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The Bitch Queen: Betsy's Big Day update
🕑 Added 2021-12-10 23:00:03 +0000 UTC“I know it’s your birthday,” Scott breathed, panting, his exhales ripping their way out of him as he raged with how good her mouth felt around his cock. “But I think I’m going to start off by coming down your throat—coming all over your face. Showing you who you belong to. And that even now, on your special day, you’re still just my cum slut. Would you like that, Betsy? Would you like my cum all over you, covering you from your lips to your stomach, because that’s what I do with a good little bitch like you?”
Betsy Braddock’s eyelids fluttered as she listened to him berate her, barrage her with the naughtiness of what she was doing and how she was doing it. She wasn’t just blowing him, she was outright submitting to him, and for all her X-liberalism, her upper-class upbringing still found that taboo. Hell, her progressive feminism made it doubly taboo. Everything about her was rubbed the right, wrong way by her affair with Scott. Her masculine better, her working-class master, her bloody American dom.
Fucking hell, she just loved suckling his huge erection so bloody much. Scott was sat down on the couch that had already seen so much of their lovemaking. Betsy could’ve been getting fucked there right now—it would’ve made for a change of pace from the bed, where she was sure she’d be spending most of the day, unable to move from it as Scott rutted her again and again.
But as he’d said, first he was going to mark her—then he was going to treat her as his property. Betsy would’ve been incensed, except that this was exactly her fetish, her fantasy. The only thing better would be when he bred her. And she knew that, as always, once Scott set his mind to something, he would keep at it until he accomplished his mission. He might stop if she begged for mercy—maybe—but that would never happen.
She just couldn’t resist him; it was as simple as that. Ever since that first threesome with Emma Frost, Scott had felt free to ogle her body. She’d noticed his attention, noticed his groin bulging when he stared at her luscious body—and scant costume—for any amount of time. And soon enough… the moment they were alone… she could count on Scott kissing her, leaning in close to rub his swollen erection against her body. Both flirtation and ownership. Sometimes he would leave it at that, other times it would progress to a quick, breathless fuck in which she came as much from being mastered as from the prospect of being bred. Whether Scott stopped himself or not, Betsy knew she was his.
As she did now, sucking him off. She also knew that Scott was hers. That he would do anything for her, give her anything she wanted. This cock in her mouth—this perfect, beautiful specimen of masculinity—was hers to give her all the pleasure she could stand.
Soon they’d have a baby. Their baby. And however much he’d shared with Emma and Madelyne, she would be the first to raise a child with Scott Summers. It made Betsy so horny that she could barely stand not having his cock in her pussy already. It aroused her even more that he was denying her, mastering her, showing her with his control that she was his, which meant he was hers, because his dominance was to please her, and the sex was to give her a child, and they both wanted to be parents, both wanted her to be bred…
Betsy wrapped her hand around the goodly portion of his shaft that she couldn’t get her mouth around and furiously pumped it. Her lips were stretched wide, wetly enveloping the girth of his blue-veined cock. Hungrily she bobbed her face up and down on his prick, her cheeks hollowing and puffing out as she slurped noisily on the throbbing stiffness of his manhood.
“Gonna come!” Scott growled, reaching down to grip Betsy’s head with both hands. His member pounded wildly in her mouth. Scott pumped his hips off the couch, thrusting his cock down Betsy’s throat, which bulged and quivered around its pulsing enormity. “Suck it, Betts! Make it come! Yeah! I’m getting close to making you my cum dumpster! Hnnn! Really need you to be a good little slut—eat that prick like the whore you are! Show me you want this cum!”
Betsy sucked his big dick as hard as she could, her cheeks caving in, her whole face flushed red with the intensity of the pressure she was putting on his member. Her hand was a blur now, whipping up and down Scott’s stiff length. However much of a slut she made herself out to be, she would never let Scott think she didn’t live for his cum.
Scott sighed, milky white cum flooding through his cock, making his shaft swell and his cockhead bloat—straining Betsy’s jaw as she struggled to keep him in her mouth.
“Ahhh! Yes! Betsy! That’s a good whore! That’s a good little bitch!”
The hot seed gushed out in long, lashing ropes, splattering the roof of Betsy’s mouth and filling her throat. Betsy clung to his manhood, jacking and sucking on it even as she struggled to suck down how profusely he’d come.
She gargled and sputtered, her throat bobbing with each gulp of cum she made, but she didn’t stop, even as Scott’s lengthy ejaculation left her choking for air. She kept going until she’d milked the last drop of his jism from his glans, red in the face now except for where excess jizz trickled from her lower lip and turned her chin white.
“Mmm, not bad,” Scott moaned, slumping heavily on the couch. “Not bad at all, you filthy bitch. That’s how much you need my cum, huh? That’s how much you love it when I fuck your tight slut mouth the way I did?”
He wasn’t as tired as he appeared, but he was pacing himself, not trying to push himself so soon after the ultimate exertion. He could easily push through the small amount of fatigue he’d accrued, start slamming himself into Betsy’s gullet all over again, but he didn’t need to do that to master her. All he needed was a finger.
He curled his forefinger at Betsy, gesturing her up onto his naked lap, and she obeyed without pausing to so much as lick her white-frosted lips clean.
Once she’d come to him, Scott wiped his cum from her chin, then used that same hand to smear his seed over her face, rubbing it into her cheeks and forehead and under her chin. Finally, he brought his hand up to her lips and Betsy licked his palm clean, sucked on his fingers, like a faithful hound cleaning up after a messy meal.
When there was no more semen to lick up, she nuzzled her face against his hand. “May I clean your cock off now, master?”
Scott smiled at her like the cat that’d gotten the canary. “Of course, Betts.” He slid his finger down over her plump lower lip, pressing it down against her chin before it sprang up to meet her upper lip again. “What else would I want a born cocksucker like you to do?”
Betsy sighed, on the verge of climax without ever having been touched. The combination of Scott’s insulting words and his pleasure with her service—his treatment of her that made her feel both sacred and profane, loved and shamed—a lady and a whore—it got to her beyond the physical, on a level that perhaps only a telepath like her could appreciate.
She’d gone out with some of the best cocksmen and cunt-lovers there were… and Emma Frost was almost the best technical lover she’d ever known… but Scott paired a ruthless control of her body with a hold on her psyche that Betsy found absolutely irresistible. He loved her. He mastered her. The combination was intoxicating as could be.
Moaning until her mouth was full, Betsy closed her lips around Scott’s cockhead. His prick seethed, then clenched, spurting a little more of his cum. Betsy let out a pleased wail, her pussy convulsing in tight gulps. She sucked at Scott’s prick, swallowing the warm cum both clinging to the outside and waiting on the inside. Her tongue flicked at his glanshole, making Scott gasp as he watched how lovingly her lips adhered to his manhood.
Betsy closed her eyes to fully enjoy her climax, selfishly losing herself in its delights—she knew that Scott wouldn’t begrudge a slut like her that amount of lasciviousness. As the deliciousness faded, she opened her eyes to look up at Scott, her lips trailing off the tip of his member. She saw in the reflection of his ruby quartz how her eyes twinkled while she licked her lips of the dregs of his seed.
“You came just now, my little whore.” It was not a question.
Betsy nodded. “I couldn’t help it, sir. When you’re pleased with me, it’s so… wonderful.”
She gasped out the word after a pause, like she couldn’t manage to pack its syllables with all the meaning she wanted to. Perhaps telepathically she could show Scott just how good it felt to come simply because she was so in thrall to his mastery, but then, she didn’t have to. He was so in control of her that he must know how much she enjoyed herself.
“Then we’re off to a perfect start,” Scott said, taking the IDA that hung around his neck and holding it out to Betsy—thumbing the red record button on it. “Speak,” he ordered. Betsy’s cunt quivered at the dog-like command.
She knew what he wanted her to say. They’d done this before. The recorder was a new touch, but she liked it. It excited her. What didn’t excite her, under these heavenly circumstances?
“My name is Betsy Braddock. I’ve just had my first orgasm of the day, thanks to Scott Summers. I belong to him—and my body is his to play with.”
Scott turned off the recorder, smiling at her. He was pleased with what she’d said. It was enough to make Betsy swoon. “Now a question for the birthday girl. I think you know what state you’ll be in by the end of the night, but for now, should I leave your costume on or take it off you?”
“Leave it on,” Betsy said immediately.
“Really?” Scott’s questioning was condescending, something he’d never do outside the bedroom, but here, his superior attitude aroused her. She just couldn’t belong to someone as humble as Scott really was… or at least, as he’d trained himself to act. Modest to a fault. Such a Boy Scout except when he was with her… “Why is that? Don’t you think it might get in the way?”
Betsy shook her head, feeling the aroused rhythm running in her mons. She was so very close to having him inside her, having him breed her. Only his dominance of her kept Betsy in check. “It doesn’t matter if the costume gets in the way, master. If it does, you can rip it right off me. But I don’t just belong to you when I’m in here, with my clothes off, enjoying your cock. I’m always yours, even when I’m Psylocke, wearing this costume, out in public and representing the X-Men. The only reason I don’t shout it from the mountains is because none of them have the right to know, to even imagine the pleasures we share.” She smirked with a sudden, particularly naughty thought. “And since I can’t go naked out there, and show them how I’m yours—in here, I wear the costume, so you can see I’m always yours to fuck, wherever we are and whatever we’re doing. Or wearing.”
Scott’s smile only widened. Even through his cool remove, Betsy could see her answer had greatly satisfied him. It wasn’t a lie either. Maybe she exaggerated a little—the truth was, she was enthralled to Scott because she knew he wouldn’t abuse her trust. His sex slave because he would only treat her as such at a time and place of her pleasure.
It was, perhaps, a paradox… but as a telepath with regular insight into the deepest inner workings of the psyche, Betsy had learned to accept paradoxes. Sometimes, they were the most fun.
“Betts,” Scott said, “I think we’re going to be making another recording very soon…”
***
All around them, countless enemies plotted their death, from human bigots to their fellow mutants to even alien beings lightyears away. And yet, Scott Summers did what men had done for all time, in all places, in war and peace, in savagery and in civilization.
Scott pulled and tugged at her costume until the chest—already cutting across her bosom, showing a broad band of the outer curve of her breasts—rolled to the side, exposing one luscious breast on her left. He sucked it eagerly, the nipple swelling to his mouth, then switched to the right breast, still hidden behind her costume, and bathed it with his warm saliva. Even through her costume, Betsy felt it. The sodden fabric grated with minute agitation against her sensitive little bud. She moaned in pained enjoyment as her burgeoning nipple expanded into the tight confines of her corset-like costume.
Comments
boby
"Scott. Her masculine better, her working-class master, her bloody American dom." How accurate is this statement. Like I'm not overly familiar with the X-Men but I'm pretty sure calling Scott "Working Class" is an outright lie. I honestly don't think he has ever had to work or hold up a job for anything that wasn't a cover for his X-men duties for a day in his life. I mean he might be or have been some kind of teacher but I imagine it was so he can continue to live in the Xavier mansion but outside of that I always kind of thought/imagined that Scott was the Richard (Dick) Grayson to Xavier's Bruce Wayne. At least before he married Emma Frost and became her sugar baby but even then I'm not sure he ever wasn't somehow supported by Xavier. I mean I enjoy the story but I kind of need to know if my thoughts on Scott are wrong in this instance.
