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She felt the razor of the diamond ring commemorating his marriage to Jean Grey cut into her distended cheek. Emma tasted blood seeping from her cut face and running into her splayed mouth.

And she tasted Scott. She tasted how angry he was with her for being such a whore, as if Emma’s own self-loathing had been given physical form.

She tasted the charging pump of his domineering prick.

She tasted the brute penetration of the riding crop up her ass.

And she tasted the tongue of Hisako, a whore like her, reminding her of the slutty little girl she’d started out as and would never ever escape. Hisako’s lapping swipes shook her pussy like a jackhammer’s vibrations before plunging in and out of her, using her cunt like Scott’s prick was making use of her throat.

It was worse than being dominated by either one of them—Emma knew she would’ve bottomed for one or the other. Now she belonged to both of them. Her legendary control was both Scott’s and Hisako’s as her juices ran out of her folds like an offering to Hisako, just like the tears from her wide-open eyes were presented to Scott.

Hisako licked her hard and bit her harder.

“MMMMPH!” Emma cried in mute alarm, barely a peep getting past the dick sheathed so relentlessly in her mouth. It was like a physical manifestation of the shame she felt, a punishment for how whorish she was being.

Emma writhed, though her threshing only resulted in her mouth being punished more, her ass being punished more, her cunt. Now Hisako pushed her fingers into Emma’s pussy, forcing them alongside her lapping tongue. One, then two, then three—finally four.

Four fingers stuffed inside of Emma’s wet cunt, practically fisting her, holding her open for Hisako’s tongue to continue delighting in the submission of Emma’s taste. She was coming for them, feeding them her juices just as she was opening her gullet to Scott’s cock.

Emma kept her eyes open, though she tried not to look into Scott’s sunglasses. She didn’t know how long this would continue, how much she would get to come. She wondered if Scott would orgasm or if he’d deny her that. Maybe she could make him climax. Would that end this mockery… or maybe even make Scott admit that she was a good whore, at least…?

Emma roused her insensate tongue and plied it all around Scott’s cockhead. She swiped it back and forth across his glanshole, tasting his heady precum, then circled it around the corona in a calculated attempt to increase his passion to the brink. She knew Scott was domineering, but thought he might still respond to her.

Did making her his bitch give him more pleasure than her most superlative efforts? Or maybe this counted as breaking her—reducing her to this state where she’d willingly service him because at least it was an active choice.

Emma spiraled her tongue around his knob, pushing the tip against his juicy glanshole. She coiled her tongue around his girth—stroked and tasted him with it wherever she could reach on his length. Then she sucked in her cheeks like a bellows and took him deep into her throat, holding him there as long as possible.

She was cutting off her own breathing, but the feel of his throbbing erection so far down her gullet proved addictive. All that masculine lust and Emma was able to, almost literally, stomach it. Now she wanted to feel his cum jetting out of him while he was down her throat…

But to do that, she had to breathe. Emma withdrew, but didn’t let Scott loose. She clenched her mouth around his shaft and pumped her throat on his cockhead as best she could with such a limited range of motion. But it seemed to get to Scott. Now she looked him in the ruby quartz, showcasing her willingness with her eyes. He might be using her mouth, but she was using his cock as well.

It seemed to anger Scott, or perhaps that was simply the pounding arousal she felt transmitted through his member with each bob of her head. “Suck me!” Scott raged. “Suck that big dick with your little whore mouth! Take it, take it, slut, take it all! Eat my cum!”

Emma gagged herself on his cock, taking it into her throat and then pulling herself off of it as fast as she could go. Again and again she impaled herself on that prick, until it swelled too big for her to fit into her throat again. Emma held his cockhead in her mouth and polished it with her tongue until the glanshole erupted, a barrage of cum spurting square into her throat.

Scott’s clenching stomach brandished his chiseled abs as he gave her two more blasts of his seed. Then Emma felt Hisako pushing the riding crop deeper into her ass, as if moving it to meet the semen Emma was gulping down. Between the warmth of the cum and the pain of the sodomy, Emma felt like her body was being split in two. She closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the experience, figuring that she would never feel a sensation like this again.

Then, just as Scott pumped into her filled throat, overloading it to wash over the inside of her mouth instead, Emma felt herself collide with Hisako’s fingers and tongue in a wild eruption of climax.

“Aaahhhh,” she keened around Scott’s prick, almost in relief.

But even as her tension broke, Scott sprang into action. “Get rid of this bitch, Hisako. Whores belong on the street. We can always pick her up again if we need a fuckhole.”

Scott and Hisako laughed together as they pulled Emma to her feet, the riding crop still embedded in her anus. They frog-marched her all the way to the door and kicked it open. Then, in one graceless motion, they threw her out into the blinding sunlight and Emma hit… a soft bed.

Instantly, the pain and pleasure were gone, leaving only a lingering satisfaction and the boiling scabs of her emotions. It was a dream. She’d woken from a dream and someone was touching her… Scott was touching her.

Scott wasn’t like the dream, nightmare, at all. It was nice when he touched her. He was gentle with her. Emma had never thought she could enjoy someone being gentle—didn’t know it was in her—but Scott made her like it. He whispered in her ear. He told her she was beautiful, meaning every word. Just like he held her now, petting her hair and back, telling her it was just a dream, just a bad dream.

Emma looked around over his broad shoulder. This wasn’t the X-Mansion or any place Emma had ever stayed. It was a rustic cabin, small but carefully cared for, with a light, airy color scheme. Long linen curtains, cream-colored walls, rugs like eggs laid on the hardwood floors. Outside, and through the open windows, she could hear the sound of the surf. They were on the beach or close to it.

The décor was agreeably nautical: ships in bottles, seashells, starfish. But the pictures were all of her and Scott. The sight of them touched Emma the same way Scott was gently stroking her back. All the photographs were so soft. Scott and her eating, her being carried on his back, their faces pressed together to fit into a single photo at the end of a work-out. The memories the photos held were all tempting rabbit-holes. No wonder she (she?) had decorated with them. She wanted to live in all of them, live among them, live with the man who embodied that sense of warmth and ease.

Scott put his arms around Emma’s shoulders and simply held her as her frightened cries became gentle sobs. Emma was breaking down, as Scott—the other Scott, the punishing Scott—had so wanted her to do. But this Scott, her Scott, was only taking the opportunity to comfort her.

“Easy does it, gorgeous. Easy,” Scott whispered softly, all that laser focus on consoling her. “It’s all over now. Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

Emma’s crying died down and instead she trembled with internalized sobs. Scott stroked her hair. All the little tremors of her crying jag when into his stolid body and died out there. He was a wall. She threw all her negative emotions at him and they just shattered against him. She could empty herself out in his arms.

Finally, Emma took one of his arms and pried it off of her body until she could take his hand and squeeze it softly. “Scott,” she said through her whimpers. “Scott.”

“Shh,” he cooed, wiping away her tears now that she had purged herself of their hot weight. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Scott raised her lovely face and kissed her softly on her trembling lips.

“Here,” he whispered, picking up a tissue from the nightstand and holding it to her nose. “Blow.”

Emma felt absurd, like a little girl in the care of her father, but she blew her nose and instantly felt ten times better with the ugly evidence of her sobbing disposed of. Funneled into the nearby wastebasket like it had never existed. And still Scott held her, but now she could focus on the feel of his arms around her, the firm flesh, the strong muscle—relish the physicality of it and not just the comfort he had to offer.

“That’s my good girl,” Scott said, holding her close. “My good, good girl.”

Emma sniffled. “I dreamt that you were punishing me. Raping me, really. And Hisako joined in and you said I was a whore and I liked it, God, I came…”

“Emma, it was just a bad dream,” Scott assured her. “You really think I would let anyone on the X-Men if I didn’t have the deepest respect for them? Much less here.”

“Of course.” Emma nodded numbly. “Of course… it just felt so real. So good, even. Like I could finally stop struggling and just let you, him, treat me that way…”

“You don’t have to struggle. Everyone knows you’re a hero, Emma. And me… I think you’re perfect.” He kissed her again. “Should I show you?”

“Yes, Scott.” She petted his hair in turn, thoughts racing and swirling and blending together.

Did Scott ever need comfort? Was she good enough to comfort him? And why would he ever let her into his life if she couldn’t?

Now she wanted to. She wanted to do her part, return the favor, make Scott feel as good as he had her.

“Make love to me, Scott. I want to feel… I want to feel you, you amazing man. Scott…”

Scott’s thick arms restrained her, holding her down on the bed to control the sudden overtures she was making, the stripper undulations of her body that made her willingness impossible to resist. “Easy now, beautiful. It doesn’t take a telepath to know you’re still feeling… not so Emma. Lie back. Relax. Let me drive.”

Emma giggled airily, feeling lightheaded. She’d gone from a whore to him treating her like a princess.

And obediently, she lay herself out on the pillows, not knowing what to think. She’d had oral sex before, but always domineering, demanding, almost a way of humiliating the man or woman she was with.

But Scott clearly didn’t consider this the least bit demeaning. As he disappeared under the covers, his passage marked only by the kisses Emma felt going down her naked body, she wondered what it would feel like when a man obviously thought it a privilege to go down on her.

She waited, letting a nervous tremor animate her body, and then she experienced an absolutely delicious feeling coming out of her tender little clit.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Scott.”