About this commission

Author: Maskedmarmoset [ Hentai Foundry ]

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Chapter 1: Drinking Hole

Wingbat came out of the gym locker room rubbing his head. A long hot shower and six Advil, and his head was still ringing. Today had been a snap exam, and when you were a trainee X-Man and Wolverine was the class instructor, a snap exam was no flipping joke.

Oh man, I hope it isn’t that bad in real life! he thought blearily, sitting down on the locker room bench and pulling on a set of sweats one leg at a time.

Average height and average Caucasian features, his brown hair the color of seasoned oak and cut short, Wingbat was about as ordinary as could be in. Only the flecks of grey in his blue eyes, and the slight accent in his school-learned English made women notice him, not that he was any sort of Don Juan. In fact, despite the plethora of attractive girls that populated Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, he had made no real moves on any of them since becoming the newest mutant student at the X-Men’s feeder school, part of the greater Xavier Institute.

The exam today had been a “Kobayashi Maru”, a fight-‘til-you-drop combat scenario in the underground Danger Room. It had started easy, with him and half a dozen other new mutant students facing off against half that number of holographic opponents, testing both their teamwork and individual fighting skills. The Danger Room, with its sophisticated hard-light holograms and advanced A.I. was no joke, and it could replicate any environment and the most exotic threats. In this case Professor Logan had picked Mk.VI Sentinels.

Wingbat and the scratch team had done well in the initial round of three, but the next wave had been six, then twelve, until it was just him and one other student-trainee running and fighting to survive through the burning simulated cityscape while fifteen-foot tall murder machines hunted them down. Hellion made a really ugly sound when he “died”, his TK-field collapsing under a heavy barrage of simulated plasma bolts. Wingbat and his partner for the exercise made it to round five, but finally Wingbat had been cornered and mobbed by sleek, shiny, killing machines, and Wolverine didn’t believe in babying his charges – the safety parameters had been set just short of lethal. Which meant painful.

He suppressed a shiver. His last memory before being knocked cold was red-glowing eyes surrounding him and the emitter-muzzles of beam cannons being pressed against his head. Wingbat could still feel the flash of heat on his skin before they blasted him. The Danger Room was too real sometimes.

He shook off the un-easiness. It wasn’t like he hadn’t survived like he was supposed to, as long as he could. That had been the sole goal of the exam: be the last X-Man standing. I did okay, but I certainly paid for it. I had a good power-set for the scenario, too. Some of the others were SOL, no matter how we tried to work together….

Wingbat, Chris when he was out of his school-issue uniform, had the ability to increase or decrease his size at will. He couldn’t get giant-size, not like some of the Avengers, but could get as big as the fifteen-foot Sentinels, and his strength was proportionate. Combined with the ability to shrink down to the size of a small child, it made for some lovely ambush moves in the broken rubble that was the “playing field”. In fact, only one other student had lasted as long as he had….

He rubbed his palm for a second, getting a flash-memory of the warm weight of X-23 in the palm of his hand, just before he hurled her like a javelin at one of the Sentinels. Laura, a double-clawed close-range fighter, had sat in his huge hand, quietly and peacefully up until he fastballed her at the squad of approaching robots. Two hours later and Chris still couldn’t shake the feeling of her solid weight in his hand, the way her small fingers grasped his as she waited to be pitched….the way her body heat caressed his skin….

Oh come off it! he scolded himself. I might as well think of those dodgy robots, for all the interest she’d have!

He had a bit of a crush on Laura Kinney, the mysterious X-23. She wasn’t like the other students here at the Xavier Institute. Partly it was her powers; she had knives that came out of her hands and feet, adamantium-coated claws that let her carve metal like it was meatloaf. She knew how to use them, too, just like her maybe-relation Wolverine.

Scuttlebutt said she was a daughter of his, a clone, or maybe even a shapeshifter with a real weird hero-fetish. Professor Logan had gruffly told nosy students to mind their own business, and X-23 was typically laconic and uninformative on the subject. But she was laconic and cool on virtually every subject; a virtual life-like doll, so unlike her supposed sire.

It might be true; they both have black hair and claws, and that screwy healing factor. But besides that, they’re as different as night and day, from personality to the fact that she can’t stand people smoking, and Wolverine leaves his stogie butts everywhere he can to piss off the rest of the Mansion’s teachers! Wingbat thought with a smile, pulling a school-issue cotton jersey over his head. It would do until he could make it to his own room. They had the rest of the day off, and tomorrow was Saturday. He could lie in his bed asleep as long as he wanted.

Another aspect to Laura was that she wasn’t much of a  people person: she rarely said much in class, didn’t socialize or hang out with the other teenage students, and mainly kept to herself unless classes or training were going on.

In fact, I don’t see her much at all when we’re free. I wonder where she goes, what she does for fun? Wingbat speculated to himself, standing and toeing on some sneakers. Probably hunts down cuddly little forest animals…

And that was the other bit, what the students whispered to each other when Laura wasn’t around – that Laura wasn’t just withdrawn and spooky, she was a no-shit killer.

Not like she got into trouble and had to defend herself. Like she seriously diced a lot of folks up with those paired claws of hers. Dozens, maybe hundreds of people.

Part of him didn’t want to believe it, covertly watching her perfectly symmetrical beauty and deep sea-green eyes. It was hard to think somebody that pretty could be so….lethal. But then he’d watch her rip into a Sentinel like some sort of two-legged chainsaw, and her face lost some of that hieratic, blank-faced calm that made her such a captivating mystery the rest of the time.

But he still thought she was hot. He might want to get some sleep, but he knew in the back of his head that he was probably going to end up rubbing one out thinking about her. A lot of the other guys he knew fantasized about the senior (and seriously stacked) teachers like Professor Monroe, or Rogue, but nothing got Wingbat’s attention like Laura’s curvy hips and taut black leather-encased ass.

He walked out of the gym, heading for his room, and nearly went face-first into Professor Logan.

“Sir! Uh, sorry-”

“Hey, kid. I was just coming to get you,” Logan growled, “Git yer butt dressed, cause we’re heading out.”

Wingbat blinked, “Like, a real mission?” The trainees were always hankering do to something more than endless study and Danger Room scenarios.

Wolverine laughed. “Nah. I told you punks I’d reward you if you made it three rounds, and you did five. Did me proud. So get dressed and meet me out front. Doc McCoy’s getting the van.”

“But where are we going?” Wingbat asked in puzzlement.

Wolverine plucked the cigar in his mouth out and tapped the ash off onto the floor. He grinned wolfishly at Wingbat, slinging a beefy arm over Chris’s shoulders.

“Hell, kid, we’re doing what any self-respectin’ bunch of red-blooded single men are gonna do after knocking off onna Friday night. We’re heading to a strip club.”


It was certainly bigger than he had been expecting, Chris thought, staring around the cavernous, semi-dark expanse of the strip club. The main area was half the size of a soccer pitch, with multiple runways, couch-lined alcoves, and a series of hallways and staircases leading further back into the building. A long bar dominated one side of the strip club’s main room, and the entire place was alternately revealed and concealed by slowly pirouetting stage lights in multiple colors.

Dozens of people milled around, maybe a hundred or more all up, and between the low roar of conversation and the pulsing sound system, Wingbat stopped dead at the entryway, trying to get his bearings.

Lithe, curvy figures on the stages, or on low tables in the privacy nooks, danced to the beat. The people, mostly men, watched avidly as the dancers shed both clothes and inhibitions in equal amounts.

Logan put a hand on his back and shoved. Still running on residual combat adrenaline, Chris tried to dig in his heels. The Canadian was a head shorter than Chris, but it was like trying to stop a bulldozer. The other male students and junior teachers poured around them, now that Wingbat was out of the way. Hellion was hollering it up, making a beeline for the stages.

“What’s a matter, kid? You never been to a nudie bar before?” Logan asked with a grin, passing his battered tan Stetson to a hat-check girl who had less clothing than a pair of postage stamps, all of it tight leather.

“Yes!” Chris shouted back over the bass, meaning “No!”.

“Well, lemme buy you a drink, and we can loosen that stiff upper lip of yours,” Wolverine said with equanimity.

“I..Sir, I’m under-age,” Chris said desperately. He wasn’t much of a drinker, wasn’t sure he wanted to be. He sure didn’t want to start dropping shots with somebody that had a healing factor and  an adamantium stomach. That would end with him so wasted he’d be lucky to still have a stomach himself by the end of the night.

Black eyebrows furrowed, “You’re eighteen, ain’t you?”

“Yes, but….This is the U.S. I have to be twenty-one, legally. I better stick with American rules,” Wingbat said, trying to divide his attention between the stage-floor and the squat senior X-Man.

“Jesus, kid. Maybe I shoulda stuck you with Summer’s class group, a stickler for rules like that. You’d get along great! You’re old enough to fight, old enough to see a pair of tits, but you can’t…..This is why I’m Canadian. We get the beer and the babes. Shit, you’re not even American yourself, right?”

Wingbat just shrugged helplessly.

Wolverine sighed, “All right, then you can buy me a drink later. I ‘m gonna go get outside of some beer. Meantime, you go have fun, admire the scenery. It’s your flipping party.” He shoved a wad of cash into Chris’s hand, mostly singles. “I’ll come find you when it’s time to leave.”

He strode off to the bar, taking his perpetual tobacco-and-wolf scent with him, leaving Chris alone.

Lacking any better ideas, Wingbat wandered down to the stage. He settled into a comfortable divan that fronted the stage just as the latest set ended, music dropping off for a moment.

The stage was built in a large “E”, the two end arms much longer than the middle one. The seating was stuck between the arms of the “E”, and Chris had picked the one furthest forward. It put him right next to the  platform and directly in front of the darkened door that was the dancer’s entry onto the stage.

He got comfy, settling into the well-padded chair. The place was really nice, not the one-pole bar dive he had expected Logan to take them to, given the man’s reputation. He wasn’t even sure where they were, other than they must have been in the City; he’d conked out on the ride down, only to wake-up in a parking garage with a elevator that had went down instead of up like he had expected.

Another of those leather-clad barmaids slid in beside him, sliding a root-beer in front of him with a wink and a saucy smile. Logan had a screwy sense of humor.

It’s almost like some secret club or something…. he wondered distractedly. His chair had a little control panel built into it. He could swivel the chair around on a powered pedestal, and his eyes noted that the place had no windows as he swung around experimentally.

Well, it’s a strip club, of course it wouldn’t, but we must have come down two or three stories. I wonder how Professor Logan knew about…..

His train of thought got interrupted as a bevy of exotic girls came out on stage, just as the opening techno-beat of Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams” erupted over the speakers, loud enough that Wingbat’s pulse beat with it.

The first girl was a whip-lean woman with slicked black hair and a high, cut leather thong. Her skin was covered in red scales, except for a pale ripple of beige across her belly and chest, just like a snake’s body, and she moved like one two, her long legs and arms slinking across the stage and out onto the north part of the “E”. She made a bee-line for a grinning group of guys there, oozing across the backlit stage and flicking her forked tongue at them. The guys seemed mesmerized, faces flushed as her body rippled to the music.

Oh, she’s a mutant like me! Cool! He mentally tried out a callsign. Snake-girl, Snake-charmer girl. Sexy Snake. Something like that….

Chris whipped his head back as another figure danced outward, coming out of the doorway in a fast tumble that ended with her springing aloft to wrap around the pole on the south arm. Her momentum spun her around the brass length, curvy body clinging with amazing agilty. It took a second for her long fall of violet hair and slanted Asian features to register.

That’s Psylocke! What’s an X-man doing on stage at a place like this?

Enjoying herself, it seemed. Wingbat only knew the British telepath in passing, her being a senior field operative rather than part of the Xavier Institute teaching staff. She rarely smiled at anyone, but now she favored the audience with a mysterious smile as she used her ninja-agile body to eel around the stage. Doug Ramsey was next to the edge of her platform, and she braced her feet and one arm on the pole. With slow grace she leaned out vertically and down in midair, still holding onto the pole, until her long fall of purple-dark hair misted around Doug’s blonde-haired head. The teenage guy, one of the older students, reached up to cup her head as Psylocke hovered over him in her gravity-defying position.

They must be kissing. Wow, I didn’t know Cypher had moves like that, let alone a girl like that! Wingbat thought enviously.

His admiring view was pulled away as movement caught his peripheral vision. He pulled back to the central stage just as a third figured plunged out on stage.

His breath caught. It was Laura.

X-23, dressed in skin-hugging black leather jeans and a yellow shot-corset of black leather, stalked out onto the stage.

Stalked was the operative word. Her approach wasn’t the gymnastic moves of Psylocke or that snake-girl’s limber moves. It was more that she moved every part of her pale-skinned body like there was a pre-destined spot for it, like a wolf stepping between leaves as she approached her prey. Huge sea green eyes under her overfall of black hair contributed to the impression. Her gaze slammed into Chris’, she sure-footed her way out onto the middle stage, stopping within inches of him to start into a body-rippling dance.

He couldn’t breathe for a second, didn’t even hear the music; all his attention was on her. He kept staring at her, at each movement of her compact, curvy body, and it was like he couldn’t get his eyes to see all he wanted.

Like being a kid in a candy shop. But that old saw is a bloody pale imitation of what I’m feeling right now.

Laura threw herself down, slithering and spinning on stage to the pounding techno beat. Her black hair flew around her pale face, alternately hiding and revealing it. Some strands stuck to her lips, and Wingbat had an overwhelming urge to brush them off for her. He stood before he knew it, leaning over the stage.

The abrupt motion caught Laura’s attention, and she snapped around. Crawling towards him on all fours, her shoulders dipped and rolled until she was less than a foot away from him. She hovered there, undulating her body to the beat, just shy of touching him.

Up close, he could see her jeans were shiny and sleek; some sort of tissue-thin fabric, not corduroy. She’d slung a belt of small medallions around her waist, each one a round gold X-sigil on a bossed topaz core. They clinked as she moved, somehow much louder to his ears than Annie Lennox’s brassy voice promising sweet dreams and dark desire. Laura smelled of sandalwood and sweat as she danced for him, just for him.

Before he could break his own stasis, she reached forward and pushed him slowly back into his seat. Chris stumbled and sat, and Laura spun away.

NO! Please don’t go! he wanted to yell, his heart beating wildly. It felt like a burning brand on his chest where she had pressed her hand. Some trick of the music, of her movement, of HER drove him nearly insane for a second with need. He wanted to touch her, run his hands over her body, riffle his hands through that midnight hair, press his face into it, until he drowned in it.

Tangled up with his own feeling, Wingbat said nothing aloud as X-23 moved to the back of the stage. For a second he thought she was going to leave. But she stood there, back to the audience, still grooving to the music. As it picked up tempo, she threw her  arms out to the sides. Her claws sprung out, the silvery adamantium catching the spotlights in  a ripple of sparkles. She threw herself at the wall, writhing against it and shaking her perfectly-shaped heart of an ass at Wingbat.

A pair of snikt sounds announced her foot claws coming out. She wore no shoes and her small feet bent and thrust her upward. The claws sunk into the wall of the stage, and Laura sinuously made her way three feet off the floor, a snikt/shunk sound announcing her claws on hand and feet punching hand-holds (foot-holds).

The music shifted, getting slower and richer: Sail by AWOLNation.

She rocked from her perch, slamming her ass from side to side to match the beat.

This is how I show my love!!!/I made it in my mind because!!-

She unsnapped her hand-claws, letting herself fall upside down, still dancing. Her leg strength was unbelievable. Eyes fixed on him, she ran her hands over her leather-bound chest, her hands being his.

Wingbat swallowed hard, leaning forward. Maybe he’d been wrong about her agility.

-Maybe I’m a different breed/Maybe I’m not listening-

Not stopping for a moment, Laura flipped over, crawling down the wall and onto the floor. She shook her body from side to side as she crawled back toward him, matching the slow roll of the song, claws slicing grips into the slick flooring with soft shunk-punk! sounds.

She ended before him on her knees, navel level with his eyes, claws retracting back into her hands. Her fingers roamed across her body, cupping the mounds of her breasts where they peeked out over the stiff leather corset.

Wingbat, moving like a sleepwalker, started to reach for her. One of her claws snikted! out, making him jump back.

It wasn’t a threat. Laura angled the knife blade inward, drawing it down the ties holding the corset closed. The thick nylon cords parted in sequence, and the corset sagged open. She grabbed the edges and yanked it open, flinging it away. Her C-cup bust was like the rest of her, pale and perfectly formed, with light pink nipples topping them.

A steamer of Laura-scented sweat and body heat blew across Chris. He inhaled, drinking it in.

Laura’s own pert nose flared as she hovered over him, pulsing in time to her heartbeat. He realized she was smelling him, drinking in his scent, just as he was hers.

She slid forward, forcing him back into his chair. Half off the stage, she braced on the arms and leaned into him, breasts sliding against the loose polo shirt he wore, her black hair whispering around him.

Wingbat was mesmerized. Her lips hovered just out of reach.

S-Slow down. Don’t…Don’t startle her, he thought to himself.

The song was hitting a finale, the other strippers building to a frenzy. But not Laura. She’d dismissed the presence of everyone else in the noisy club in exchange for staring at Wingbat like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. Or the tastiest.

Chris was so caught up in her regard, her words nearly made him jump out of his skin.


“Wha-What?!” he croaked.

Laura remained stretched out over him, green eyes intent, “I danced for you. You must tip me,” she replied seriously.

Digging out the wad of cash Logan had given him, he peeled off the first bill and held it out to her with two fingers.

Laura leaned forward and delicately wrapped a small pink tongue around the middle of the twenty-dollar bill, pinning it between her lips like a cat getting a grip on a mouse. Then she pulled back to the stage, not so much moving as retracting with equally feline grace.

Wingbat watched stupidly as she collected up her corset and began heading off-stage with the other two women. A rainbow of complicated feelings ran through Chris as she turned her back on him, staring with a sense of regret and a strange sense of betrayal.

Did she really just want my cash?! Is that all I’m…..Nah, c’mon! What right do I have to feel possessive of her? It was just chance that I’m here and that she’s up there. She doesn’t give a fart who’s slipping her bills at the end of the da-

Right before she was due to follow Psylocke into the backstage area, Laura spun on a foot and swiftly marched down the middle runway. Without pause, she hopped feet-first onto his chair arms, making the whole divan rock on its pedestal.

Black hair brushed his neck as she leaned into his ear.

“VIP room #3. Ten minutes.”

And then she was gone.


Another of those polite, minimally-dressed hostesses guided him to the No.3 VIP room, and it deserved the title.

It was a small room with its own drink bar, entertainment system and a low table in the center. A couch that was broad enough to be mistaken for a bed lapped around two sides of the room, liberally sprinkled with pillows. The whole ensemble was in a mix of reds and blacks (or maybe dark blue, the lighting was low as the rest of the club) and the door whuffed as the maid/hostess/invitation-to-rape closed it, cutting off most of the noise of the main club.

Chris leaned back, enjoying the normal-range music being pumped into the room. The deep base outside had been making his chest vibrate uncomfortably, and he was grateful for the change.

Unable to stay still, he got up, pacing around the room and fiddling with the entertainment system. He had enough nervous energy to power a fusion reactor right now.

He speculated a number of times how he would strike up a personal encounter with the mysterious X-23, but in the middle of a strip club was not on the list.

What the heck does she want? Is she going to show? And what the devil is she doing in a strip club in the first place? What are any of the other X-Men doing here?

He was about to do something about that (what he didn’t know) when the tight-fitting door whuffed open again.

Laura, dressed in the same slick pants and medallion belt, but with a simple black leather halter over her chest, came in.

Not looking at him, she closed the door and sat on the couch.

Chris eyed her, not sure what to do. Ravishing her the second he could touch was in there, but so was her puzzling behavior and adamantium claws.

Be a gentleman. Do it like courting a porcupine: carefully.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, waving a hand at the wet-bar.

“No. I do not drink,” she said in her accent-less, precise voice.

“Yeah, uh, me neither,” he added. She looked at him, cocking her head curiously.

“Come here,” she said, patting the couch, “I want to give you  a lap dance.”

“O-kaaaay,” Wingbat responded, zombie walking to the couch and laying back against the mess of pillows.

Laura climbed on top of him, planting a knee to each side of his body. She didn’t go for her wild antics from on-stage, just rocking on top of him, practically molding her body against his broader chest. Silky black hair dragged over his cheek.

“I…I don’t know the rules here. Can I touch back?” he asked carefully.

“Yes.” she responded, not stopping her wiggle.

He slid his hands down her back, enjoying the feel of defined muscles and the soft skin above and below the halter strap. Laura continued to nuzzle against him, doting small kisses against the exposed spots of skin he offered, every-where except his lips.

Wingbat had to do it. He’d been fantasizing about that ass since he’d met her. His hands slid downward and he grabbed a generous amount of butt in each hand and squeezed.

But, funny thing: Like any new mutant, Chris didn’t always have perfect control of his powers. In his case, his size sometimes shifted in response to his mood, or unconscious need – he’d get slightly smaller when he was feeling down, or if he needed to reach something that wasn’t quite to hand, he’d find himself a foot taller.

Wanting to squeeze the hell out of Laura’s ass with a burning passion, he suddenly had the hands to do it with. Grippers that would make a professional basketball player generous closed over Laura’s rump, palming both leather-clad orbs as easily as he would a tennis ball at normal stature. Wingbat was in heaven. He dug his fingers in; not too fat, not too muscular. It was an ass that you could bounce a quarter off of, taunt and fleshy and just flat out fun to grab. In fact, it was so much fun, he squeezed again, even harder.

Laura squeaked. There was no other word for it. Looking at him in comical shock, she reacted like a surprised and fetching girl, not the hunting sphinx-vibe she normally exuded.

“Ahhhhh, sorry. I didn’t meant to-,” he began.

Laura held a fist up. A pair of silver claws shot out on either side of her two middle knuckles.

“Hey, wait!” he exclaimed, “Don’t-”

With blinding speed and un-erring precision, she snapped her arm up and forward.

Now it was Wingbat’s turn to squeak. For one pants-soiling second, he thought she’d gutted him like a trout. He looked down.

His double-knit polo shirt had parted like gauze. Now it hung in shreds, leaving his muscled chest exposed.

Laura hummed contentedly, “I am glad you like me. I like you, too. But these clothes were in the way…”

She ducked her head down, way down.

Still riding the shock of adrenaline, Chris spasmed as Laura ran her tongue from belly-button to  throat. The hot, wet sensation of her tongue was nerve-shattering; not quite ticklish, definitely arousing. His slacks got noticeably tighter in the groin.

Laura appreciated it too. Her rocking motion got more insistent, more needy. She ground her ass into the curve of his pants-covered erection. She made a little happy wolf-yip.

“Wingbat, you too….” she said breathily. “More…..”

Chris didn’t need more encouragement than that.

The next few minutes was a blur of hands and mouths and just-short-of-agonizing touching. He slid his hands inside the hem of her pants, cupping those forbidden apple-bottoms. She was breathing hard as he massaged and groped her, and she made a guttural squeak every time he pulled out on her ass-cheeks. She was sensitive there.

X-23 couldn’t get enough of him either; she ran her fingers through his short dark hair endlessly, and she couldn’t seem to get her mouth more than a couple of millimeters off his body at any point. He stiffened as she focused on his right nipple, her hot wet tongue washing and teasing at it, followed by a gentle play-bite.

He might have been muttering something like “Laura!!!” or “Don’t stop!!!”  but frankly he didn’t have the attention to spare. Laura un-snapped (or sliced open?) her halter, and threw it aside. Chris got his own share of nipple in his mouth.

She was crinkled hard, a sharp/soft bud that let him wrap his tongue around, flicking it rapidly.

“NNNNNNNNN!!!!!” Laura grunted, grabbing his head and pressing it into his chest.

He was getting bigger, all of him, so big that it was no problem to let her entire right breast into his mouth. Clamping his lips around it, he sucked for all he was worth. He glanced up to see how she was taking it, not sure if it would be too much.

Laura was looking at him in green-eyed, slack-jawed amazement. The expression broke into a gasping smile. It was so unlike her normal doll-like reserve Wingbat couldn’t help but chuckle. She petted his head while Chris switched back and forth from right to left, sucking the entire soft, peach-sized breast from base to the very tip of the nipple. Each time he did it, she gurgled in pleasure.

Chris wasn’t stopping at her tits. The slick, wafer-thin fabric of her pants stretched, then tore, paying her back for his murdered polo shirt. She wore no underwear (although he knew that already) and her silky ass slid and bunched in his hands unobstructed. Thick fingers traced her sharply-defined crevice. Laura was very hot and tight in one spot, and Wingbat spent a minute examining, solely by touch, the soft wrinkle of her asshole. The skin was bunched up around her opening, but he could feel the powerful muscles lying below the surface, keeping her pucker shut tight. It was the sort of sensation you had running a hand over a big hunting dog’s neck: pleasant to the touch, but conscious of both the power there, and the fact that it was yours to touch.

More than words, more than rational thought, Wingbat touched that soft/hard spot that radiated heat from inside Laura and thought: Mine. MINEMINEMINEOHGODI LOVEHERWANTHERWANTINSIDEHER!!!!!

It flicked his switch. He’d never imagined himself as anally-obsessed; he liked a good plump arse in tight jeans, but he couldn’t stop pressing/touching fondling her ass and pucker. If she’d been the candy-shop on stage, now he had his hands in the cookie jar and it would take wild horses to pull him away.

Laura gave a shaky moan as his pointer finger pressed down, just short of penetration.

“No. Stop,” she said.

Nearly blinded by lust, it took will-power Wingbat didn’t know he had to stop groping with his fingers. He didn’t let go his grip of her butt, though. His hands were so broad now that she was practically sitting in his palms.

He blinked, realizing he’d grown to somewhere north of seven feet tall. He hurriedly shrank back to his normal under-six.

“Oh! Sorry!” He started to pull his hands back, but Laura sealed her own smaller hands over them. She had a grip like steel. Even at normal size she was a doll next to him, but a strong doll.

“You don’t have to pull away. I do not want you to,” X-23 said, cupping his chin.

She leaned forward, and Wingbat grunted happily as her lips met his. She had soft, surprisingly plump lips, and after a moment, he got to sample that hot/wet tongue as it invaded his mouth. He responded immediately. Soft wet noises were the only way they communicated as their tongues tangled around each other. Laura made an animalistic noise deep in her throat as he kissed her back, hungry and insatiable.

Wingbat didn’t know how long it lasted, but he was out of breath and wiping a good amount of spit from her chin from where he’d drooled over her. She gave a small, shy smile and did the same for him.

She sat there in his lap, both of them half-nude and well past second base.

“I…I like you,” she said softly, tracing his face with fingertips alone. “I like the way you smell. I like the way you feel. I like the way you look at me. You look, and smell, as if you desire me, all of me, not just this-

She ran her hands over her bare breasts, down into the crevice formed by her thighs.

“Oh bloody hell, yes, Laura!” Chris gasped, stroking her black hair.

“But you never said anything, did not try to touch me. Why?” she asked, green eyes intent. “Is it because I am a monster?” she said quietly. She raised her hands in front of him, and by suggestion, the claws inside them, “Because of these?”

Wingbat shrugged irritably, his accent getting thicker with emotion, “No, of course not! I mean, yes, you’re a lethal piece of work, but who the heck isn’t? You might be some guy’s idea of a weapon, but that’s not who , but that’s not who you are! It’s like Professor Logan says: there aren’t any dangerous weapons, there are only dangerous people, and people make decisions. I’ve never seen you do a thing to deserve you calling yourself a ‘monster’ or any other such hurtful thing, so don’t think that of yourself, Laura!”

Hugging her to him (admittedly with a grip on her butt), Wingbat huffed.

“I just….I didn’t know how to approach you. You’re so silent and stand-offish most of the time, there and gone unless we have a team exercise or class. It never seemed the right time to strike up a conversation!”

Laura looked puzzled, frowning faintly, “Oh. I see. But you still liked me?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, “I wanted to talk to you for forever!”

X-23 shook her head definitively, “But I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Chris gaped at her. She could’ve stabbed him with those pitchfork claws straight in the heart and she couldn’t have hurt him more.

“I wanted-,” Laura continued, standing smoothly between his legs, “-to have sex with you, Wingbat.”

She grabbed her already partially-shredded pants and tore them apart at the front, leaving her naked except for the small medallion belt slung over her hips. Her mons venus was prominent, a separate soft curve out of her groin, and she was very wet, moisture gleaming from her puffy pussy lips and the small stub of her erect clit. She was completely smooth and bare otherwise. He was vaguely surprised. For somebody supposedly related to Wolverine, you would figure for more…bushiness.

She spun around, presenting her round ass for his inspection, bent at the waist. Laura pushed it far into his face. She had an intoxicating odor, freshly-washed, but with a spicy sandalwood scent of perfume mixed with sweat, and other, naughtier, secretions. Her nethers were a triangular valley between her firm buttcheeks, and it was all Wingbat could do to stop from stuffing his face in there. He settled for re-establishing his grip on her hips, swallowing hard.

“Do I…Am I pretty?” she asked.

It wasn’t the vamp response most girls with her looks would have affected. She genuinely meant, really wanted the reassurance.

It’s like…she can’t see herself as a person. She needs confirmation bias, an outside view.

“Yes. You’re very pretty, Laura.

His voice was thick with need, watching Laura gyrate before him. Only the shreds of her black hose were left around her lower legs, so he could appreciate the way her pale skin glowed in the soft lighting of the room. She pirouetted slowly in his hands, grooving to the subdued music.

She was warm. Her skin felt rosy and soft under his hands, so very different than her normal cool mien. Dancing on stage, perhaps, or maybe she was as aroused as he was. She turned to look over her shoulder at him. Her oval face was flushed.

Wow, she really means it…..

Laura took him by the shoulders and pressed Chris back down on the cushions, sliding down between his legs. She raised one arm and one of her claws snikted! out. She slid the outer (and thankfully unsharpened!) edge against his toned stomach.

“You’re still dressed,” she murmured, and lifted the hem of his pants up, sliding her blade underneath.

A leather belt and his second-favorite slacks parted like tissue paper under the surgical-scalpel sharpness of adamantium. Laura used her claw-like set of clothing shears, slicing his pants down one leg and then the other. With a flick of her wrist, she disemboweled his pants. (and his boxers along with them)

Laura stared for a long moment, and Chris swore she got the very faintest of lower-lip biting smirks on her face.

“You are….big,” she said in a color-less voice.

“I can’t help it! It’s my power!” he said defensively, his erection nodding in her face.

Laura slid down into his lap, “That is what all the boys say…..”

Her lips closed over his cockhead, just the tip, and he felt that dainty tongue flicker over his slit and across the bloated purple head. He really was big; sexual excitement combined with the difficulty of reining in his powers made Laura look like a happy chipmunk as she slowly bobbed her head on his shaft. She came off with a pop, and Chris gasped at the suction she applied coming off.

Laura stroked his shaft with one hand, spreading spit and his already-pumping precum up and down his shaft. It wasn’t quite wet enough for her taste, so she gathered up her spit and slowly kissed/poured it down the length of his shaft.

She’s….saucing my cock!!!

Chris watched fascinated as Laura alternately stroked and kissed every inch of his manhood, until she had a gleaming pink/purpled spear in her hands. She wacked the cock against her tongue, and he gave a pleased grunt.

“Holy fuck, Laura…..”

“No. Not yet,” she said pensively, green eyes doll-like over his swollen cock, “You aren’t wet enough yet…”

She climbed onto the couch next to him, draping her body across his lap. She kept stroking him in a very proprietary fashion, establishing that this was her cock for the next little bit.

Wingbat didn’t mind at all.

“Wingbat, I am going to give you a blowjob. Please hold my hair. And….” her eyes got a little embarrassed, “…please don’t freak out if I get…weird. I get wild when I give head.”

“Uh, okay,” Chris mumbled, gathering up her silky hair as X-23 slid her mouth over his cock.

She started slow, bobbing up and down on his now very-sensitive cockhead and the first couple of inches. He could feel her tongue, and the way her cheeks slid against his moist skin as she altered the cant of her head.

“Nmmmmphhh, MMmmmmmmm!!!” Laura purred, and Chris could feel every happy moan straight through his skin.

After a few minutes, Laura sped up, going deeper and deeper with each cock-swallow. Now she was passing the mid-point on his shaft, and Chris groaned, feeling his cock shove into something narrow and hot, which squeezed his meat like a vise.

“Unnnggglllk. MMmmmmmssshhhh!!!”

Oh shit. This what getting throated feels like. She’s swallowing me down!!!!

“Gulk!! Gulk!! Gulk!!”

He laid a hand on her head, rubbing it contentedly as Laura continued to go deeper, until there was only an inch or two left above of belly. She had crawled nearly on top of him to get a better angle, and her black hair was flopping around as she went faster and faster. She was making obscene, filthy noises as she used her mouth like it was a pussy

“Oh fuck. Oh Fuuuuck. Laura, you’re so good!!!” he encouraged.

“Mpppshshhhhhhh, gulk, Nnnnmmmmpppghhhh!!!” Laura responded.

Wingbat could only hang on as the most beautiful girl in the world worshiped his cock like a crazed cock-sucking machine. Her lips kissed down his shaft, tongue tracing every fold and vein, all the way down to his balls, only to come back up with mind-blowing suction. Streamers  of spit and drool ran down his cock in her wake.

He couldn’t help it. As Laura went down on him yet again. he palmed her head and pushed it that extra inch. Laura gurgled and choked as every inch of his oversized cock was shoved into her mouth.


Wingbat blinked, realizing that wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing he could have done and yanked his hand away.

“Oh shit! Sorr-!!!”

But Laura stayed down. She stayed down, choking on his cock, and Chris twitched as she swirled her tongue out and around his balls, cupping them to her as she continued to gargle and choke on his cock.

“Gaaaaakkk. Gggggglllllukkk. Glllukkkk.”

A long eternity later (with Chris writhing on the bed, hips bucking) Laura pulled back. Something caught her the wrong way as she was halfway off and Chris watched a flood of gooey spit explode over his shaft.

Laura pulled off and looked at him blearily, eyes watering. He carefully kept her hair clear of the mess as she had asked, but she pumped her hands up and down his splattered shaft, apparently reveling in the feel of slick wetted cock in her hands.

Haaaaah. Hahhhhhhh. You were…almost…too big,” Laura muttered, pale face flushed and red.

“Sorry. Laura, if you don’t think you can…” he began apologetically.

Then her face changed: not the shy doll, but a lusty huntress for a second. She looked eager!

“Wingbat, I said almost,” and speared her face onto his twitching cock so suddenly he yelled.

She went all the way down with no help, and it wasn’t any slow experiment this time. She pumped her head furiously, fingers stroking and teasing at any part her mouth wasn’t around. Her deep-throat hummed and purred as she swallowed again and again and again….

Nah, not swallowed. Devoured.

“Holy fuck!!! Jesus, Laura, slow down slow…Oh shit, oh fucking hellllll!!!” he shouted, going cross-eyed.

“Mmmmmmppph!!! MMMMMMMMM!!!!!”

Wingbat swore and thrashed as X-23 milked him with a mind-blowing enthusiasm.

And then it wasn’t just mind-blowing, or even blow-jobbing: Something deep and warm and insistent welled up from his balls, under Laura’s frantic oral assault. It shot up through his belly, pinged off his head, and went back down his shaft with lightning speed. Wingbat felt his cock expand, pushing violently against the warm choking grasp of Laura’s throat.

Laura choked and spat as a flood of white cum shot out of her nose, accompanied by equally violent noises and wet gagging as she yanked her head off his shaft.

Wingbat looked at her dazedly as Laura’s pink lips frothed over with wads of cum, a second before she cleared his humming cockhead. The blackness of her hair made the mess dripping down her face all the more vivid. It brought out a twitch of shame, and a deeply uncomplicated male sense of delight in him, not something he could ever explain. Maybe like a child’s first crayon drawing, while using the Mona Lisa as a canvas.

Or more simply: I did that, with her.

Laura blushed as he continued to stare at her, both of them still heaving. She hurriedly wiped off her face, but instead of wiping it on the sheets, she licked off her fingers. One at a time. Very slowly, each digit clean and gleaming-wet by the time she finished it. By the time she got to her pinkie, Wingbat realized he was hard again, cock twitching upright before Laura’s face.

She laid a finger against it, giving a small push. It sprang back, wacking into her palm. She nodded thoughtfully.


Wingbat looked at her avidly, “If…If you want to, baby,” he said.

Laura stood, sleeking her hands down her body, “But you deserve more than my mouth.”

She rotated, bending over and arching her lovely ass out to his face.

“Make me wet here, Wingbat,” she panted.

That triangular valley was open before him, and this time Chris didn’t even stop to think. He grabbed her with both hands and buried himself between her cheeks.

It was warm. Very warm, that was the first thing that struck him. Heat radiated from her skin, but even more from her holes, and he heard her give a deep pant/groan as he laid his tongue against her slit and licked upward in a long stroke, right over her anal bump.

It was heaven. She writhed in his hands as he continued to lick and dig at her openings. Chris found out that she was deeply sensitive to anal, and he twitched his tongue across, and finally in, her upper hole.

It might have led to a nasty surprise for him, and not the good kind, but she had cleaned every inch of herself, inside and out. There was a faint taste of soap, but aside from that, it was just HER, hot and dense and squeezing back against his tongue as he had his way with her.

He rubbed her pussy while he worked her ass, finally dipping a finger inside. The pressure on his tongue redoubled, and Laura gave a deep, animalistic grunt of delight as he flicked her quivering vaginal walls. He could feel his fingers with his tongue, only separated by a slippery divide inside her. He picked up the pace, rubbing her faster, and harder, instinct urging him on, until finally Laura gave a hoarse shout and splattered over his fingers, while her asshole clenched again and again, forcing his tongue out.

His cock was so hard he could pound nails with it. As Laura collapsed backward, he pushed her to the side, until she was slumped over the mound of pillows, doggy-style.

Ass-up as he looked down at her, Chris lined his spit-coated shaft up with her hole. The hole he wanted.

He pressed in an inch, his cock head nearly twice the size of her gasping anal bud.

“Laura…?” he gasped.

“Ohgodyes,” she mewled, “Please……”

He rammed forward, far more quickly than he had meant to. But she was just so….sexy was a pale word. As pale as her skin.

She screamed. Howled like a she-wolf getting mounted by her pack-leader. Insanely hot. Tightness over every single square inch of his cock. But she had made him so slick and wet, his cum and her spit, that he slid forward until there was a whap of his abs hitting her round ass.

“Oh god. Laura, I love you. I love you okay?” he blurted, senseless with being so connected with her.

She reached back, giving him her hands. Her fingers curled around his.

“More. Chris, please more. Fuck my ass…” she grunted, face down in the pillows.

He did. Long slow strokes that made her groan. Swift, pounding thrusts that lifted her screaming with pleasure. Chris banged into her again and again, the wet slaps of their bodies meeting overriding the soft music of the VIP room.

He rode her until her asshole clenched spasmodically around his cock. He rode her until her whole body was quaking, the sofa darkening with her leaking pussy juice. He rode her until even her super-tight ass was reduced to quivering warm jello, and she was completely broken.

“Ohyes, keep…like that..yes,” she mumbled incoherently, ass still rapping a tattoo against his groin.

Laura came again. Wingbat could feel it; her pussy convulsion made her asshole clench in sympathy. He waited until the spasms died off and pulled her up, until she was molded against his chest.

Laura looked up at him, a little slack-jawed and wasted, “I’m getting tired. I’m actually getting tired. I never get tired…..I love you. I love what you do to me, Chris.”

“I love you, too, Laura,” he murmured, cupping her face to his. They kissed, long and deeply, connected at both ends. He felt Laura give a deep moan into his mouth, and he let her loose, spit shiny on her lips.

“Yuh…You’re getting bigger again. Inside me,” she groaned, wiggling sexily on his impaling cock.

He wiggled back, making her groan louder. He’d thought she was just really tight, but he must have put on a few inches in length, and some more in width. He looked down between their bodies. Laura’s anal ring was stretched around his cock like a rubber band.

“Oh Crap!” he exclaimed, and then giggled at the un-intended pun. Wingbat tried pulling out and Laura gave a breathy scream, followed by a “Guuuuuh!” from him as she seized around his dick like finger-cuffs. A lot stronger than it looked, he thought, and in every place.

“Cripes, you are tight!!! L-Laura, relax a bit, I’ll…ooooh fuck, don’t squeeze like that!…I’ll pull out if you let me. ”

“D-don’t pull out,” she begged, grinding around him with wet squelches.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked, trying to balance his sexual excitement with the way his body grew under her. It felt like his cockhead was being stroked by a whole series of little mouths, as she rippled powerful anal muscles in a continuous cock-kiss.

“I like….the way….it hurts,” X-23 growled, timing her words to little shoves with her butt. “Lie down, Wingbat. I…want to do…something for you!” she said insistently.

With some awkward twisting, he managed to lay down, Laura pushing him to the low table instead of the softer sofa. He found why a second later as she arched, pushing up with just her hands on his chest in a gymnast’s balance. With a quick snap, her foot blades emerged from between the web of her big toes. She sunk them into the tabletop and twisted sideways, holding herself above him with nothing but her foot-blades and a light touch on his chest with her finger-tips.

Chris grinned as he realized what she was doing. Effectively, she had just given herself six-inch fuck-heels, the perfect height to ride his enlarged cock.

“Don’t you ever get tired of doing property damage with those things?” he teased.

“It’s…huff…for a good cause,” she responded breathily, lowering herself ass-first on his up-raised cock.

It was like sticking his cock into a hot, wet glove, one slightly too small. Laura rocked from side to side, panting and giving a soft female groan as she forced inch after inch inside her.

“Fuck me, Chris,” she begged, eyes closed and head thrown back, “Wreck my ass….”

Thick muscles inside her fought around his cock, but he was too big, and too far in. Wingbat groaned even louder than Laura as his dick was massaged from every side. Laura was seizing up around him, her twitching anal muscles, including her very tight anus, were stroking like fingers as he impaled her.

Or she impaled herself. With the extra height of her foot-claws, Laura was a bouncy solid weight on top of him. Wingbat grunted as her ass smacked down once more.

I can’t take it anymore!

He grabbed her ass and slammed up and into her with rapid strokes, turning Laura’s tight ass into a much wider fuck-hole.

“Nnnnnnnnaaaa, Ummph!!!” Laura bleated. She lolled atop him, panting and grunting as his hands worked her ass like dough. She was smiling down at him, green eyes flashing under that long fall of black hair.

“More. Do me more,” she grunted, wiggling and thrusting back with short strokes.

Chris was getting to short strokes himself. The two of them wiggled against each other frantically, trying to wring the last bit of pleasure from the encounter. Laura grabbed his hands with hers, balancing on claw tips and palms alone as her breathing got shorter and shorter. Her mouth parted in an “O” of surprise, and Wingbat felt her body-heat redouble, a spattering stream of wetness hitting his chest as she came hard, squirting out of her flexing pussy. What her ass was doing at the same time was indescribable.

“Laura…..L-L-Lo,” he gritted out, trying to say what she meant to him, trying to get out what he was feeling, but a HUGE wave of white-hot pleasure arced up his body, and all he could do for those few seconds was arch under her, shaking with the effort of his orgasm.

His cock flexed and grew hugely to accommodate the load of cum shooting up from cricket-ball sized balls. Laura hung onto him as gouts of hot cum erupted up her bowels, filling her belly until there was a little roundness to her normally flat abs. More cum squirted out of her tight-gripping anal ring, mixing with her own warm juices as they ran down her naked thighs.

Phlegmatic X-23 collapsed on top of him in slow-motion, both of them breathing hard. She looked up at him, through the disarrayed threads of her black hair. Wordlessly, she leaned forward, and Chris kissed her back. It lasted a long time, and all he could feel was her lips and tongue, and the way her bird-fast heartbeat matched his.

“Laura, I….”

Whatever Wingbat was going to say was cut off by the VIP room’s door popping open. Logan stood there, shirtless, wearing only his jeans and a huge Harley-Davidson belt buckle.

“Hey, kid, I wanted make sure you didn’t….”

He trailed off, looking at Chris (sans even pants himself) and his just-been-(anally)-fucked “daughter”. His clothes were scattered across the room in shreds.


Run away!!! No, he’s in the middle of the doorway! His brain yelled, then countermanded on consideration.

Logan looked a little slack-jawed himself. At least he hadn’t popped claw yet.

Kill myself, Wingbat-brain encouraged, right now!

Don’t be stupid, brain, Wingbat disagreed. He’ll do it for us, and way more efficiently. He’s the Wolverine.

While Chris was busy having a speed-of-light internal debate with himself, Laura brushed her hair out of her face and sat back, looking at Wolverine over her shoulder. Her move also made her ass go “shhhhllllpp” with an audible nasty sound in the small, sound-proof room.

“You have something on your neck,” she advised Wolverine.

Chris blinked. She was right. Hidden over the side of Logan’s hirsute bulk was another figure, tucked onto his back like a miniature monkey. Her mop of black hair had made her bent-over head nearly invisible against Logan’s own wild hair, especially in the darkened hallway. Only when she opened glowing-red eyes, peeking over his shoulder, did her presence register.

Jubilee came up smacking her blood-stained lips, “Ohhhhhh maannnn, I love blood and rum. Wolvie, take me drinking agaaaaaiiiiin,” she wheddled in a slurred voice. Little trickles of blood ran down Logan’s neck as the bite-marks closed up.

The little vampire blinked owlishly at Chris and Laura, “Heyyyyy, Laura!!! Got yourself that cutie you were pining over. Looks like you’re having some fun at the Hellfire Club, too!!!”

Wingbat wasn’t sure what was worse now: being naked in front of multiple people, an adamantium-clawed father-figure who was looking at him blank-faced with Chris’s dick firmly up his “daughter’s” butt, or the teenage vampire-girl giving him the same look most people would trying to decide between Coke and Pepsi.

“Yes. You are having fun, too?” Laura asked. Laura spun around in his lap to face the door. Chris bit back a groan as Laura’s asshole twirled around his well-lubricated cock.

“I love this place!” Jubilee agreed, kittening her head next to Wolverine’s, “No minimum drinking age, which is important for a girl with my, heh, medical condition. Jeez, you look hot Laura! You said you liked this guy, but I didn’t think he’d latch onto you so quick. Hey, Wolveroonie! Let’s order more booze and make an order out of it!!!”

She winked a glowing red eye at Chris, “I bet you taste just like cranberry juice, cutie!”

Jubilee wasn’t really a bad sort, but ever since she’d been “turned” nobody wanted her near them. No telling with vampires after all, and young ones were supposed to have restraint “issues”. Her eyes reminded Chris uncomfortably of a Sentinel, but there was nothing blank about the hunger in her gaze. Before he could object, Laura put a  protective hand over his groin.

“No. Mine.” she said politely.

Wolverine tapped Jubilee on the skull, “Yeah, she’s right, kiddo. We’re going back to our room.” He turned to go, Jubilee like a sleek asian limpet on his back and shoulders. Pausing at the door, Logan gave X-23 a considering look.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Laura answered, in her normal, colorless tone.

“Okaaaay. Hey, darling, you wait until I get back to our room, and I’m gonna show you what a hickey really is-” he said to Jubilee, his voice cutting off as the door whuffed shut again.

Laura pirouetted once more acrobat fashion, using Chris as her saddle-horse. It left him staring up into her green eyes, which were un-accountably sparkling.

“Do you want alcohol?” she asked softly, running her hands over his pecs.

“No. I don’t….I mean sometimes, but I’m not much of a drinker.”

“I neither,” she said. She sighed happily, laying her head against his chest. Chris was still pretty at sea with what just happened, but there was no mistaking the contended expression in her voice and body-language.

“I’m yours?” he asked carefully.

“Mine.” Laura whispered.

Chris lifted her face to him with a single broad finger, “Mine.” he agreed. Laura’s face crinkled in a cute smile. His heart stopped. He’d never imagined she even had a cute smile, let alone for him. They kissed again.

She pushed herself up, which did very nice things to her breasts as they caught between her arms, “You need to grow down, Chris.”

Chris looked down his body, realizing that he was now taking up most of the couch, with Laura camped like a china-doll in his lap.

“Oops. Okay, hold on a sec….”

It took a second to get to the proper state of mind. It was like contracting a phantom muscle. With a ripple of skin, he relaxed and shrunk to his normal 5’ 11”.

Relaxed in more ways than one. His half-hard erection came out of Laura’s butt in a wet slither. She made a noise that was half pain, and half something that very much wasn’t pain. Her asshole was a dark gape between the torn shreds of her slick (latex?) pants, leaking gooey white cum.

She noted the concerned look in his face and smiled. This time the smile had a fair dollop of lust in it.

“I like-,” she encouraged softly, “-the way it feels. Even this. I like you inside me, Chris.”

Laura rummaged at the side of the couch, coming up with a smart-phone. Wingbat watched perplexed as she daintily arranged herself on the low tabletop.

“I didn’t know you had a phone,” he said.

“Miss Frost gave it to me. She also lets me work here,” Laura said distractedly. There were slim mirrors lining the walls of the room, and she was checking her reflection in each, judging the light and glare from them.

“I wondered what you were doing in a place like this. I didn’t even know a place like this existed.”

“The other X-Men like to come here to relax. Miss Frost encourages it. It feels nice to dance, especially for you,” Laura informed Wingbat, settling on a mirror. She knelt butt-on to it, adjusting the set of the smart-phone’s camera.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Just watching her move, with her bulbous cream-covered ass, was making him hard again.

“I want people to know that I am yours. I think I look pretty like this,” Laura said seriously. The smart-phone snap-clicked.

Chris, really glad he hadn’t slowed his body down with drink, smiled as Laura stood  up on the low dais of the table, body rocking to the distant beat. “I think you look pretty too, Laura. Again?”

“Yes,” she agreed. Her voice wasn’t cool, and she favored him with a saucy smile.

“Can I fuck your pussy this time?” he ventured, stroking his growing erection with one hand as she continued to curvette towards him. He ran a hand across her hips.

“Yes. But you must promise to take my ass again later, Wingbat. My ass is yours.”

She took his hand and rubbed it over the smooth expanse of her butt, showing him with her body.

“Okay, but you should lube up before we do. You’re so tight back there, my junk is a little sore,” he said a little good-naturedly.

Rotating to put Wingbat’s favorite part of her in his face, Laura took his hand and placed it firmly in the crack of her ass. It was warm, and wet. And it was just as tight and puckered as when they had first come into this room, her healing factor setting her to rights. She’d be as insanely tight as when they started.

Except this time, slippery cum was running copiously out of her little clench, dribbling over her pale roll of butt. Trails of cum slid down over her pussy, coating it, too.

“I am already lubed,” X-23 informed her new beau. She gave a small belch. “I have been drinking from the right hole.”