Trick and Treat update (Patreon)

Emma and Jean made a good team, as it turned out, even if Jean didn’t realize it. Emma had planted the idea of dressing as Tarzan and Jane for Halloween in Scott’s mind. Charmingly simple as he was, he’d brought it up with Jean. She’d loved the thought as much as Emma. And so their unknowingly shared man costumed himself in only a loincloth, showing off the scrupulously developed musculature that his obsessive training regimen left him with.

Of course, Scott being Scott, he didn’t stop there, but used make-up to give himself a dashing scar from above left eye to his right ear. He probably would have erred on the side of it being more grisly than distinguished, but almost against his will, Scott had racked up enough experience with the opposite sex to know pure fidelity to the books was not the point of the costume.

Still, he belted a sheathed knife around his waist, carried a bow and a quiver of arrows, and wore a golden-chained locket. Emma wondered if all his faithfulness was from pure research or if he was finally letting loose some adventurousness from his boyhood. There was just no telling what Scott went for, as amply proven by how he’d been with both Jean and Emma. They were as far apart as the spectrum could go while still accounting for good taste.

It should’ve been ludicrous, seeing such a reserved man as Scott Summers dressed as the emblem of primal urges. Instead, Emma found herself feverishly aroused by the sight of him. Of course, there was no going wrong with such a fit man wearing only a leather loincloth along his taut waist, the censorious flaps taunting her by hiding his manhood from view, but showing off the bulging muscles of his broad thighs and potently firm hips, even some of his toned buttocks.

Emma was beset with passion. She’d seen Scott naked before, but it tantalized her to be this close to satisfying her usual gluttonous appetites but be denied the last bite. That tanned skin should be flush with exertion. Those slack muscles should be rippling with power as he thrust himself into her. Emma could almost feel him against her.

She jammed her fingernails into her palms, trying to draw herself out of how enthralled she was, but the real sensation was no match for how the sight of him forced desire through her senses like an electric current. She wanted him desperately. But she also wanted him to want her. She could take being fucked, being dominated, being outright humiliated, so long as he was as addicted to her as she was to him.

Emma dressed to match him, or rather undressed, for all she wore was a white loincloth that fell between her buttocks and over her pubis in the lazy way that only an inanimate object could. It thrilled her to feel the dainty flutter of the torn fabric on her mons or against the jut of her ass and think of how loosely she was covered, how much more vigorously Scott would grope her when he saw.

Though it pained her, she mussed up her hair and swept it before her shoulders, so the long blonde tresses fell in disheveled waves over her bare breasts. Her Double D tits almost refused to be hidden, their vast heft pushing into the concealing curtain of her hair so that, as her strands shifted with any given motion, the pink of a nipple would only naturally peek out. And of course, the rest of her luscious body was on full display, from her lean stomach to her exquisite face, an irresistible temptation meant for only one man.

Most of the X-Men had driven into Salem Township to escort the younger trick-or-treaters around, while the older students attended whatever Halloween party they could score invitations to. There was one being held in the gymnasium, chaperoned by a few more X-Men, while Scott volunteered to hand out candy to anyone who came by.

Emma glided her car through the mansion’s driveway, stopping a little way clear of the front door, and walked up to it. Reaching out with a pristinely manicured finger—her devotion to the integrity of her costume only went so far—Emma rang the doorbell.

When Scott answered the door with a bowl of candy, he stared at Emma as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Trick and treat,” Emma said wryly. “I thought I’d help you give out candy. Would you like some? Candy, I mean?”

She’d like to play the coy temptress, but she couldn’t, not with Scott. He looked incredible—the strap of his quiver cutting across his broad shoulders, his thick pecs. Her eyes irresistibly went lower, across the cobblestone path of his abs—she moaned aloud when she saw how the V-shape of his abs was rudely interrupted by his low-slung loincloth, hiding what really intrigued her. No matter how intimate her knowledge of that part of his body, it wasn’t good enough. She wanted more.

Scott dropped the bowl of candy to the floor and reached out to her, running his fingers along the hanging fabric of her own loincloth—an outdated fur wrap she’d cannibalized to make this costume. It’d been a while since she’d had to touch a sewing machine, or a pair of scissors, but it wasn’t like Emma was making something she intended to wear for long.

Scott drew the loincloth out of the way, showing himself her bare pussy—as always, shaved and hairless except for the scalpel-precise shape of a diamond cut into a little tuft above her slit.

Emma felt the chill autumn air caress her unprotected pubis. She was used to having to rise above the cold, never being a woman who dressed for the weather, but she exceptionally felt it when it came alongside Scott’s attention. It was exquisite, his awareness that all that protected her from him was this skimpy bit of cloth she was obscenely ready to let him rip away.

Scott pulled lightly on the loincloth, tugging its waistband away from the sensitive skin of Emma’s lower belly. She keened. Her knees buckled under her. Scott knelt down, crushing a Babe Ruth under his kneecap, and snaked his hands around her hips to fondle her ass every bit as enthusiastically as he’d spied her cunt.

His handsome face came closer and closer to the askew loincloth. It barred his path, but Scott didn’t seem to have the same peevish reaction to that as Emma did to his hidden flesh. Instead, he looked up into her eyes.

“Get that out of my way,” he told her. Swooning, Emma dutifully held her loincloth away from her pussy. It felt so much more debauched than if he’d simply taken it off her.

Scott wouldn’t just take her, he would make her give herself to him with each passing moment, over and over again surrendering to her towering lust… And suddenly his own lust for her was taking over, Scott’s mouth plunged between her legs, his tongue gleefully sampling the taste of her arousal.

“Yes! Oh yes!” Emma cried. Her hands shot out to either side, bracing herself against the doorframe she stood in. She was still thoughtlessly holding onto her loincloth and it broke with her motion, but Emma hardly cared. Her legs were open and she was thrusting her cunt against Scott’s devouring mouth. “Eat me! Eat my cunt!”

Her fingers clutched both sides of the doorway tightly, holding her up as she swung her legs over Scott’s shoulders. He leaned back, allowing her to straddle his face, her thighs wrapped around his head. And he clutched her naked buttocks and held her pink sex against his mouth like some ripe fruit he was devouring.

“Oh God! OH GOD!” she whimpered. His tongue was deep inside her, so deep Emma thought it must be able to taste how she burned for him. “Can you taste the last time you fucked me or has it been too long? Shit, Scott, you know how much my girlfriends love to eat me out ever since you started coming inside me? Scott, yes, GOD YES, please don’t stop!”

Suddenly Scott’s hand struck her plump ass, jiggling the buoyant flesh with a burst of pain that hit Emma not so much with agony as shock. She nearly slipped from her perch on Scott’s face, but viper-quick he grabbed her by the hair and held her in place long enough to regain her balance.

Emma understood—Scott was telling her that he wasn’t in the mood for dirty talk, not now. Maybe it was part of this costumed fuck they were having, Scott indulging in his bestial urges to go with how they were both dressed. But in any case, he wanted her silent and submissive, simply feeding him her cunt to relish, and Emma was understandably agreeable to that proposition.

So instead, she slipped into his thoughts and listened in as he ate her out.

There’s nothing as sweet as this woman’s cunt, Scott was thinking, parting her labia lips with his fingertips, feeling them tremble on the cusp of being eaten. Except maybe how it’s offered up, all fresh and whorish, like we’ve got our own private orgy going. Got to be as close to heaven as you can get with a pulse. But do you know what’s even better, Emma? Your mouth wrapped around my cock.

In a flash, Scott made his move. He shoved Emma off him, hurling her inside the mansion. Then he came up, slamming the door closed, and stomped after where Emma sprawled on the floor. Emma’s loincloth lay alone on the doormat, waiting for a time hours hence when Emma would discover it on her way out.

Emma saw Scott marching up to her, his loincloth hanging the wrong way, the flap off to the side of the massive erection that jutted in front of him. The sight of it so distracted her that she barely managed to spread her legs, readying herself for him to mount her and fuck her right there on the floor—

But instead Scott stooped, grabbed her by the ankle, and dragged her across the tile floor to the pool table that served as a centerpiece to the foyer.

“Scott, isn’t this taking the Wildman act a little far?” Emma complained, almost reaching down to finish herself off, but feeling a bit too prissy to do it in her current state. “Eat me! Eat my pussy! I’ll make it worth your—“

“You’ll make it worth my while now,” Scott grunted, dropping her foot and taking her by the hair instead.

Emma scrambled to go along with him as he jerked her up, then pressed her down onto the pool table, spreading her across it like a rich meal. Emma’s shoulder knocked the billiard triangle aside, it and the pool balls inside rolling to the side of the table.

Continuing his brute manhandling of her, Scott hauled Emma up to the edge of the table so that her head hung off the side. Then his hand was in her hair, hauling her face up to his groin, his burning cock, and Emma knew what he wanted her to do.

She gratefully kissed his shaft, moaning as she tasted the precum dripping down it, the musk coming off it. Emma felt like she was getting a contact high from his cock—anticipating the sexual delight she was about to feel with it inside her, taking her mouth or her cunt or her ass, giving her the pleasingly brutal fuck she’d been hoping for ever since she’d first seen Scott looking so glorious.

“Thank you for making me your cock-holster,” she mumbled, practically purring as she nuzzled her face against his length and laid more kisses on his thick prick. “Yes… ohhh…. I love serving this cock…”

Going cross-eyed now in submissive glee, Emma cupped her bare breasts, holding them up through the few hairs that still cling to her sweaty chest, while her legs opened, ankles hooking on either side of the pool table. Even with her mouth clearly meant to be the lucky receptacle Scott had chosen next, it gave her an odd sort of comfort to offer herself to him—knowing everything she gave him would be used and richly appreciated.

“Scott…?” The voice was a tremulous one, barely audible, slipping out of quivering lips. Emma looked up and caught a glimpse of Jean, standing on the stairs, before Scott pressed her head back down.

Emma let out a laugh, realizing from her little look that Jean was dressed as Jane Porter. A calf-length traveling skirt. A white linen jacket. A chiffon blouse over a bra that could barely be glimpsed through both buttoned-up layers. She even wore a straw hat.

Oh yes, she looked the part of Tarzan’s mate, alright—not understanding at all how that wasn’t even close to being the point.