Into Emma's Verse (Patreon)

Utopia…

With the power of the Phoenix bequeathed to them, the X-Men now made that old name seem quaint. All the world was their paradise, far outshining the fragile little nation they’d tried to build. Human and mutant alike enjoyed peace and prosperity. Now all that was left, after so much strife and hardship, was to enjoy the rest they’d worked so fervently to achieve.

Emma walked through the temperate clime of Alaska. She and Scott had made their home in an isolated bay, green and verdant, but with a pleasing chill in the air. Winter would soon be there and Emma would enjoy the weather of furs, though it was hardly necessary. Her flesh was now more resilient with the Phoenix than her body had been when she’d turned to diamond. In fact, all she wore was a white cloak with an ermine mantle.

The sun beat down on her bare skin, warming her, but not daring to burn her flesh. She savored the feel of the elements on her naked flesh, and all that came with it. The peace, the domination, the power, the satisfaction of being right.

It was good to be the queen.

And the king. Scott, like her, had seen that clothes were a waste of time. He didn’t even wear his glasses anymore. He didn’t need to, when it was child’s play to control his optic blasts. As she came upon him, he was sitting on the edge of the cliff their cabin was perched on, taking in the view of the coast. He always seemed to take the utmost satisfaction in seeing such majestic spectacle without ruby quartz in the way. Emma wanted to have that awe directed at her.

More than a little aroused by the sight of his broad shoulders and muscular back, she settled down behind him, sticking her legs out past his hips as though she were seating Scott in her lap. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her breasts into his back, letting him know she was naked. Their faces nuzzled together, psyches interlocking as they luxuriated together in their strength and invincibility, the satisfaction of a job well-done.

At long last, they’d saved the world.

“I have a surprise for you,” she purred.

“How is it we can be in each other’s heads and you can still surprise me?” Scott wasn’t doubting her words, just giving her a little of the awe she wanted from him. It went down as smooth as the feel of his athletic physique, chiseled muscles wherever Emma roved her hands.

“It’s because I’m ever-so-complicated,” Emma answered him.

“We’re immortal now, Emma. Gods. You ever think it’ll get to the point where you can’t come up with any more surprises for me?”

“No,” Emma answered honestly. “Because at the end of the day—at the end of time—I’ll still be me and that’s more than enough for any man. Even you, my fearless leader.” She kissed the side of his neck. “And there is so much of me to satisfy you with. That’s what your surprise is today, darling.”

“You?” Scott repeated, reaching down to stroke one of her thighs. “I think I already have one of those…”

Emma shook her head. “Not like this. Not all of me. Oh, don’t pout. I’ve given you all I could give before. But with the Phoenix, I can offer you parts of myself that are long dead—bring them back to life, simply for your gratification. Say thank you, Scott Summers.”

“Thank you,” Scott said, knowing better than to appear ungracious when Emma was being generous. “But pretend you’re talking to someone whose higher education mostly revolved around optic blasts…”

“Oh, dearie, I always do,” Emma cooed. “I’ve held many positions in my life—“

“You said it,” Scott snickered.

Emma tweaked his nipple. “And you’re one to talk, ‘Erik the Red’. Listen. I’ve been saint and sinner, hero and villain, schoolgirl and schoolmaster—I want to give all of myself to you. Slip back through the timestream and breathe life back into memories. Imagine having me when I was White Queen of the Hellfire Club. Or a lowly stripper, making my way up the ladder. Or even a virgin—older than you might think…”

Scott coughed. “Emma, not to rain on your parade, but won’t the timeline not take kindly to your first lover suddenly being me? And your time with Generation X might be awkward if you have memories of my cock inside you…”

“Don’t think so linearly, dear. We won’t really be doing any time travel. I might call you daddy at times, but I’m not actually one of your offspring. No, we’ll simply be giving form to the phantasms of my memory and letting them share in my present good fortune. You’re my future, Scott—now I’m giving my past to you.”

“While you watch, I take it?”

“But of course,” Emma said, giving him a squeeze to fully enjoy his body before she turned him over to anyone else, even herself. “I’ve never taken a stand against voyeurism, but why would I want to see you with anyone who isn’t as perfect as me?”

“Babe, you were right. You are complicated.”

“Making it all the more impressive that you know me so well.”

“You really think the White Queen you will go for me?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Hard as it may be to believe, I was rather free with my affections back then.”

“Really?”

“And you hardly gave away what a world-class cocksman you were. We really have so much in common. Both such private people…”

“I think your privacy is dripping on my hip.”

“What can I say, I’m excited. Let’s get started before I ride you myself. You know a past as distinguished as mine deserves your very best effort.”

“’Get started.’ How prosaic.” Emma’s voice, haughtier than ever, rang out from behind them, with the faux-British accent pronounced enough to fool someone into thinking she was from there. “You’ve become rather undemanding in your dotage.”

“And oh my God, you’re so pretentious for a number two at a swingers’ club,” Emma retorted.

Her younger self’s body was much the same as hers; Emma was aging well. But her dress made as stark of a change as was imaginable. The White Queen wore exclusively leather and lace. Elbow length-gloves, thigh-high boots, both of such supple leather that it seemed molded to her slender-muscled limbs.

Her corset—the only thing she wore above the waist—was leather too. It seemed skintight, but despite its murderous-seeming tightness, it was not cutting into her curvaceously plush flesh. It was just as exquisitely tailored as the rest of her clothes, fitting to her voluptuous body more like painterly brushstrokes than an article of clothes.

Her lace panties were the same way. They seemed like a play of shadow and white paint, a few dabs of creamy whiteness suggesting her scant undergarments more than fully manifesting. Scott knew that if she turned around, the back of her panties would disappear between her pert buttocks like a magic trick.

Her lace cape, affixed to a choker of the same material, lent an air of impossible mystique and respectability to her otherwise obscene ensemble. It kept her bare flesh—of which there was much—from overwhelming her look, even if so much of her—from cleavage to belly to toned thighs—remained on luscious display. Scott never knew how she managed it, but Emma made this stripper’s lingerie look like a queen’s raiment.

The look of chilly disdain completed the picture. As much as Scott preferred his Emma’s customary wry amusement, something about this Emma’s domineering bitchiness provoked a certain arousal. He wanted to make love to his Emma. The White Queen he just wanted to fuck. Fuck her until her brain was too orgasmically broken to maintain that smug look.

“Better than number two to an X-Man,” the White Queen said, bemoaning Emma’s current straits as much as an evangelical would speak of this sinful Earth.

“Oh, I’m his number one,” Emma assured her. “I’m sure you’re greatly enjoying be a target of opportunity for your pick of swinging dicks, but the time will come when you appreciate being the highest priority of a man like Scott.”

The White Queen sniffed. “Oh dear, he really has broken you in,” she sighed. “What impresses you so much about him? Does he make you eggs in the morning or is it just the cock? It’s big, I’ll admit, but I’ve had bigger and I can have room service bring me whatever breakfast I want.”

Emma smiled at her sneer. “What if I make him eggs because he smacks my ass and tells me that if I don’t, I won’t be sitting down for a week?”

The White Queen was shocked. “And you give into that pedestrian demand?”

“Of course not. I make him eggs because I love him. And to thank him for the fact that I won’t be sitting down for a week anyway.”

“You forget, dearie, that I’ve faced your man in battle. I’ve even traipsed inside his mind. The fact that you’d allow this dullard to master you just shows how far you’ve fallen.”

“Obviously he’s unworthy, you twit. That’s the point. I let him dominate me anyway, because I want him to. I can’t believe there was ever a time when I couldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“I can’t believe you’d prefer one man to three good Nubians making you airtight.”

“Emma, please!” Scott stressed, picking himself up off the ground. “Stop beating yourself up.”

“Am I meant to allow you to do it?” the White Queen asked, scanning him up and down. “You’ll have to settle for the weak and paltry thing I’ve become… you poor bastard.”

Emma was up on her feet now, proudly displaying her naked body within her cloak. It made perfect sense that the only one who could be more provocative than Emma Frost was Emma Frost. “If you think I’ve become nothing more than a bitch, why not use me as one?”

Finally, the White Queen adopted a less aggressive mien, thoughtfully considering the proposition instead. “The opportunity to actually fuck myself, as so many have suggested… what’s the catch?”

Emma nodded to Scott. “Afterwards, you let him fuck you.”

The White Queen’s voice trickled with laughter. “You’ve lost your skills as a negotiator, dear. I get to have your ass and fuck your man as well?”

“You won’t be the one fucking him, I assure you.”

As self-assured as Emma was, the White Queen seemed equally prepossessed. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out…”

***

The White Queen sat on a nearby boulder, her elegant poise making it appear as if a throne. Her lingerie was glowing white—all but the darkening crotch of her panties. The White Queen was hardly embarrassed by this. She slid her fingers over the scant material, easing it out of the way to reveal the vivid pink of her cunt. Almost out of place with her pale skin and all-white costuming.

“Come serve your better,” she ordered Emma, crooking her finger to her, a riding crop in her other hand. She was just waiting for her older self to refuse.

Emma looked to Scott. He wasn’t playing with himself, but his cock was growing steadily harder. Emma smiled happily. That was good. They wouldn’t be wasting time later.

Emma crawled across the ground, flaunting the motion, taunting the White Queen with how willingly she prostrated herself. Letting her know it was something she was well-used to.

Emma slid her mouth over the creamy flesh of the White Queen’s inner thigh. Her face basked in the heat coming off of the White Queen’s sex as she moved so close to her slit that she would’ve been touching her pubic hair if the White Queen had any.

“Suck me, whore!” the White Queen cried, thrusting her pussy into Emma’s face.

Emma moaned and obligingly held the White Queen’s panties out of the way, keeping them from slipping back over the White Queen’s crotch as she licked at it. She felt a pang of humiliation—this was an unfamiliar degradation, not coming at Scott’s knowing hands—but she allowed it, telling herself she was performing for him, and soon she’d have her reward. She didn’t know how much Scott enjoyed this show, but she would love seeing the White Queen learn about all he could do with that cock.

“I’m getting bored,” the White Queen hissed, grabbing fistfuls of Emma’s hair. “Get me off before the minute is out or I’ll amuse myself by using the riding crop on your tits instead.”