And abruptly Emma was pressed down onto her back, Betsy's warrior muscles standing out from her creamy skin as she made it clear who would be in charge in Scott's absence—headmistress or no.
"Little tart!" Emma swore. "You think you can manhandle me with no manhood?"
"Do you think I need one?"
Betsy ripped away the tea apron she still absurdly wore and covered Emma's body with her own nakedness. She pushed against her, rolling her purple tuft of pubic hair against Emma's sopping wetness. Perhaps it was her imagination, but Betsy thought she could feel the warmth and wetness of the last time Scott had used Emma's cunt. It had left Emma so tender that it took virtually no effort to arouse her again, Emma's lips wobbling and eyes flaring as she absorbed the friction between their two naked bodies.
"Scott fucked me, not you. And since you were his cock holster, I see no reason you shouldn't be mine."
"You don't have a cock!" Emma repeated, exasperated.
"Think I can't get one?"
The combination of Betsy's dominance and Emma's submission was working for both of them, albeit on different levels. For once, Emma seemed a little embarrassed. It was one thing to give in to Scott, she'd mollified herself to being the queen to his king. But Betsy was a pretender to the throne. She couldn't believe the purple-haired bint was going to make her come.
Not that Betsy wasn't aroused herself. Making Emma her bitch was getting the ninja off incredibly, her breath rasping like satin brushing against silk. She reached down between their rutting bodies, pushing Emma's clit down against the neat diamond shape that her downy pubic hair had been shorn into. Betsy took the fleshy bead between thumb and forefinger and, like she was rubbing two sticks together, started a fire in Emma's sex.
Emma's eyes shut. Revenge for this affront could wait. For now, she'd enjoy herself. As Scott had said, she was a whore. Why not be whorish enough to luxuriate in this? She wrapped her arms around Betsy's muscular shoulders, touching Betsy's long hair, slick with sweat. It seemed to welcome being wrapped around Emma's fingers.
Emma felt her throat go dry while her lips were wetter than ever. "Kiss me while you make love to me," she moaned. "I'm a
lady."
Whatever she had to say in support of such an unlikely idea, it was stopped by the press of Betsy's lips against her own. Betsy's wet tongue stroked against Emma's mouth, until Emma was overwhelmed by the soft promise she felt in the kiss, and let Betsy's tongue invade and overwhelm her own. Then all she felt was pleasure and all she had to do was be satisfied—Betsy was getting off more than enough just having the White Queen submit to her.
***
In the headmaster's office, Scott quickly caught up on the work he'd been understandably neglecting. He had the advantage of being able to delegate most everything to various other X-Men in positions of authority. It surprised him to realize how many were now trustworthy figures when they'd spent so long as rivals or even children. Kitty practically had her own team now. Logan was, if not a company man, someone who could be relied upon to do a job and do it right. It was hard to think of one of the outcasts and vagabonds that had come to the X-Men and find one of them he wouldn't now trust his life to.
There was one last chore. A Danger Room simulation he'd been working on for Emma. It would serve Betsy equally well. He set a summons for that evening, drawing the two of them to the Danger Room for a session. It would be good for them to burn off some steam if they were feeling frisky without him.
Just as he fired off the communique, another one arrived on his desktop. This one was a video from Rogue. Setting his chin on his fist, Scott played it.
Rogue wore what had to be the tightest pair of jeans she owned, showing off her ass like nothing else could except the loincloth she always seemed to put on within one minute of entering the Savage Land. They were cut-offs, too, so high on her creamy thighs that the white pockets came out from under the frayed hems.
She walked toward the camera, rolling her hips like a belly dancer, twisting her body around to pose. There was a tattoo on her back, right above the dip that met her jeans' belt. It read 'Touch At Your Own Risk.'
Rogue turned back around, showing off the sleeveless flannel vest that was barely buttoned in front, showing off her taut belly and her full breasts in equal measure. Then she turned away again, shoving out her firm ass, her tight jean shorts—giving herself a hard smack on the ass to make it impossible for Scott to look away.
"Hey sugah," Rogue breathed, that irresistible Southern twang making her voice even sexier. "Ah heard what y'all been doin'. Word travels fast, ya know. Everybody knew what you was doin' with Emma—you never made that a secret, but still, it got people's whiskers up. Otherwise maybe ya could've kept what you was doin' with Betsy Boo to a little bitty thing on the side. But Jeannie too? You're one dirty dog, Scott, takin' all three of them ladies at once. And a smart cookie like you should've figured there'd be one or two gals feel themselves left out!"
With a toss of her skunk-stripped hair, Rogue ripped open the vest. It wasn't much of a bra she was wearing underneath. Just some scraps of red lace gilding her breasts, so thin they were nearly translucent. Yet as luscious as they were, soft and pliant, yet firm enough to be of a piece with the big cherry-pit nipples that were stiffly erect at the tips, Scott was more taken by the totality of her nakedness—all that bare flesh. There was something about Rogue's soft, creamy, paleness that seemed almost divine, it was so sensual. She was so soft and voluptuous that just looking at her made Scott feel like he could feel the decadent warmth of all that naked flesh.
And yet Scott felt compelled to meet the sparkling green eyes under the batting eyelashes, smiling at him—or rather, the camera. Her full red lips were moist and soft, smiling heedlessly in joy at her own beauty. And Scott had rarely seen anything as lovely as her luxurious hair sprawling indulgently down her smooth shoulders.
"Of course, a man like you wants the best'a everythang. Emma, Jean, Betsy, they're some real high-class ladies. But ah'm no musk-rat myself. After all, ah got that ol' swamp-rat Gambit sniffing after me even 'fore we could touch. Getting' the clue why, Scott? Ah'd hate to state the obvious..."
Scott's eyes flowed up and down her body, pulled almost magnetically to the barely covered breasts on display as she held open her vest and, down the smooth plane of her belly, the crotch of her jeans. Unzipped, panties short and skimpy underneath, with both brown and white hairs emerging from over the dangerously low waistband of the garment. He could almost see the lips of her eager pussy through the splayed fly and thin panties, and Rogue looked so wet he could sear he smelled her cunt.
"'Course, me and Gambit are real happy together, Scott. Maybe even as happy as you, ya ol' fox, in the henhouse with those three chickadees of yours. Lemme show you why, Scott."
Now she pulled her vest off entirely, spinning it in the air above her head before letting it fly. Her eyes stayed on the camera—Scott felt like she was looking right at his throbbing cock, even as she peeled her bra away next. At the sight of her jostling breasts, her wildly erect nipples, Scott reached down to stroke himself through his pants. The strategist in him thought of pausing the video, summoning Emma or Jean or Betsy to watch it with him so they'd be on hand to deal with the massive erection this display was giving him. But the man in him couldn't stop watching, even for the frantic sex that was sure to result if any of his three telepaths got a glimpse of his psyche in this state.
"Ah always liked ya, Cyke. Kinda rooted for Wolvie to take yer girl so ah could have ya all to myself. Ain't that bad a me? Maybe we could consider this mah apology. Though ah'm hoping you'll do a whole lot more than jes' accept it!"
She cupped her bare breasts in her hands and offered them to the camera before pulling her jeans down and steeping out of them. In only thong panties—little more than a belt with a strap that went between Rogue's legs, amusingly hiding only the white stripe on her thatch of brown pubic hair—she danced for the camera, missing not one trick in how to show off her ass, her slender legs, and most especially the ripe melons on her chest.
"See, th' Cajun and ah hav' one thing missin' from our marital bliss. Ah think you can guess what. Remy's one helluva cocksman, so who would've thought he was short'a the special sauce to make us an according-t'-Hoyle family?"
Rogue pushed her panties slowly down her long legs, bending over to get them all the way down. When she came up, she wiggled her shoulders and her hips, showing that all her flesh was entirely natural, no matter how impossibly perfect he looked. Scott felt the back of his throat run dry.
"So ah want that same deal all your high and mighty Phoenixes and White Queens are getting'. Ah want you t' take this little ol' cooter and knock it up. Ah know that's one big ask, so feel free to enjoy y'self as much as ya want while you're at it."
Rogue was sweating now, gyrating her ass, shaking her jubilant breasts. She pumped her naked slit at the camera, then turned to show the full globes of her buttocks. She reached down her sides, down to her pussy, and underneath her body, she pulled her labia open—Scott could just make out the glossy pinkness of her sex.
"Ah've certainly picked up a few tricks from that damn swamp rat o' mine that ah'd like trying out on a stud like you. And y'all can show me what ya do to Frost that makes that blonde beaver of hers sing. Ya know whatever she goes in for must be some world-class fuckin'!"
Rogue teased her pussy with her fingers, taunting Scott with the idea before slowly pushing two fingers inside of herself. Scott swore and reached into his pants, gripping his cock and pumping it directly. He watched while Rogue fingered herself, buck her ass as she was fucked, turning her cunt into a boiling froth.
"If you're interested—and not too busy with those three bitches you're already taking walksie—ah want you t' prove you're serious."
With her big white ass jutting out, Rogue reached behind herself and parted her buttocks. Scott could see both the pink hole of her anus and her shaven slit from the back. He watched almost disbelievingly as Rogue pushed her middle finger into her anus, making it all too clear how far she was willing to go on this prospective rendezvous.
"Make a little movie for me, Scott. Show me your sweet little self doing what ya must want t' be doin' right now. Show me how much y'all will come when you're breeding my Southern ass."
Rogue straightened. She picked up her famous brown flight jacket from the back of a nearby chair, throwing it onto her naked body. It did nothing to hide her jutting tits, her wet pussy, or much of anything else—it seemed mainly to remind Scott that this was no random slut making this request, but Rogue. Making it all the hotter what a slut she was being.
"Can ya do that for little ol' me, Scott? Whip it out and crank it up? Because once you do, y'all can consider me your baby momma. Who knows—ah might even see about asking Remy to let Junior have a few siblings!"
