Warning:
The following story contains a little bit of just about every possible sort of sex one can have, and in some cases, some sorts of sex that are impossible for us non-powered humans, no matter how hard we wish we could. Enjoy, and if you find parts of this offensive, well, just remember, it's only a story! I can only hope that if you weren't a fan of the X-Men before, perhaps, through my writing, you can share and appreciate the fondness for these characters I have had since 1978. As always, your feedback is readily welcome!
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In the world of Marvel's merry mutants, where strange powers meet strange desires, one team stands as mutant kind's last and best hope for a kinky co-existence with humanity...
X Writer
proudly presents
:
The New xXx-Men
!
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Chapter Two:
In the Heat of the Night
The Xavier Institute, Westchester County, Upstate New York.
1:13am
Bobby Drake noticed that the television room had just grown dark.
Well, I guess whoever was in there is done for the night.
The young would-be voyeur glanced back over at the other screens lit before him. Ororo Monroe, a.k.a. Storm, was still taking a midnight swim in the gymnasium compound. Iceman had been watching her make laps for a while now, her sleek creamy chocolate form sluicing through the crystal blue waters smoothly. Ororo never believed in using a swimsuit. Heck, Ororo never believed in clothes, for that matter. Of all the xXx-women on the campus, the Nubian weather goddess was by far the least modest. Bobby would have even gone as far as to label her an affirmed exhibitionist. Nude was her au natural state of being. Of course, if every woman was endowed with as fantastic a body as Storm had, the fashion industry would be out of business, and men worldwide would be sporting the perpetual hard-on.
Bobby grabbed the controls of the security monitor and zoomed in. Ororo's tall frame, large gravity defying breasts, firm flat stomach and long muscular legs moving fluidly through the pale blue liquid was a vision of grace and beauty. Slender arms thrust firmly through the strokes, caramel breasts with licorice nipples cresting the waves, bobbing round cheeks of a phat ass that just wouldn't quit, and strong sculpted athletic legs built to wrap around your waist and never let go, each delectable part appearing and disappearing underneath the swirling waters in an unconscious act of self-exposure.
Locking the camera onto the moving target, Bobby sat back, stretching his arms, interlacing his fingers, and tucked them behind his head. He kicked his feet up, to rest upon the large console, and watched the Amazonian sized woman turn in the water and push off for another lap of the Olympic sized pool. The Iceman wouldn't have minded making a play for the powerful woman, but he didn't think that she'd go for it, considering her odd tastes in men. She had a thing with Forge, and her and Bishop were unusually close. Bobby suspected that the two had, or were considering, a one time fling together. Just one of those, "It just happened" situations waiting to occur. Same gut feelings Bobby got when he saw Ororo dining with Victor Von Doom, of all people. There was a mutual attraction, unspoken, but thick in the air about those two.
Iceman simply figured that he was just a little too white bread for Storm's tastes. Still, one shouldn't knock a guy about getting a case of jungle fever especially when looking at one fine specimen of Nubian womanhood such as Ororo. She was worshipped as a Goddess in Kenya, where she grew to adulthood. It was there that Charles Xavier, founder of the xXx-Men, met her, and offered her the opportunity to serve all of mankind. She took it, with no hesitations.
Years later, it proved time and time again to be one of the best decisions that Charles Xavier ever made. Strong of will, merciful, even handed, she was a worthy leader when the need arose, and guided the xXx-Men to victory again and again. And now? Now, she was just simply amazing to behold.
"Chill, Bobby," Iceman shook his head, "she's out of your league." Tearing his eyes away, hesitantly, he refocused on what screens were still lit on the internal security monitors. The Headmaster's Office and the Danger Room were the two only other places lit. There were no interior cameras in Xavier's office, but there were at least a dozen in the Danger Room. Bobby wondered which insomniac was running a Danger Room scenario at this late hour.
Leaning forward in the chair, Iceman flipped the monitors to show the Danger Room. Instantly, the screens filled with otherworldly visions. An orange sky with violet clouds, three moons colored green, blue and yellow hovered in the sky, bizarre twisted spires stretching to the heavens, thin rocky archways bridged between tall plateaus, and large puffball fungi littering a rusty desert canyon valley. Bobby had been many places with the xXx-Men, but couldn't recall ever having been to such a place.
Betsy Braddock leapt into view, her black leotard with its red sash standing out clearly against the alien background. Psylocke was another delectable babe that Bobby wouldn't have minded tagging, but once again, she had a thing for another of the xXx-Men—the high flying Archangel, one of his very best friends in the world. Bobby remembered when the British lady joined their ranks. She looked very different back then. A broad face, stiff upper lip, pale skin, she was the epitome of British breeding. Then, the goddess Roma's Siege Perilous took all of the active xXx-Men, when they faced Forge's mortal enemy, the Adversary, and dispersed them to the far corners of the world, memories wiped clean. Bobby hadn't been there, but he remembered reading the reports that the team filed, once they managed to get back together, and get their heads right. Betsy had been changed the most, out of all of them. Somehow she had been transformed into the very image of Revanche, an oriental assassin for the ninja clan known as the Hand and the latest love interest of the nefarious Mandarin. The transformation went deeper than merely surface appearance, for the sedate Miss Braddock now found herself to be an adrenaline junkie, with an insatiable appetite for extremely kinky sex.
The martial arts training she had somehow been imparted with during the transformation kicked into full gear now. Whereas Ororo had fluid motion through the Olympic sized swimming pool, Psylocke now demonstrated that graceful skill upon the dry unearthly landscape. Nearly unnatural in her movement, she seemed to glide like some phantom image on Bobby's view screen. He still could not recognize the training scenario she was running, so he pulled up the program on a supplemental monitor.
Limbo. Magik's realm. Betsy was running Illyana's personal training program.
From the corner of her eye, Betsy saw the movement. They were small, nasty looking beasts, low to the ground and coming in fast from under the puffball fungi. How many, she could not ascertain, but one thing was certain...there were a lot of them. Reaching deep inside her, she felt her new power, her telekinesis, raw and clumsy. Even deeper still, she could feel the calling of her telepathy, but knew better than to access it. Betsy Braddock was a very rare telepath, and it was the uniqueness of her mental matrix that made her a living trap for the entity known as the Shadow King. Its original name was Farouk, an evil Egyptian that once met Charles Xavier in a psi-war that ended up killing it's body, but not before the malevolent beast could escape into another's psyche. It had been body hopping for the last forty years, until it attempted to gain control over Betsy. It tapped into her telepathy, and she in turn, shut it off, locking it away inside her very mind. Even now, she could still hear it's voice, calling to her, silently, beckoning her to unleash it's awesome power.
That would never happen, she swore. She would die before allowing the monster who nearly destroyed the xXx-Men with it's perverted desires to be free again. Strangely enough, for her sacrifice in retaining the Shadow King, her mutant mental powers expanded, developing powers of telekinesis that she never knew she had. For the adrenaline junkie, this was an incredible blessing. Now, instead of forming a psychic knife that cut through the shields of even the most gifted telepaths, she manifested a telekinetic sword blade, mentally severing molecular bonds of anything that she sliced through.
She unsheathed her psionic weapon now, as the creatures quickly approached. It was invisible to the naked eye. In truth, Psylocke supposed that only telepaths and telekinetics had actual awareness of the power she unleashed. To the psychically challenged, she was merely a woman in a black leotard, waving her arm around. To the more adept, however, the virtual katana glowed like a small star, hovering just off of her fingertips. She wasn't sure which category the little beasties she saw swarming in to attack her fit into, and honestly, the adrenaline junkie within her didn't care.
Bring it on.
Iceman watched in anticipation with mixed feelings of dread and awe filling him. He knew she had deployed her psychic weapon, not because he could sense it, but because of her particular combat stance. She was leaning into the onrushing attackers, one arm dragging behind her as a counterweight. The first demon spawn rushed out from under the fungi, it's appearance resembling that of an overgrown Rottweiler with porcupine quills adorning it, flinging them at her with deadly precision as it closed the gap.
Betsy swung her telekinetic sword with ease, deflecting the poisonous darts, much to the beastie's surprise. She continued her flowing kata form, bringing the weapon up over her head, and then down upon the spitting maw, slaying the foul creature. Simplistic, nearly mindless in performance, the maneuver was second nature, coming to her as easy as breathing. Still more of the monsters emerged from the fungus foliage, their sizes ranging from a tiny house cat to a massive workhorse, some resembling humanoids, others far more bizarre. Psylocke moved with the grace of a dancer amongst them, her psychic blade weaving an intricate pattern in the air, slicing effortlessly through the various attackers. When she wasn't deploying the weapon, she merely pushed them away from her with the blunt brute force of will.
Iceman was in awe. Betsy was truly a sight to behold. Even without the advantage of telepathy, Psylocke seemed to have a supernatural awareness of where the monstrosities were, striking at the creatures without even needing to turn to face them. As they continued to press their attack, Bobby noticed that now Betsy was hefting large rocks with her telekinesis to repel the demons. They were getting close now, claws nicking her, shredding at the leotard, pushing her back away from the valley of fungus, towards the high rocky ridges. She leapt from the collective hoard, landing upon a large rocky overhang, overlooking the valley. The creatures were snarling and screeching en masse before her, held at bay by one hand generating an invisible force field of telekinetic might. She was breathing hard, sweat pouring from her brow. The sheen of perspiration coated her bare flesh, soaking through the leotard. Bobby watched silently, wishing that her costume had been a thin white instead of the dark color that only opaquely hugged her skin. His jaw dropped open in surprise, as a large rock behind her shifted, unfolding itself into a very large and very familiar threat, rearing a massive arm back, ready to strike.
