpowered that's got her motor running! Betsy's long been a gal who appreciates balls over sense; her one-nighter with Hercules, for example.
