X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ Good Girls Don't Get Caught ❯ A Midsummer’s Night ( Chapter 8 )

Author’s Note/Disclaimer:

Other than a few boxes of comic books…well, actually, more than a few…I own nothing of Marvel Comics or the X-Men. This is a work of adult fan fiction and is intended solely for entertainment purposes. No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended. I make no money off of this work.

This is a work of erotic fiction…or more bluntly, PWP. Each chapter will be a bit different and have a different pairing. Under no circumstances should this work be distributed to minors or those who are otherwise not legally permitted to view such works. Period.

While these are fictional characters and their ages are a bit fuzzy, please do assume that the youngest are of legal age by whatever standards your community uses. Where I live, the age of consent for both genders is sixteen.

Boring legal stuff out of the way? Good. Bring on the smut!

Warnings: For the work as a whole – Graphic male/female sex. Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, BDSM and fetish overtones, spanking. I’ll leave a little mystery as to the contents of individual chapters. Enjoy.

Chapter Eight: A Midsummer’s Night

Once our visitors had left, I found myself bored again. I’d made no progress at all with breaking through Scott’s overly civilized façade. The temptation to taste the erotic dreams of other XMen was too much for me and I continued to let my mind prowl the night, waiting for another opportunity.

I know I had promised myself I wouldn’t wander again into the Cajun’s sleeping mind, but when I caught a whiff of sensuality from his dreams I simply couldn’t resist. I wrapped myself in a cocoon of invisibility as I slipped carefully into his fantasy. This time I would only observe and do my best to remain unnoticed. I enjoyed a thrill of guilty pleasure as the dream took form around me.

Before me loomed a large white farmhouse flanked by enormous trees hung with gray curtains of Spanish moss. Closer to the house were rose bushes and other shrubs blooming in a riot of soft colors. The grass under my feet was thick and cool. The air was rich with a humid heat that seemed to impose a feeling of languor on me. I wondered if this was a place from his memories or simply a fantasy conjured from his imagination. I strolled slowly closer to the farmhouse gazing around appreciatively at the beauty around me.

I found my quarry leaning against the sturdy white post of a wraparound porch. The sweet scent of flowers hung on the gentle breeze and I heard a woman’s voice, low and husky. As I drew closer I recognized the young woman swinging lazily back and forth on the bench swing, her white dress ruffling in breeze. Their voices rose and fell, the words indistinguishable, but their tone was clear. He was teasing and flirting, his lips curled in a devilish smile. Her replies were deliberately coy and her smile only a trifle less naughty.

It was late afternoon and the sun was dipping low, painting the porch and its residents with brilliant shades of yellow and orange. After a few moments of playful talk, he folded his long lean body onto the bench seat next to her, stopping its motion briefly. He leaned close to her ear and whispered something, making her smile and blush. I moved closer, imagining myself as an invisible presence just beyond the porch railing.

The swing began to move again and I watched as he slipped an arm around her, pulling her close. They watched the sun setting without speaking while it died in a splash of reds and purples. When the light began to dim I saw her shiver a little. His long fingers were stroking lightly up and down her bare arm and he leaned close again to place a reverent kiss on her shoulder.

She turned to him then and he kissed her slowly, his fingers moving constantly to trace the contours of her arms and shoulders. I heard her moan and I heard his voice again, too low to make out the words. I was tempted to draw even closer, but I feared he would sense my presence.

Their kisses slowly became more heated as the air around us began to cool a little. I could hear the chirping of crickets in the distance and the moon rose high and full, casting everything in a silvery glow. Now his clever fingers were tugging at the fastenings of her dress and the fabric fell down around her waist, exposing the creamy skin of her breasts to the night air. His fingers drifted lightly across her hardening nipples. She gasped and arched her neck offering the smooth flesh to his seeking lips.

He paused then to strip off his own shirt. The moonlight picked out the hard planes of muscle and I found myself watching with admiration. He was as beautiful in his own way as the girl beside him. Now he returned his mouth and hands to her body, kissing her deeply and cupping her breasts. When he dipped his head to suckle at them she moaned and spoke his name loud enough for me to hear. Deft hands slipped her dress from her hips and it pooled on the floorboards beneath the swing.

Now he pressed her back onto the thinly padded bench and began to trail kisses across her breasts and stomach. His hands moved lower, caressing her thighs and gently coaxing them apart. Her hands played across the skin of his back and stomach, teasing and exploring. I knew when his fingers found her center because she gave a low moan and arched into his touch. He chuckled low and deep and kissed her again as his clever fingers teased and stroked at her, bringing forth gasps and moans. After a moment she gave a long shudder and loud groan.

His fingers stopped their dance and he rose long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. Her eyes were large and dark while she watched him from where she lounged on the swing. It swayed gently under her and threw shadows across the weather beaten floorboards. It groaned and creaked a little as it swung on its chains.

When he returned to her, she opened her arms to him and he stood over her. He kissed her hungrily, feeding on her lips and tongue. She shifted and wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling the swing closer to him. He chuckled again and murmured something in French.

Then he grasped her legs and raised them higher. In the shadows I could see his erection silhouetted against the pale flesh of her body. She clutched at the edges of the swing as he pulled her closer and sheathed himself within her body. They were still a moment, and then he began to thrust against her, one hand at her hip, the other holding tightly to the back of the swing.

The entire swing moved back in forth in time with their bodies. Its creaking punctuated their sighs and moans. He seemed in no hurry as he set a slow, lazy rhythm that somehow seemed to fit the languid warmth of the evening. I heard her call his name as she threw her head back. Her hair fell down the back of the swing where the moon’s light painted her streak of white a pale silver. She shivered and shuddered for a moment and the swing’s smooth rhythm came to a stop.

He leaned closer to her and murmured something in her ear. She nodded and he wrapped both arms around her. She threw her arms around his neck as he lifted her from the swing, her legs still wrapped around him. A few steps and her hips rested on the porch rail not far from where I hid. One hand left his neck and took hold of the nearby column for purchase as he began to thrust again.

“Oh Gawd!” She breathed as his pace increased. I placed a phantom hand on the railing and could feel the trembling of the wood.

Their cries blended with the chirping crickets and the scent of their lovemaking mingled with that of the flowers nearby. He gasped as he began to thrust even harder and she gave a sharp cry and shuddered with another climax. I could see the sheen of sweat on their bodies gleaming in the moonlight.

He kissed her again and again. Each time his lips pulled away from hers words tumbled from his mouth. He spoke in thickly accented French made heavy with passion. The sound of his voice sent shivers through me and for a moment I wish I dared take her place. But, he was too canny for such a substitution to pass unnoticed and I simply watched.

His pace increased again and the rhythm he had set began to loose its smoothness. The wood beneath her creaked with the force of his thrusts and I could almost feel the tension building within him. He was groaning with effort now and she was clinging tightly to him and the post.

Suddenly he pulled her from her perch on the rail, forcing her to clutch at this neck and shoulders as he plunged himself into her one final time. He cried out in that thickly accented French and I couldn’t tell if it was a curse or an endearment. His body was rigid and straining as he found his release, burying his face in her hair.

He stood there panting a moment and holding her tightly against him before carefully returning her to her feet with a gentle kiss. I began to withdraw from the dream as I felt it began to waver around me. I felt those red on black eyes seeking in the dark and I was no longer so sure I had been unnoticed. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence he chose that particular bit of railing. I wouldn’t put it past the red-eyed devil.

Perhaps it was foolish, but I couldn’t resist blowing him a kiss as I faded away. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a porch swing the same way again.