Sluts of the Savage Land 2

Emma sat on a log a few feet from the fire, thinking she would prefer boiled leaves and river whatever to whatever this thick brew was that Ororo had entered into her cup.

She took another sip of it, wondering if it might be a joke on Ororo’s part. But no, Ororo was too classy to do such a thing—at least, she fancied herself so. Emma sipped once more, knowing she needed to hydrate herself. Screwing up her face, she swallowed. It had to be less likely to give her a disease than the brackish river water. At least, she hoped so. If the odds were even, she might as well catch dysentery while not having to exercise her throat muscles so much.

“Still enjoying your boring vacation?” Ororo asked, mildly prodding.

But Emma liked that. It was good to know Ororo could be a little human sometimes. After all, what must you make of someone who was a perfect goddess but couldn’t stand you?

“It’s peaceful out here.” Emma looked out over the silent river. It barely seemed to move in the night—a mirror with nothing to reflect but darkness.

“That’s why predators hunt at night,” Ororo said. “When you think you can relax, that’s when the jungle bares its teeth and takes a bite of you.”

“Ugh.” Emma shuddered involuntarily. “You make this place sound like it has the mind of a thug. I thought you were some tree-hugging, animal-loving nature queen.”

“I appreciate nature,” Ororo said, drinking more coffee with evident pleasure. “So I’m truthful about it. It’s not that the jungle is evil, it’s that it’s indifferent. If you know its rules, it’ll let you survive. But if you forget what it is for one moment—” She snapped her fingers. “A snake, an Indio, bad water, tricky currents. It has as much death in it as it does beauty.”

“Give me a good city any day. All beauty, no death.”

“Really?” Ororo said flatly. “What city has you been to that has more beauty than death?”

“Touche,” Emma admitted. “But at least there’s air conditioning. Silk sheets. Room service…”

“You’ll make yourself miserable thinking that way. At least we have a fire, quiet… our health…”

“No, I think I’m getting a zit.”

Ororo snorted a laugh, but by unspoken accord, they seemed to agree not to banter over it. It was too late and the night was too peaceful to fill with argumentative insults.

Emma turned and looked behind her, as though meeting the gaze of eyes on the back of her neck. She could see some of the treetops against the night sky, but under the canopy, all the green formed an impenetrable black haze. For a moment, she was terrified at the prospect of picking her way through it all. She had to admit that if she were to be separated from Ororo, her survival would be a matter of luck. The thought of death she could handle, but she had to have at least a chance of affecting the outcome. Deciding her own destiny.

For an instant she allowed herself to think critically about what she brought to this so-called partnership with Ororo. Here her beauty, her cleverness, her seductiveness meant nothing. Her life itself was of little consequence, except to the hungry scavengers that might make use of her meat after death.

“No need to worry yourself,” Ororo said with amusement. “Your man was far-sighted enough to pack .38s for both of us, just in case.”

“Do you see me quaking in my boots?” Emma asked her. “I’m capable with a pistol—it’s simply hard to imagine this coming down to a matter of bullets.”

“The lives of the White Queen and Storm, decided by our marksmanship,” Ororo spoke with chilly irony. “Whatever our fate, we can at least meet it well-rested. There’ll be time enough for excitement when it gets here. But I suspect we’ll manage so long as we stay aware: of the jungle and of men.”

“No one has ever accused me of being unaware of men.”

Emma leaned back on one elbow and the firelight caught the luscious swell of her breasts. Ororo’s breathing caught for a moment. The Frost heiress’s blonde hair shone beautifully and her face looked more delicate than it was sharp, for once.

Emma stretched her long legs until she was completely comfortable. “I don’t suppose Scott’s foresight ran so far as including any tea in our supplies?”

“I’m afraid he only packed the essentials.”

“Really, Ororo? No tea, no cigarettes… not even any lube…”

Ororo held up a hand to silence Emma. She eased her revolver from its holster and let Emma hear the hammer cock. Her head turned slowly to the trees. Then, bare feet padded out of the darkness.

Emma went for her own gun and Ororo gestured to her with the same hand she’d silenced her with. Emma read the meaning of the motion. These were friends.

Ororo put her .38 back in its holster and poured two cups of coffee for the Indios. She spoke to them in the flowing, ticking dialect of their tribe. Sensing she would not be able to follow this conversation, Emma got up and walked to the water’s edge. If she was going to be left out, it might as well be physically as well as conversationally.

She tossed a pebble into the belt of dark water and watched the ripples cross through the reflections of the campfire. Not being able to make out a word, she wondered what the Indios were reporting. Did they know anything about what had brought down the X-Jet or what was suppressing their powers?

Obviously, Ororo knew how to communicate with them and Emma was suddenly very glad that she was with Storm and not another X-Man. Even though any other of her teammates would certainly prove more pliable. Emma might not last as long out here with Jubilee as her partner, but she’d certainly be able to get some good sex out of the girl if she decided she wanted it.

Of course, just because Ororo was unreceptive to that sort of thing no longer meant that Emma had to go without. She looked over the natives with an appraising eye. Both were muscular and solidly built, hunters from their tribe and successful ones. They wore only loincloths. One had a mohawk, the other was shaved bald.

Emma stripped off her clothes. Stepping into the firelight, she knelt before the men, reaching under their loincloths to grasp hardening eight-inch cocks. They oozed precum like warm sap. Emma massaged the lubrication into their shafts, then sucked her fingers clean. The two tribesmen watched her with disbelieving eyes.

“Emma, what do you think you’re doing?” Ororo asked, gaping with disbelief herself. You’d think she knew me better…

“Improving relations with the natives,” Emma said. “They’ll do anything for us after this.”

Crickets chirped all around as Ororo retreated with a huff. The men pulled off their loincloths while Emma’s eyes went from one nudity to the other.

“Come on, boys,” Emma cooed. “Enjoy your first taste of blonde…”

In a moment she was backed into a tree stump, writhing as the two naked men pressed up against her on both sides, feeling her up, nuzzling her neck and ears. She turned her head to face each of them in turn, kissing one man and then the next. They squeezed and rubbed her breasts—Emma moaned, shimmying her sweaty thighs together.

Baldy shoved a hand between her legs, sliding his middle finger into her labia. It slipped inside her easily, beginning to fuck her.

“EEEH!” Emma squirmed between the pair, going wildly as Baldy fingered her. She groped both their pricks, jerking her hands up and down, making everything she touched slick and slippery with their dribbling precum.

Mohawk barked something in his own language, then lifted Emma up, and set her into his lap. Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. Gazing into his eyes, she kissed her, shoving her tongue into his welcoming mouth. Mohawk picked her up again and brought her down on the cock she’d made rigid. Her gates spread, accepting his cockhead, and Emma sank down on his manhood until she was impaled to the hilt, her insides receiving all eight inches of him.

“Ohhhh YES!” Emma moaned, feeling his erection tremble and buck inside her.

Mohawk crushed her within his muscular arms, pressing her to his broad chest. He kissed her once more as she began her ride.

“Mmmm! Nn!” Emma mewled with his big cock pumping inside her. She braced her hands on Mohawk’s shoulders and worked herself up and down with long, needy gyrations, her breasts bounding in the man’s face. “What a mink I am! Hope you’re liking your first white pussy!”

Mohawk juggled her naked buttocks, rutted up into her while she pumped down onto his impalement of her. Emma giggled. She felt good, free.

“I love your big hard dick!” she keened. “And I’m going to love what’s inside your big fat balls!”