"I think I've always handled you."
She turned around. For the moment, he thought she was giving him the cold shoulder, drawing her cape up around herself so it concealed all her golden flesh from him. Then she began to sway. Her weight shifted like a fond caress, traipsing down one side of her body and up the other. He saw the lines of her body bend against the cape that censored her, the buoyancy of her ass protruding through the cape in inviting motion. The slow sway continued—an erotic undulation of her body, almost totally hidden by the cape she'd wrapped around herself. Her shoulders and hips loosened, flowing more strongly against the tangle of the cape. He could see the silent rhythm in the ripples of its fabric, twitching and jumping with the undeniably sexual rhythm coursing through her.
Well, she has talent, I'll give her that.
Jean said.
But then, I don't need talent, so...
Emma's head arched back now, over the concealing cape, more and more of her spun gold hair falling from her shoulders as she leaned herself back, hips working in counterpart to the slowly, stately motion of her arching back, jerking up against an invisible lover as if she were being fucked right in front of him. She bent nearly backward, a limbo dancer, her hips driving upward out of the concealment of her cape, wet cunt now fucking at the air. All while she looked upward at him, upside-down, her lips apart and her mouth panting in a barely contained frenzy.
Abruptly Emma spun around, facing Scott, and leaned forward, hands sliding down her legs all the way to her stiletto heels. Her hair fell over her face, tousled now, looking freshly fucked. It covered almost all but one blue eye. Her ass, covered mainly by the cape that melted to her skin like a groping hand, rose upward over her craning torso until the cape slid away and Scott could see the rounded cheeks, the neat separation where her costume disappeared between them—a little shake as Emma expressed herself.
Take your cock out,
Jean said—fully able to see Emma from her vantage point behind the blonde.
Show her what she'll get for being a good girl.
Scott did. He didn't have to unzip himself—just a thought and his cock protruded through his costume, offering itself up to Emma.
Emma rose slowly, hiding her ass behind her body once more, hands auto-erotically trailing up her legs. She sizzled them up her inner thighs, fingers spreading to feel all of the firm, precious flesh. They reached her groin. She slid her fingertips under the thin strap that concealed her sex, making a little bulge in the fabric—then the bulge disappeared as her fingers slipped inside.
Scott began to pump himself, pleasure himself. Emma had her fingers hard at work in her overheated cunt, needing an orgasm as badly as he did. She fingered herself as rapidly as Scott stroked his cock. It was a toss-up which of them were tantalized more.
Emma's hands came away—pulling at either side of the shorn groin displayed by her thin covering. Her labia opened, its pink interior displayed beyond the strip of fabric. The strip, seeming to get thinner every moment, now settled between her labia lips, displaying virtually all of her sex to him for a split-second before she fell to her knees, the cape flapping up to cross her thighs and hide her. Her hands slid up along her body, her heaving chest, playing at the sidelong straps that crossed her ribs, holding her so-called costume in place.
Wet fingers glimmered in the pale light as she broke one set of buckles, moaning as her creamy skin expanded ever so slightly to fill the void the undone straps her left. Her fingers came up, trailing her own wetness over her skin, and she opened another pair of buckles. This time she gasped. Only one more left. She slid her thumbs underneath them, swaying her body now with her hands locked in place, her aroused breath plainly audible. It was pure irony: Scott had wanted to see her sway like this, make these slow undulations, her head twisting from side to side in selfish pleasure, cascading hair moving in slow swipes over the tops of her breasts, but now that all he wanted was to see her costume come more undone, the dance was a slow torture.
That's it, take it off—
Jean said.
Show us.
She sounded excited.
Thumbs still trapped inside the tight straps, her fingers rose up to the undersides of her full breasts, gently trailing her nails over their gracefully descending slope. He watched the marks of her sharp nails blemish the tanned flesh, then be absorbed into the overriding perfection of her physique.
She fell back upon her shoulder blades, her legs still jack-knifed underneath her so her wantonly exposed groin was on display. When Scott looked at the snugly fitted crotch-band of her costume, he grunted as if he'd been struck hard in the stomach. The flimsy strip of material was now sopping wet, translucent with moisture—he could see the red petals of her sex, the absolutely bare skin that allowed not one follicle of pubic hair to affect its smoothness.
Oh, you sweet bitch...
And he could see further up her belly, to the undersides of her breasts now fully displayed to him, her fingers rubbing the usually untouched expanse, softly swaying the great mass of flesh within the tight confines of her costume. Her thumbs pulled hard at the costume's side-strap, slender fingers rising to surmount the tips of her breasts within their covering, and she pulled on them—he could see the dark, sweaty workings of her tits as they distorted under her fingers, the flesh completely giving in to the pressure of her touch. Scott could've almost laughed—with the power of the Phoenix Force, Emma had made her silicone implants real.
Emma's rough handling of herself nearly worked her breasts out of their confinement, but despite everything, they stayed frustratingly hidden. Her fingers emerged from beneath her costume and now she pulled hard at the straps until they broke, unhinging her entire costume. Now, with nothing to keep it in place besides Emma's firm body, every movement did a little to break its grip on her, sliding it over her body like one giant caress.
Emma took hold of the cape puddled under her and flung it in front of her with either arms, flogging its length over her semi-nude body like a fandance as she faced Scott, slowly drawing herself back up to her knees, now whipping the floor before her with her cape, the strenuous activity bunching her breasts together to form deep cleavage, pulling her costume taut over sweaty flesh. Finally, in an orgasmic paroxysm, she ripped the cape off her body, leaving her costume as disheveled as her hair—that freshly fucked look again. Scott realized it was a taunt. A reminder of Namor.
But that's nothing compared to how she'll look when
you're
done with her.
Jean's voice was a loving nibble on his ear.
Emma approached him now, strutting, practically jiggling out of her costume with every step, but now she was in a frenzy, moving so fast that nothing could be gleamed from her continuous wardrobe malfunction but a blur of flesh. Sliding right up to Scott, she planted her hands on his muscular chest and shoved him back—into a waiting chair her new power had provided. No sooner had he landed in its seat then she brought up a long, toned leg and planted her heel between his legs—the toe of her boot just touching his erect cock.
She leaned forward, forward, forward, her whole stunning body poised over her own towering leg, bending at the knee to run her hands along the length of her naked thigh, pushing her white stocking down, down, down the length of her leg. Scott obligingly took hold of the stocking as she pulled back, the impossible combination of boot and stocking coming away in his hand. Somehow, it smelled familiarly of her sex—like her arousal had infused her whole body and all that touched it with
need.
He tossed the shed skin away. It burst into flames, unnoticed by either of them.
Emma put her other shoe in his lap—now the ball of her foot touched the underside of his erection, pressing the column back into Scott's stomach while her heel rested on the chair. She leaned forward again, but this time it was Scott who took hold of her leg, by a deceptively delicate ankle, rolling his hands up the flow of boot and stocking. His fingers played at the garter space where the stocking magically stayed up, but then he ignored it, caressing her firm thigh, eyes red on her provocatively displayed cunt.
Before he could reach it, Emma turned away with a dancer's flexibility, leaving her foot gratefully poised on Scott's body but arranging herself away from him. It just put her ass on display, and Scott's hands traveled over the perfectly round flesh, thumbs dipping into her crevice, squeezing ripely. He didn't hear Emma moan, but he could see the wetness running down her inner thigh.
She was not one for things she didn't enjoy. If she'd entered the Hellfire Club as a dancer, it was because she enjoyed it. Enjoyed the attention, enjoyed the lust, enjoyed being wanted but not touched. And enjoyed most of all when the teasing ended and the touching began. When someone finally claimed her and she was, finally and irrevocably, his.
Emma began to wag her hips, dancing her ass against Scott's thorough caresses, actually gasping when he darted a finger under her thong and pulled it away from her asshole.
She feels so exposed,
Jean said, staring down at her vulnerable, puckered anus with Scott—memories of her own, filled with white cum, waltzing through their shared minds.
She likes it.
"Pull me on that cock, Scott," Emma gritted out, seething with frustration—anyone else would think it had something to do with powerlessness. "Grind me against it,
dig that cock
between my cheeks and come in your pants, come for me,
I want it!"
she added in a petulant cry.
"You forgot one thing," Scott retorted, to Jean's widening grin.
"What's that?"
"What you deserve."
He ripped away her thong with one powerful tensing of his arm, leaving Emma's quivering ass bare, perfect and proud, all of her clenching in anxious expectation of what he would do to her. Eat her ass? Finger it? Finally put the worry of hurting her to flame and actually thrust himself inside her asshole? Emma's whole body heaved with thought and fantasy.
Scott pulled her sideways across his lap, bending her over his legs, his cock digging up into her cunt as she was so unconventionally seated upon it. Emma cried out in surprised, almost girlish delight. "Yes, yes—fuck me, show me why you're the fearless leader, show me the cock that made Jean your bitch—"
"Shut the hell up," Scott said, calmly, but with grim determination in his voice. He looked down at the womanly softness of her ass and his hand moved like lightning, the flat of it striking her so hard that it sent the rounded cheeks into a paroxysm of jiggling, Emma gasping aloud—not just pain, but shock. Scott had just spanked her! Hard!
"How dare you!" Emma shrieked, but already Scott had struck her other cheek, compounding the pain of the first blow, making heat bloom out from Emma's buttocks and into her body as a whole. With shocking suddenness, all of her felt sweaty, flushed, feverish...
Desperately she tried to get away from him, but his left hand held her down as his right supplied an endless series of wincing slaps upon her plump ass. Worse yet, every blow jived her on his penetrating cock, bringing him the pleasure of her cunt tightening on his member, making Emma burn as she was constantly reminded of his tauntingly fixed penetration of her.
"I'm the White Queen! The Phoenix! The Headmistress!" Every plea just seemed to bring a new stroke, harder and more painful. "You don't have any right to—I'll get you for this, Scott, pay you back—"
But Scott wouldn't release her. He actually chuckled in rueful amusement, swatting her with renewed energy. Her ass actually seemed to be jiggling more now that he was getting into the swing of things—a bright pink flush spreading across it.
"Scott, please!" Emma's pride had quickly deserted her, at least for the moment, her relish of submission and surrender coming to the forefront. It was like her body had fully taken over and, seeing Scott's seriousness, seeing that there was no reprieve coming, had launched into intense arousal almost against Emma's wishes. She was becoming quite aware of a part of herself, growing in volume, that was actually
grateful
that finally she was being put to rights—the fuming power within her controlled, made to answer to Scott instead of her own reckless id.
She began to cry—good tears, tears of extremes that were satisfying, if not pleasurable. It'd been so long since she'd been reduced by tears, so long since she'd been anything but
bored.
The more abject her surrender to him became, the more she enjoyed it. She sobbed now, begging with him, but she wasn't sure what for: for him to stop or keep going, keep making her
feel.
"I'll do anything you say! Whatever you want!"
"I want you to learn your lesson!" Scott grunted. And now he really let her have it, firm, hammering slaps that jammed her down on his cock with pneumatic force. "That's for Namor. This is for Namor too—"
Thinks she can fuck around behind your back like some slut...!
Jean hissed, kneeling down to watch Emma's spanking from only inches away.
You're making her wet, you know.
