The Summers Drive update

It was enough to make the normally stoic Betsy smirk. She was literally coming out of the closet, but it had little to do with the two perfect female bodies on the king-sized bed—Emma Frost bound to the headboard, with Jean Grey laying her head between the blonde’s legs. Not for any cunnilingus either: she was facing upward, using Emma’s muff like a pillow. She mused about how it was actually a little surprising, between her own athletic body, and Jean and Emma’s supermodel looks, that nothing Sapphic had developed. Yes, Betsy had leanings that way, but no real convictions. She was interested in seeing if Scott could manage all of them, but if he couldn’t, she wondered what kind of orgy this might develop into.

Above the two women, Scott thrust down into Jean’s face. He was in the missionary position with Emma, all set to ride her cunt like any woman would dream of, but with Jean in the way, he was filling her mouth instead. Jean was greatly enjoying that, and in her own way, Emma was enjoying it as well. Either she was a born submissive or Scott had made her into one. 

Betsy bit her lip. She knew very well how persuasive Scott could be. He may not have been much for words—there was a reason Xavier had been the face of the Institute for so long—but when it came to actions, there were few better.

The natural route for a foursome would be one of them with Scott, the other two with each other. And yet, as feminist as it was, Betsy couldn’t work up any major enthusiasm for Jean or Emma. Not when Scott was there… making Emma his bitch… hilting his cock in Jean’s throat… he was the brass ring and Betsy, aristo that she was despite all the X-Men liberalism she’d come into contact with, did not want to settle for a side dish when there was only one plate of prime rib to be had.

Betsy’s every stride was a symphony, her large breasts jostling, her corded muscles playing in sweet harmony beneath her pearly skin. Nonetheless, she garnered no attention from the other three people in the room. She wasn’t offended. The debauchery going on in the bed was enthralling, even for her. 

But no matter how enthusiastically the threesome on the bed fucked and sucked one another, Jean’s power couldn’t be denied. She couldn’t overlook Betsy forever. Jean paused in her savoring of Scott’s erection, then loudly slurped it as her teeping rang in Betsy’s mind. And no matter how long Betsy had had her powers—longer than she’d had this body, actually—it still took her aback to see Jean’s mouth filled with cock while her words came clearly into Betsy’s head.

So you’re here too. Scott is ambitious. I hope you don’t think I’m embarrassed to be seen this way. I’m actually rather enjoying it.

Jean’s thighs rubbed together, spreading the gloss of her dripping arousal between them. Even telepathically, the invitation was unspoken, almost challenging. 

That’s not what I’m here for, Betsy teeped back, though it was hard to deny how tempting the prospect was. Taste Jean’s cunt, wait her turn like a good girl… and if Scott couldn’t get to her, well, he’d already fucked her half to death once. Maybe she should live to fight another day.

Not on your life, Jean sent, knowing Betsy’s conclusion before she’d reached it. As if in reward, she sent some of her sensory experience with the thought. Betsy could taste Scott’s precum, feel the girth of his prick stretching her throat—ghostly, insubstantial, but arousing enough to have her reaching for a vibrator at any other hour of the day. 

We could share, Betsy teeped.

Because that’s your strong suit.

That, if nothing else, made Betsy flush. She had been rather a tramp back then—and not in a good way. I wasn’t myself in those days. You of all people should understand that. And now Emma has her hooks in Scott. You expect her to share?

Knowing her, I expect Emma to take the lion’s share for herself, then get Scott to fuck us once in a while just to rub our noses in what we’re missing. 

Sounds like a good bit of fun, actually. If you’re getting the lion’s share.

Oh, it is.

But you’re not quite first in the queue anymore, are you?

Jean put her hands on Scott’s hips, possessively holding him as he continued to slowly roll his groin against her open mouth. No. He is pretty fond of that… tart Emma.

You’re telling me. I never actually got him into bed—not even in our heads.

The stream of feeling from Jean’s senses shut off, but Betsy realized she could still smell the musk of their sex. She had wandered close enough to take it in her own flaring nostrils. What kind of reality TV bullshit is this? Jean finally sent. You want some sort of alliance to fuck my husband?

Pretty sure if you die, that counts as annulling the marriage. And I’d think of it more as a non-aggression pact. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. Better to have half of something than all of nothing.

Enough with the clichés. He’s going to come in my mouth. You can have him next. Cool?

‘Cool’. Betsy sent, managing to put a dry British wit even on the wordless thought. Somehow, she found herself relishing the thought of seeing Scott creampie Jean’s throat. Even more, seeing Emma have to do without… and then realize that Betsy was the next to get his cum.

Then, even if it ruined her cool imperial reserve, Betsy allowed her feelings of arousal to drip over to Jean’s mind as Jean’s experience of blowing Scott had. Jean opened her eyes, looking over at Betsy—and winked at her. I think we’re going to get along just fine…

In the midst of their psychodrama, Scott still held himself over Emma. She could look up at him as though he were thrusting into her, but with every pump he made down to her, Jean took his cock. It was enough to make Emma whimper, though a smile flashed underneath her pouting sadness. Her body trembled with need and she enjoyed that need almost more than she would having it met. It’d been so long since anyone had been man enough to truly dominate her. Whether it was real or not, she found herself enjoying playing the part—simpering to Scott like she really was just a horny bitch.

“Nooo,” she whimpered, tossing her head to the side, feeling Scott pant on her exposed neck like a bull as he kept thrusting and thrusting into Jean’s face—Emma could feel the steady pressure as Jean’s head rocked back against her groin. “Don’t give her your cum… give it to me… she doesn’t need your cock like I do… she isn’t a whore like me…”

Scott grabbed Emma’s hair and dropped his fisted hand down between the mattress and the headboard, pulling Emma’s head down into her pillow. As he pumped himself into Jean’s mouth, her throat, Scott leaned his forehead against Emma’s, his visor so close to her that she could see through the glowing ruby quartz to his eyes inside. “Look me in the eye while I come down another woman’s throat.”

He pulled back with his hips, drawing some of his substantial length out of Jean’s lips—Betsy went wide-eyed as she saw inch after inch pulling away from Jean’s mouth like the sword in the stone. Scott had inducted her into the ranks of his harem only that morning, but in the hours that’d passed, she’d already dismissed her memory as wishful thinking. As domineering as Scott was, she’d only thought he was so well-endowed. A combination of wishful thinking and second-guessing; if Scott really was that astonishingly hung, then Betsy’d had virtually no choice but to submit to him. And so, with the peculiar neurosis common to so many, Betsy had lost her self-awareness to hold two contradictory ideas at once: that she had been overcome by a massive erection, and that since nobody was likely to be that big, Scott really wasn’t that big.

Jean savored the reminder Betsy got just as Betsy had enjoyed experiencing the taste of Scott’s cock secondhand. 

Emma had her own little reckoning to deal with. Her inhibitor collar might’ve robbed her of her psychic powers, but she had still become adept at reading Scott’s facial expressions. The look he was giving her was not the one he made when she stole away his control, when she overcame his self-restraint with her sexual skill and the sheer perfection of her body. No, he was grinning coolly, confidently, not overwhelmed with pleasure, but simply deciding it was time for Jean to receive her reward. It gratified Emma, knowing that Jean hadn’t truly earned his cum, hadn’t gotten Scott off, and she vowed that as soon as she was free, she would show Jean the proper way to fuck her husband. Jean’s husband, Emma’s man.

Even Scott, though, had to let out a groan of satisfied effort as he ejaculated into Jean’s mouth. His first burst of cum surged into her mouth, too quickly and too much of it to be swallowed. It bulged out Jean’s cheeks, filling her mouth to the point that a trickle emerged from the corner of her lips. 

Scott wasn’t done, but incredibly he held back, checking his ejaculation after the first wave to allow all three women to register what had happened. How Jean’s mouth was stuffed, so much so that even now she couldn’t gulp down all of his cum. “I want your throat,” he said gruffly, his rough voice leaving no doubt that he would get it.

He drove himself back into Jean’s mouth, down her throat, his thrust forcing the cum out of Jean’s mouth. A large portion of it landed across her face, while more spilled down her chin and marked her bare breasts. Scott came more, his cock in Jean’s throat, his ejaculation going right into her belly. 

Jean couldn’t breathe, his prick swollen with its pumping cum, blocking her air as his ejaculation went on and on. She could feel the slight hunger of a skipped breakfast going away as Scott forcibly crammed her belly; her hips helplessly twitched upwards, enacting coitus with a partner her lustful body said should’ve been there. The hearing of every person in the room was ravished by the sound of Jean gargling, gurgling, forcing down every drop of Scott’s continuing ejaculation while trying to stomach his cock impaling her gullet as well. 

Thirty seconds ticked by with Jean unable to breathe, her body dedicated to taking Scott’s cum instead of her own survival. Thirty-five seconds. Forty. Scott was still going, his cum swelling out Jean’s belly, giving it a visible bulge as he used her to the fullest. Jean reached up, feebly patting at Scott’s naked body, able to do little more than feel the shaking tension in his corded muscles as he kept going and going, force-feeding her his cum, seeming determined to pump so much into Jean’s body that she would never be without his seed. 

Betsy watched with shock and a bit of envy. Was this how she’d looked as Scott choked her out in their sparring match? Had she too looked… grateful?

Finally, Scott judged that Jean had had enough—or perhaps, impossibly enough, there was simply no more cum, even in his bloated balls. He pulled himself away from Jean’s ravished face, leaving her covered with cum and gaping as she tried to catch her breath. He rolled off of Jean and Emma alike, leaving Jean to cough weakly—some of Scott’s excess cum landing on Emma’s thigh. The blonde moaned excitedly. 

Scott laid beside his two women on the bed, leaving Jean half-awake, trying to catch her breath with Scott’s cum still foaming in her mouth, while Emma pulled at her bonds in a fever pitch of arousal. She was nearing her limits, her degradation and deprivation almost too much to bear, her lust needing to be replaced with satisfaction. 

For a woman as proud as Emma, Jean being half-drowned in cum was nothing in comparison. She felt like she’d die if she didn’t soon get the rapture she deserved, that her goddess body demanded, that only Scott could give her. Her very dependency angered Emma, even as she craved more of it. She wanted Scott to hate her into an orgasm. She wanted him to shame her further, to bring her to the peak of humiliation—to embarrass her with how hard she’d come for him. And, powerless to do anything else, she vented her rage and trusted on some implicit level that the universe would rearrange itself to soothe her temper. It had done so plenty of times before.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Emma asked, though her shrill voice was near tears. “You always come more with me. I know how to really make you spurt.”

Betsy wasn’t listening. She’d been shocked by how hard Scott had come. A few scant hours after filling her, and with God knew how many intervals with Jean and Emma, he had truly filled Jean. Betsy could telepathically feel the upset stomach Jean had from swallowing such a vast quantity of cum. 

Scott’s prick had stopped its lusty throbbing, but still looked as firm and as hard as ever—a burgeoning cudgel swinging between his legs, wet with the aftertaste of all his cum. It couldn’t stay up much longer, could it? It had to grow flaccid…

Betsy actually felt a little scared. When Scott had choked her out, she’d thought that if their fuck continued, she would’ve eventually worn him down, maybe made him the kind of putty-in-her-hand she was used to men being for her. But now, she began to doubt her convictions—her own skill and her own power. Did she have it in her to defeat that rampant erection that had bested both Jean and Emma at the same time?

She had to face the challenge. Scott knew it and she knew it. He eyed her with no evident surprise and Betsy realized this must’ve been what he wanted, his plan. He wanted her to see how he’d made Jean Grey and Emma Frost, two of the strongest women Betsy knew, into his bitches. He wanted her to know she was next. A fair warning. A taunt. But could he really get it up after all that or was it just a bluff?

Betsy couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t find out. 

“Room for one more?”

Scott’s eyes moved down to the purple slash of her pubic hair, her slit already wetly lubricated. There was no need for foreplay. Nothing could arouse her more than the combination of what she’d just witnessed and the challenge Scott had implicitly made to her. A challenge he now made verbally, removing all doubt, leaving no way for Betsy to refuse.

“I’m not the one who needs to make room.”

Betsy walked around the bed, eying his cock as she would a sleeping rattlesnake. It was still firm, but it wasn’t moving, wasn’t getting any harder. She could take it. Jean, Emma, at the end of the day they were soft. Two peas in a pod, queens black and white. Betsy was royalty too, but she was also a warrior. And if Scott wanted to defeat her this time, he’d have to do more than appeal to her fetish. He’d have to make her his bitch. And he’d have to make her enjoy it, too.

As she joined Scott on his side of the bed, Betsy wasn’t sure what she wanted more: to be a winner… or to lose to Scott as Jean and Emma had.