As Brandon kept staring at Raven's booty-luscious ass—basically arched up while cum kept coming out, her blue cheeks still swollen and glistening with a mix of sweat and their mingled fluids, the scent of raw sex hanging heavy in the air like a forbidden perfume—he got the urge to take a picture 📸 of her. But he stopped himself, because it was one of the things he hated. Now that it was 2025 and all the years before it, a woman's body was no longer sacred between husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend—it was porno videos with them in it, and OnlyFans with women selling themselves. Brandon thought to himself.
Brandon then said to himself, *That's not me—I won't be them.* Anyway, now that he realized something: Raven said she could now use the abilities of those she shapeshifted into, but she did not tell him how much or how far those abilities could go. Because if he could ask her to shapeshift into Wanda and erase comic books—mostly those of Marvel and the DC Universe—he could actually walk around with Emma or Ororo, with them maybe only being recognized as supermodels. But still, them being seen as supermodels could bring problems from modeling companies, for which he would heavily deny any involvement—especially with the sick shit they did just for a model to walk the runway. Brandon sighed heavily and said, *Decisions... decisions.* Well, he would wait until Raven woke up.
As Brandon moved his legs to the side of his bed to walk to the restroom, he stopped and looked at Raven—still with her ass up and cum trickling out of her pussy in slow, viscous drops, the creamy white contrasting erotically against her sapphire folds. Brandon stood up from the bed, then positioned himself by her side to pick her up and take her to the shower for cleanup. But before that, he kept looking at her ass with fascination because it started deflating back to her normal perky and toned shape—the cheeks shrinking like balloons losing air, blue skin smoothing out from the exaggerated fullness, the subtle *squish* of shifting flesh audible in the quiet room. "Wow," Brandon said, "that's sexy and weird at the same time."
As Brandon started placing his hands to carry her—palms cupping under her thighs and back, feeling the warm, slick residue of their passion on her skin—Raven woke up and stared at him with confusion, her yellow eyes blinking groggily, lashes fluttering like dark flames. Brandon told her with a laugh, "It seems you lost consciousness, darling," he said in a very sassy way.
Raven huffed a laugh out and smiled, her lips curving in that dangerous, inviting way. "Yes, dear—you fucked me silly. Are you sure this was your first time? I lost count how many times you came into me," said Raven as she tried and failed to stand up—her ass hurting from Brandon's spanking, the blue cheeks still tender and marked with faint red imprints that pulsed with a lingering heat.
Brandon saw that and grabbed her to carry her, apologizing. "Sorry, Rav—I was quite excited when your ass got that big," said Brandon.
Raven laughed, her voice a husky ripple that sent tingles down his spine. "Quite? You were spanking them like they were drums. Maybe I should morph my hand into a paddle for emphasis on how it felt—right~ darling~?" Raven said to Brandon as he released her and covered his ass, the thought of her firm grip on his cheeks making his skin prickle with anticipation.
"Hey, hey, hey—I'm sorry! I will be softer next time, okay?" Brandon said.
Raven looked at him with her typical Mystique smile—which looked like she was going to do something mischievous—then Brandon realized she was joking. He pointed at her. "You cheeky woman—come here!"
As Brandon threw himself on top of her, he started tickling her as she laughed out loud—her body squirming under him, blue skin warm and silky against his, the faint salty taste of her sweat lingering from where his fingers brushed her sides. Then he passionately kissed her, tenderly starting to touch her butt as he caressed it—fingers tracing the tender curves, the skin soft like velvet with a faint heat from the earlier slaps, each stroke eliciting a soft *sigh* from her lips. His right hand played with her right breast that had also gone back to her B-cup size—thumb circling the nipple, feeling it harden under his touch with a subtle pebbled texture, the lace of her nightgown adding a teasing friction.
Raven spoke while moaning at his ear—a breathy "Ahhh" that sent shivers down his spine, her warm breath tickling his lobe. "Darling... ahhhh... I believe we should go... ahhhh... to the shower now... ahhhh," she said, her voice husky and interrupted by gasps, her body arching slightly into his touch.
Brandon heard that and grabbed her in a princess carry—her weight light yet solid in his arms, blue skin cool against his chest, the floral scent of her hair mixing with their lingering musk—and carried her to the shower where they cleaned themselves. But they fucked for a couple more minutes first: under the steaming water (*patter-patter* on tiles, steam filling the air with a humid, enveloping warmth), his dick sliding back into her with a slick *schlick*, her pussy still tight and slick from earlier cum, walls clenching with a warm, pulsing grip that milked him greedily. Her moans echoed off the walls—a mix of sharp gasps and low growls—mingled with the floral scent of soap and the musky aroma of their arousal, her nails digging into his back with a stinging pleasure. Then they cleaned again, suds sliding down her blue curves like foam on ocean waves, bubbles popping softly against her skin, leaving a clean, citrusy freshness.
They came out in towels—soft terrycloth hugging her form, droplets beading on her skin like dew on sapphire, the fabric damp and clinging to her curves. Brandon was going near his drawer to get new boxers—plain black cotton, soft against his spent dick—then walked to his closet for his black jeans (fitted but comfortable, hugging his legs) and a white t-shirt (crisp cotton, fresh from the wash). When he finished, he looked at Raven—who was drying her red hair with a morphed hand that changed into a hair blower, warm air *whirring* softly, strands lifting like flames in the breeze, the heat carrying a faint ozone tang. To which Brandon believed that was impossible—then he remembered the hairbrush from yesterday too. He asked Raven how that was possible for her to morph into something that wasn't organic.
She responded with, "Cosmic fuckery, darling~," her voice a teasing lilt that made his pulse quicken, to which Brandon choked from that response again, realizing her abilities could go further than he thought if she could break her own rules of Mystique's mutant X-gene.
When Brandon was in deep thought, Raven—still in her towel, with now-dried hair cascading like glossy crimson silk, soft and fragrant with hints of vanilla—grabbed Brandon's phone and unlocked it using Sage's hacking ability. She looked at the time: 9:45 a.m. To which she estimated it had been three hours and thirty minutes since she was woken by Brandon and then fucked by him. Then she looked at his Amazon app to know when the packages would get here—it said they were already there, with a photo showing Brandon's front door. She told Brandon with a knowing smile, "Hey, hon~" she said sexually, her voice a sultry purr that made his skin tingle, low and vibrating like a promise, "your items are at the front door~."
Brandon heard her sensual way of saying "hon," but also that the packages—supposed to arrive at 12:30 p.m. to 1:45 p.m.—were early. *Damn, Prime really comes in clutch,* he said with a perverted smile, realizing the stripper pole, reclining sofa, speaker, and camera were here. Of course, the other stuff got him turned on because it was time for him to bend Emma Frost over and all. Brandon started giggling evilly.
Raven, who was looking at Brandon lovingly, understood what he wanted. Brandon then said, "I will be back in a jiffy, okay, Rav?"
As Raven heard him, he disappeared down the hallway to the front door. She laughed from how excited he was—well, he wasn't the only one, as Raven was dripping from knowing she was going to get pumped full of cum again, her thighs slick with fresh arousal, the air between them charged with electric tension. After all, she was his, and he was hers.
As Brandon ran to the front door, he realized he forgot to ask if she could use Scarlet Witch's reality powers to erase comic books—specifically the Marvel and DC ones—but he would do that later. *Emma Frost is waiting,* he said.
As he got to the door, he opened it. There on the ground were one big box that had to be the sofa, one long one that had to be the stripper pole, and a medium-sized box that must have the speaker and camera. Brandon carried the medium-sized one first, then the long one, then the big one back to his room as he closed the door.
As he walked through his hallway toward his room with the big box, he started thinking which songs to use for Emma's stripper entrance and dance she was going to do. Then he entered his room with Raven sitting on his bed already clothed. She was gorgeous—well, she was gorgeous in anything anyway—but the only time she wore something other than her classic outfit and its other versions was... actually, he didn't remember; she always wore that or old-era clothing. But what she was wearing was black combat boots (sturdy leather, laced tight) with dark blue jeans that fit her legs and hips snugly—it showed her curves so fucking well, the denim hugging her thighs like a second skin, flaring at the hips to accentuate her hourglass figure. Then came her shirt: a sleeveless mock-neck plain top + arm sleeves, the fabric clinging to her torso, the mock neck framing her elegant blue throat, arm sleeves adding a tactical edge while leaving her shoulders bare.
Brandon just stared while carrying the heavy sofa—that he dropped it on his foot. Brandon felt the pain, a sharp *thud* followed by throbbing ache, and said, "Ohh fuck, that hurts!" as he kept jumping in place while holding his foot.
Raven stood up—to which Brandon forgot the pain instantly as she walked to him seductively, her boots *thudding* softly on the floor, hips swaying with hypnotic rhythm. Brandon's thoughts went to her hips, then her midriff—her belly looking tasty right now, toned blue abs peeking slightly under the top's hem, smooth and inviting like polished azure stone, the faint scent of her skin—clean and faintly metallic, like ozone after rain—wafting toward him.
Then Raven twirled for him, showing her profile from the sides, the back, and then back to the front—the jeans molding to her ass like they were painted on, the curve lifting defiantly, blue skin visible through any subtle stretch, the denim's rough texture contrasting her silky flesh. Brandon's only words were, "Fuck me, Raven—you look sexy as hell right now. Also, are those jeans tight on you? Because it looks like you're not wearing them—they're wearing you with how your butt looks like it's floating. Like, I can see your sexy blue ass crack but you're not even bending down."
Raven laughed as he explained what he was seeing, her voice a melodic ripple that stirred the air. "Yeah, my ass might be too big for these jeans, but you love it—so I'm keeping them on." As she turned her ass facing him, she placed her hands on her knees and twerked—like, I shit you not, she fucking twerked, her ass basically bouncing with a rhythmic *slap-slap* of denim against skin, cheeks lifting and dropping in hypnotic waves, the motion releasing a subtle, intoxicating musk of her arousal mixed with the leather of her boots.
Brandon couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Wow, Raven—that's just... I mean, wow. I've never seen a woman twerk before—well, other than porn videos, but never in front of me."
As Brandon started walking toward her—his steps eager, the air thick with anticipation—Raven pushed her ass to Brandon's crotch area and started twerking hard on it. Brandon almost fell because his knees turned weak from the pleasure—the firm grind of denim against his jeans, her cheeks pressing with a warm, insistent pressure that sent jolts through his core, the faint vibration humming through his body like an electric current. Raven pushed her jean-covered ass harder into Brandon's crotch, the fabric *rustling* with each thrust, her heat seeping through like molten lava. She grabbed his hands that were hanging by his side and placed them on her hips as she pushed herself back into him, her back against his chest—her skin's silky smoothness brushing his shirt, the curve of her spine arching invitingly. Then she grabbed the back of his head with her right hand and placed her left on the back of his left buttcheek—for more leverage as she was almost tiptoeing, roughly pushing her rear into his crotch, her breaths coming in hot, ragged puffs against his neck.
Brandon, who was getting twerked at, was in bliss—as he finally knew how it felt to be twerked on, the heat radiating through layers of fabric, her movements a tantalizing mix of firmness and give, the subtle taste of salt on his lips from biting them in restraint. Then he heard something that would change everything: when he looked up, Raven had his phone, and on it was playing the song "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira. The song started blasting (*boom-boom* of the reggaeton beat filling the room, the bass throbbing like a heartbeat), and let me tell you, he felt like jelly—the beat made Raven bounce hard then slow, her ass clapping against him in sync with the 100 BPM tempo: quick, sharp twerks on the percussion drops (*clap-thud-clap*), slower, grinding rolls on the melodic verses, her hips swaying like liquid fire, the friction building a slick sweat between them, her natural scent intensifying with each heated press.
Raven sang Shakira's parts, her voice a sultry match—husky and vibrant, blending with the track as she twerked, each lyric laced with breathy moans that vibrated against his skin:
[Intro: (Wyclef Jean plays)]
*Ladies up in here tonight
No fighting
(We got the refugees up in here)
No fighting
No fighting
Shakira, Shakira*
[Verse 1: (Wyclef Jean plays)]
*I never really knew that she could dance like this (Hey)
She make a man wanna speak Spanish
¿Cómo se llama? (Sí), bonita (Sí)
Mi casa, su casa (Shakira, Shakira)*
[Pre-Chorus: Raven sings, her twerk slowing to a sensual grind, hips circling against him like waves, the denim whispering softly, heat pooling where their bodies met:]
*Oh, baby, when you talk like that
You make a woman go mad
So be wise (Sí) and keep on (Sí)
Reading the signs of my body (Uno, dos, tres, cuatro)*
[Chorus: Raven belts out, bouncing harder on the upbeat drop—*clap-clap* of her ass syncing with the rhythm, fast and relentless, the impact sending ripples through her flesh, her sweat-slicked skin gliding against him:]
*I'm on tonight, you know my hips don't lie
And I'm starting to feel it's right
All the attraction, the tension
Don't you see, baby, this is perfection?*
[Verse 2: (Wyclef Jean plays)]
*Hey, girl, I can see your body moving
And it's driving me crazy
And I didn't have the slightest idea
Until I saw you dancing (Yeah)
And when you walk up on the dance floor
Nobody cannot ignore the way you move your body, girl (Just move)
And everything's so unexpected, the way you right and left it
So you can keep on shaking it (Let's go)*
[Pre-Chorus: Raven sings again, slowing to tease—her ass rolling in deep, circular grinds, the musky tang of her arousal wafting up, each press building a delicious friction that made his breath hitch:]
*Oh, baby, when you talk like that
You make a woman go mad
So be wise (Sí) and keep on (Sí)
Reading the signs of my body (No fighting, no fighting)*
[Chorus: Raven hits the high notes, twerking furiously—quick bounces on the fast beats, her cheeks *clapping* like thunder, the room filled with the salty scent of sweat and her intoxicating natural musk:]
*I'm on tonight, you know my hips don't lie (No fighting)
And I'm starting to feel you, boy
Come on, let's go, real slow
Don't you see, baby, así es perfecto?
Baby, I know I'm on tonight, my hips don't lie
And I'm starting to feel it's right
All the attraction, the tension
Don't you see, baby, this is perfection? (Shakira, Shakira)*
[Bridge: Raven & (Wyclef Jean plays), her movements blending fast twerks with slow sways—hips undulating like a serpent, the taste of her skin lingering on his lips from earlier kisses:]
*Oh, boy, I can see your body moving
Half animal, half man
I don't, don't really know what I'm doing
But you seem to have a plan
My will and self-restraint
Have come to fail now, fail now
See, I'm doing what I can, but I can't so you know
That's a bit too hard to explain (Uno, dos, tres, cuatro)*
[Verse 3: (Wyclef Jean & Raven), her twerk picking up Latin flair—bouncy and rhythmic, cheeks colliding with wet *smacks* from sweat, the air thick with their combined heat:]
*Baila en la calle de noche (Yeah)
Baila en la calle de día (Let's go)
Baila en la calle de noche
Baila en la calle de día*
*I never really knew that she could dance like this
She make a man wanna speak Spanish
¿Cómo se llama? (Sí), bonita (Sí)
Mi casa, su casa (Shakira, Shakira)*
[Pre-Chorus: Raven sings, grinding deep and slow—her ass pressing back with insistent heat, the faint metallic tang of her mutant skin mixing with sweat on his tongue as he nipped her neck:]
*Oh, baby, when you talk like that
You know you got me hypnotized
So be wise (Sí) and keep on (Sí)
Reading the signs of my body*
[Verse 4: (Wyclef Jean plays)]
*Señorita, feel the conga
Let me see you move like you come from Colombia*
[Breakdown: (Wyclef Jean plays), Raven twerking wildly—hips popping to the beat, cheeks colliding with wet *smacks* from sweat, the room filled with her voice and their shared heat:]
*Yeah (Ladies and gentlemen)
Mírala en la zona, mueve la cadera (Oh yeah)
Mírala, mírala, mírala (That's right)
Mírala en la zona, mueve la cadera
Mírala, mírala, mírala*
[Pre-Chorus: Raven, slowing to build tension—her bounces teasing, each grind sending sparks through him, the salty flavor of her sweat on his lips as he kissed her shoulder:]
*Oh, baby, when you talk like that
You make a woman go mad
So be wise (Sí) and keep on (Sí)
Reading the signs of my body (No fighting)*
[Chorus: Raven climaxes the song, twerking at full intensity—fast, hard bounces syncing with the final drops, her ass *clapping* like applause, the metallic tang of her skin intensifying with exertion:]
*I'm on tonight, my hips don't lie
And I'm starting to feel you, boy
Come on, let's go, real slow
Baby, like this is perfecto (No fighting)
Oh, you know I'm on tonight, my hips don't lie
And I'm starting to feel it's right
The attraction, the tension
Baby, like this is perfection*
[Outro: (Wyclef Jean plays)]
*No fighting
No fighting*
And let me tell you, Brandon felt like jelly—the beat made Raven bounce hard then slow, her ass clapping against him in sync with the 100 BPM tempo: quick, sharp twerks on the percussion drops (*clap-thud-clap*), slower, grinding rolls on the melodic verses, her hips swaying like liquid fire. His dick was hard as hell, and Raven didn't help with her singing so sexy and sensually that he came just from that—but he let her do her thing. He was there just for the ride, or more like to be ridden by his Mystique, as she was singing the same time Shakira sang, and he was just holding on for dear life from letting go. 🖐👌👈