MCotP update (Patreon)

Nothing was working out like it was supposed to.

Jean had meant to find Scott at play with his little slut, that bitch Emma, but when she’d entered his mind, all she’d found was battle plans and blueprints. Still, she knew. She could feel it. Not as a telepath, but as a woman.

He’d fucked her.

So she went to confront Emma, waiting for her, arrogant, cool, insouciant, draped in a chair with her costume showing off her body as glibly as if Scott’s fingerprints were all over it. Jean didn’t waste time with words. She pushed into Emma’s head and—

Nothing. She couldn’t breach Emma’s walls. It was impossible, she was stronger than Emma, she had the Phoenix, but like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object, nothing happened. Emma just laid there, smiling like she knew something Jean didn’t.

It didn’t matter. Jean could still burn her. And just that moment, she wasn’t disinclined to try.

“I want you to stay away from Scott,” she said evenly, staring Emma down.

“Your boy scout?” Emma asked. “But don’t you want him to redeem me? Help me lead a life on the side of right and virtue? He’s making a good girl out of me, Jean. Kissing all my sins away…”

A wave of psychic force lashed out of Jean before she could think better of it, aimed squarely at Emma, liable to rip through her and five walls behind her, but Emma—rebuffed it. It just stopped at her outstretched hand.

Emma checked her nails.

Jean was so shocked she forgot that she’d just tried to put Emma in the hospital. “That’s impossible,” she said.

“No, Jean. You’re not the most powerful woman in the room anymore. Hard to get used to, isn’t it? Ridicule my clothes and physique all you want, but we all need a little help with our self-esteem. Except for you, until now. You always had the Phoenix to fall back on. The most dangerous, the most deadly, the most powerful being in the universe—so feared! So loved!” Emma lazily rotated her neck, letting out a slight crack. “Without that… well, you’re just the freak you were when you came to this school, aren’t you? With all your power, you’ve been able to keep Scott close to you, but you only got him in the first place because you were his only option.”

“Shut up,” Jean muttered. “You’re going to stay away from him!”

“Or else what? Your powers don’t work on me, Jean. If you want Scott all to yourself, you’ll need to ask nicely.”

Jean gritted her teeth. “So that’s it then. You took advantage of him so you could get to me.”

“No, no, I greatly enjoyed fucking him. The man’s a menace with that cock of his. But I suppose now I’ve had my fun, so I can either keep him around like you did—as a pet—or you can make it worth my while to kick him loose.”

Jean could feel the heat traveling over herself. The Phoenix was trying to burn its way out of her, but that wouldn’t do any good. Emma had managed to circumvent it, so all the flame would accomplish was hurting her friends, her students. She needed to play Emma’s game.

“What do you want from me?”

“An hour,” Emma said. “One hour. You do whatever I say. And afterward, Scott’s all yours. Assuming you still want him.”

“You’re sick,” Jean said. “You’re a sick, perverted bitch—“

“Before you judge me too harshly, let’s make sure you don’t enjoy it just as much as me. After all—so many of Scott’s pleasures were practiced on you first. At the end of the day, we have the same taste in men. It’s just that you spit and I swallow.”

Jean’s eyes narrowed. “You cow… I’d almost let you have him, except no one deserves to be one of your playthings. I’ll pull Scott away from you. I’ll, I’ll take him to join X-Factor, X-Force, whatever goddamn team will have us, so long as we’re away from you!”

“Jean, Jean, you have me all wrong. I certainly don’t want something so… physical. If I did, I would’ve made a sandwich with Scott instead of a hot dog. Or—what is it they call a big sausage in a bun?”

Jean stretched out her hand and crumbled an armoire into splinters.

“Jean!” Emma cried. “That was an antique.”

“If I can’t hurt you, I can hurt your things. All your precious things.”

“You make me want to rake my nails down Scott’s back the next time I let him on top—good god. No touching, nothing to stain your lily-white virtue, make you feel so disgustingly human. I just want to talk. An open, honest little chat.”

“Like you did with Scott?” Jean clenched her fist. The splinters ground together. “Giving him a shoulder to cry on before you reached into his pants?”

“Let’s face it, Jean, I didn’t have to reach very far. Or don’t you think there’s a reason he chose me to lend a sympathetic ear instead of Hank or Bobby?”

“Whore.”

“Not for a while now,” Emma assured her. “One hour. You speak with complete candor, answering all my questions, and if I’m satisfied by the end, you have my word as a lady and a Frost that Scott will be yours to ignore and neglect once more.”

“Fine by me. Just know that if you laid one finger on me, I’d rather be choking the life out of you then enjoy one moment of it!”

“Why, Jean—that’s what makes it fun. Now come over here. Sit on my lap. I want you to tell me about your first.”

Jean sneered as she walked forward. “Is that all? Some tawdry gossip? I don’t at all mind telling you about my first time with Scott. It might actually do you some good, knowing what it’s like with someone who actually cares about you instead of just having been manipulated into a cheap tryst.”

“Hmm? Oh, no, not with Scott, he told me all about it. Something about how I was so much better? No, I want you to tell me about your first time, period.” Emma patted her lap. “You know. With Wanda?”

Suddenly numb, Jean sat down.

How had she known?

Could Scott have told her? She’d thought even he didn’t know.

Or was it possible that Emma had managed to read her mind? Jesus Christ…

Jean set her watch. “One hour. Starting now.”

“My bedtime story,” Emma retorted, pulling Jean close. “Starting now.”

Jean resolved to ignore her. If Emma wanted a story, she’d give her one.

***

It was a long time ago… back when you were probably still stripping for Sebastian Shaw. I’d gotten upset with Scott over something and run off into the woods. I wasn’t a girl, but I wasn’t a woman either. This was before Logan, before Banshee, before any of them, when the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants had broken up and we were almost more like rival sports teams than anything else.

I was actually friends with Wanda, and since then she’d become a member of the Avengers. She and Piotr had this cabin in the woods near the Professor’s land… they lived in Tony Stark’s mansion mostly, of course, but Pietro sent his sister there I suppose when Captain America put his foot down and made him separate from her. I guess he could live with it as long as he knew Wanda was somewhere safe, or at least isolated.

I wasn’t headed there, not intentionally I don’t think. It started raining, I got turned around—I could’ve contained the Professor and have him send out a search party for me, or even had the Blackbird pinpoint my location and pick me up, but I was so frustrated and miserable that I almost felt like I deserved being in the rain.

It’s called shame, Emma. Tell me you’ve at least heard of it?

I found a road—it wasn’t even paved. I went in the direction that I thought would take me to the highway, although I couldn’t imagine anyone stopping to help me. I was soaked to the bones, covered in mud, and my make-up had been destroyed by my crying.

It took forever, but I got there. Still, no cars went by. I was about ready to lie down in the weeds beside the road and wait for the rain to stop. I figured by then, Scott would be looking for me, and with Cerebro, he’d have no problem finding me. I’d just feel pathetic and silly, being rescued that way. But at least I could have a warm shower, wash off some of the mud. Hell, I could’ve had it right then if I’d just answered the Professor’s low-key mental communications. But I was in too sorry a state to do anything to help myself. It all seems so silly now. I could’ve died over some argument I can’t even remember now.

(“This story isn’t particularly scintillating,” Emma remarked, rubbing Jean’s leg. “If this is the kind of dirty talk you use on Scott…”)

I kept walking down the highway, with no idea where I was going, only that eventually I would come to either the Mansion or Salem, and when that happened, I could think of something to do with myself. But before I got more than a quarter-mile, I heard a car horn behind me. I almost thought someone was about to run me over, but when I turned, I saw a cute little VW Bug there, braking to a gentle stop.

(“Awful car,” Emma opined. “You know Hitler helped design them?”)

The rain was at a drizzle then, but it’d been swelling up off and on for the last ten minutes, so I didn’t have long to think about it. I could see a woman was behind the wheel, and she motioned to me. I practically sprinted over to her, thinking that with my luck she’d ask directions to the hayride or something, then leave me in the dust.

But it was Wanda, and by the time I’d got there, she had already reached across and opened the door for me. “You’d better get in,” she said. That accent of hers was still very thick at the time. “We’re in for lots more rain.”

Wanda was always beautiful, still is beautiful, but back then she had a kind of purity too. It’s been replaced by strength these days, which is a good trade, but that innocence of hers—it just shone out of her. She was just starting to come out of her shell, break free of Pietro’s overprotectiveness—her clothes were more revealing, her looks more direct and firm. I was used to a timid, uncertain girl, but Wanda was becoming so very… certain. Certain of her beauty, certain of her sexuality, and certain of what she wanted.

She sensed that I didn’t want the mansion, or Salem Center, full of other people and their noisy, unfamiliar thoughts. So she took me to her cabin. We had to turn back around, go down the path I’d found in the first place. Wanda had left to get groceries before the rain started. I was all apologies for diverting her, but she thought nothing of it. Said I’d probably done her a favor by keeping her off the roads, in the state they were in thanks to the storms.

(“Perhaps you should skip the weather report,” Emma suggested. “Because if I’m not satisfied by the end of the hour, Scott will be.“)

I remember being surprised at how soft and rich her voice had become, an alto, when she’d barely raised it above a whisper in all her time with the Brotherhood. “I won’t take no for an answer,” she said authoritatively—another shock, given how used I was to calling the shots in our friendship. “Come into the cabin with me. I’ll draw a bath for you and find you something dry to put on. You can even spend the night, if you like, or call the mansion and tell them you’re alright.”

I couldn’t say no. Every word she spoke sent tingles up and down my spine. “You really are an Avenger,” I said. “Rescuing damsels in distress.”

She laughed, a very pretty laugh, and put her hand on my thigh, just above the knee. Its presence was light but unmistakable, and I felt something funny in my stomach. I didn’t know what it was. There was just something there. “Perhaps I am still something of villain,” she replied with a smirk. “I may hold you hostage. Demand a little ransom from all your X-Men friends.”

“You deserve it,” I told her. “But I don’t know if you’d get much for me in this state. I look like I’ve taken a mud bath.”

Her cabin was lovely. You could tell Pietro hadn’t spent much time there. It had none of his chilliness. It was Wanda’s place, through and through, and she had decorated it with love, made it her own as I don’t think she ever could a suite in some mansion. It was spotless, but the lights were out—thank you, storm. She used her magic and lit some candles scattered around, letting me see that the place was spotless. At least until I looked down and saw the muddy footprints I’d left on the floor. Disgusted with myself, I wiped them away with a fine sheen of my own power. Wanda noticed, of course. She tittered a little.

“Always such a good houseguest,” she said. “I should have had you over sooner.”

“I should’ve called sooner. I suppose seeing you on the news, called a hero, I started seeing you as an Avenger instead of—“

“A mutant? Or a friend?” she asked. Then she shook her head, her mind broadcasting an unwillingness to hear my answer. “No, forget I asked. People are often silly, but life is too short to dwell on the silliness. And you are dripping too much. The bathroom is up the stairs.” She grinned to herself, “Benefits of having such a fast brother who knows construction.”

She flicked her hand. More magic lit candles along the stairs, and behind the closed door to the bathroom, candlelight flickered out from under the door. I smiled to myself, thinking how oddly magical our powers made a simple reunion between two friends. They really were something when we weren’t using them to trounce bad guys or train for missions.

She took off her coat as she spoke, and for the first time I had a look at her figure. She dressed very differently than I was used to—a dark sweater and slacks that hugged and accentuated her voluptuous figure. Those large breasts set high on her chest, her slim waist, her long legs. She looked very tall, but she was really just an inch taller than me. It was all in her carriage. She projected herself even more than I did, and I was the homecoming queen of Xavier U!

(“I can’t read your mind, but I can hear the gears turning. You enjoy thinking of this, don’t you? A sordid little fling behind the back of your true love, and you remember it so fondly…”)

I was thinking about her as I drew the water, as I peeled off my wet clothes. How she looked so different and acted so different—it made me feel especially girlish, childish, especially in the wake of how I’d been acting with Scott. Maybe it was just the contrast to how child-like she had been, but she seemed so mature and adult, and I wondered if, on the Avengers… with so many handsome and charming men… if something had happened to make her become a woman?

I forgot all about it was I sank into the water, though. For what felt like the first time in years, that hot water had me feeling good. Really, really good!

I didn’t wash, but soaked, letting the warmth seep into my bones. It was like I could feel it moving slowly and surely into every tendon of my muscles, heating me all over. I took a deep breath and submerged my head, coming up feeling even cleaner.

(“Is that a blush I see forming, Mrs. Summers? Did the bath not end with you drying off and getting dressed, all-important virtue woefully intact?”)

The door opened. Being the only girl in the mansion, I was used to being given a wide berth, so I sat up and threw my hands over my breasts, although being in the tub had covered me more than an iron lung.

Wanda poked her head in and saw how embarrassed I was, which amused her, and that made me smile too. She just had a way back then of setting people at ease. I flushed a little as I sank back down into the tub, and she came in with a bottle of this pink stuff.

“It cleanses the dirt from the water,” she said, “so it’s like you’ve taken a shower before you got in.” A good thing too—I didn’t think I could’ve borne to be on my feet long enough to rinse off.

She poured it in, and soon the water was filled with bubbly suds. That calmed me down even more, having a bubble bath to hide in. It wasn’t that I was afraid of Wanda or saw her as a sexual… anything, it’s just that in my current state of mind, I couldn’t take being seen by anyone!

Still, she knelt beside the tub and stirred the potion in… I flushed a little as I let her blow little bubbles over my skin, clean off some of my oogy residue. Just pamper me and touch me without expectation, rubbing the lather along my face with her gentle fingers.

“I love the way it smells,” she said. “It’s almost better than perfume, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Lilac’s my favorite. Maybe you’re the mind-reader.”

I felt safe. And warm. And clean. If only Scott were there, it would’ve been perfect. I felt just human enough to want things to be patched up again. And somewhere in all my comfort, I’d picked up a tingle in my thighs. I wouldn’t have minded him being in the tub with me, maybe letting me rub his sore muscles, and my naughty smile was a bit contagious. Wanda giggled with me, as if she really could read my mind. I felt sure then that Pietro or no, she’d had a bit of fun with the Avengers.

“Wait little moment.” Wanda got up and went to the cabinet behind the mirror. She opened it up, reached inside, and something clattered out into the sink. I saw it as Wanda scooped it up and quickly put it back in the cabinet. A tube of K-Y Jelly. At the time, I thought it was some kind of lotion.

(“You didn’t know what K-Y was and you were dating a man of Scott’s… proportions? Brave girl…”)

Wanda brought out a bottle. “This is what I wanted,” she said. She uncapped it, and I smelled flowers and herbs wafting into the air. “Shampoo. Very nice. Like a garden in your hair.”

She squeezed a little into her palm. “Lean over,” she told me, and I did. She put her hands in my hair, massaging the shampoo into my scalp, making me remember how long it had been since my mom had washed my hair for me. I still remembered the feel of it though, and this felt so different, rubbing and stroking the sensitive skin I had no idea was under my hair. I found myself wishing she’d never stop!

(Emma ran her hand through Jean’s hair, playfully pulling on it, or raking her nails down Jean’s scalp. Jean ignored her.)

Her hands worked down my neck (Jean said tentatively), following my long hair. It was all tangled and kinked, but she undid the snarls with the most delicate touch imaginable. I couldn’t remember anyone ever having been so gentle with me. It felt… nice.

(Emma’s nails scratched at the nape of Jean’s neck, not scratching—that Jean would’ve almost been ready for—but lightly nipping the flesh there almost as gently as her own hair might flicker over her bare skin. It made her feel paradoxically naked.)

She rinsed out the soap with a little hose from the showerhead, then she treated me to a cream rinse that made the herbal aroma of the shampoo even stronger. I could smell my own strands of hair and felt like I was in a garden, lying down in a leafy bed of grass on a warm spring day, looking up the trees shielding me from the sun with all their green.

“And now dry off, before you are prune,” Wanda was saying, and I was so at ease that I didn’t feel the least bit strange standing up and stepping out of the tub. It was just us girls, after all. I let her take a fluffy terrycloth towel and wipe away all the wetness. First she did my back, while I held my hair out of the way. Her hands slid low… they tapered right down the curve of my ass.

(Jean looked over her shoulder. She thought she’d felt something brush against her ass, but there was nothing.)

Then she got down on her knees and wiped off the backs of my legs, started up the front. I was just about to tell her I could do that myself, but it felt so good to still have those hands on me, with their delicate rhythm on my skin, and me not having to move a finger for myself. I sighed and closed my eyes, and my hair was sweet-smelling as I toyed with it as Wanda had done.

She moved the towel up over my knees, up my thighs—it brushed my sex, and I opened my eyes in surprise. I looked down and she was patting me there, smiling, humming softly while she dried me off. Then she stood up, right in front of me, and slid the towel up, guiding it over my breasts. She smoothed it there, over my cleavage, her hands lingering more than before, and this time I knew full well that it was more than her just being friendly, more than some foreign custom.

“Wanda,” I said, the only sound I could make. She pressed the towel into my collarbone, my shoulders, the hollow of my throat—with so much of me dry, I could feel the water from my wet hair dripping down my back and over my face, touching my lips. Her hands gripped my shoulders through the towel, holding them in a firm, solid way, and her face was closer to mine than ever. I could count her eyelashes, smell her breath cutting across the scent of my own hair. It was just as sweet as the garden.

And then her face was even closer and her mouth was on mine, sweet breath flowing into me, her body full and warm and taut against mine. Her arms went around me, her hands pushing on the small of my back, pulling me to her even more tightly.

(“Like this?” Emma asked, and she was kissing Jean too, her breasts touching Jean’s as she splayed in Emma’s lap—they felt like Wanda’s, firm and high-set under strange clothes that concealed their feeling, nipples standing up prominently through them, burning Jean where they brushed against her skin.

“Yes,” Jean said, the only sound she could make.)

Her hand slid down my body, cupped one cheek of my ass—it was so powerful, it squeezed so tight. (Emma’s hand rolled down Jean’s back…) My legs turned to jelly, my head went swimming, I’d have fallen for sure if Wanda’s body wasn’t supporting my weight.

(“You tried to stay faithful to Scott,” Emma said, her hand on the small of Jean’s back, pulling her up Emma’s seated body, pulling them so close together that lips brushed on the skin of their faces, their necks.)

I thought of pushing her away, but my arms, they went around her, and I embraced her, I thrust myself against, I tried to swallow her tongue as… she kissed me.

(Emma put a little kiss on the angle of Jean’s shoulder, lips clinging to her skin, not wanting to let go. Jean put her hands in Emma’s hair and either dragged her face down or pulled herself up, somehow drawing Emma to the stiff beacon of her right nipple. Emma’s lips touched it, moist and boiling hot, and Jean’s eyes grew large. They shut when the point of Emma’s tongue touched her nipple. White-hot jolts of surprise and excitement shot through her, but she couldn’t let go. She put her hands on the back of Emma’s head, drawing her hair gloriously out of perfection, and pulled her in until she was suckling Jean, just as Wanda had.)

She kissed my breast. It was gentle, but fierce in how much she wanted it, and it was getting less gentle and more fierce. Her lips pulled at me, hard, determined, but her tongue was licking, loving, less and less as she spent more time sucking on my nipple, but still almost more than I could take. I wrapped my arms around her head. I didn’t ever want her to stop.

But she did. (Emma didn’t.) My hands were still on her head, tickled by her cute curly hair, just feeling how nice it was as she straightened up to face me again. She put her hands behind my head, just like I had, and pulled me in, closer, closer, until there was only her lips, and she kissed me slowly, needing—

(Jean broke off in a gasp. Emma sucked on her nipple harder than ever, and the more she sucked, the more erect, the more sensitive, almost painfully sensitive, her nipple became.)

She moved her hands down… down my body… to my ass, her palms on both… both of my cheeks…

(Emma’s hands slipped under Jean’s pants, cupping her ass, and Jean moaned in acknowledgment of Emma holding her, pleasuring her.)

The towel fell out of the way—bodies pressed together—I looked at her face, thinking she’d be snarling, leering, congratulating herself on seducing me, but she looked so warm and friendly… my sister… I couldn’t think of how she’d gone from that to this… how I had gotten into this… only that I was deep in it and I didn’t know if I couldn’t think to get out or didn’t want to get out…

(Emma’s hands glided up and down Jean’s buttocks, making her shiver, her crotch rubbing against Emma’s, leather on leather, but the warmth of both women burning beneath, burning between, the mental lust Jean felt in Emma smoothing everything over, blurring it all together, making it all soft and sweet. Or was it her lust?)

“Do you feel better now?” Wanda asked in her soft alto, and I did, I really did. “Better, but not good, no. Let me make you feel good.”

Her right hand moved down my ass, her fingers in my crack—fingertips slid over my asshole, skated on, made contact from behind with the wet tingle of my labia. I jerked up onto my tiptoes, a rush of words—“What are you doing?”

“You will know later,” she said. “For now, you will only feel… this is a thing to be felt, no?”

Her finger toyed with my pussy, then slipped inside—the blunt enamel of her nail and the very tip of her finger, just enough to let me know she was there, had me. Her mouth curled into such a sweet smile, my friend smiling at me but also something more, a smile that looked like her fingertip felt, letting me know how much I was enjoyed in my warm tightness. Wanda tilted her head and… kissed me on the mouth again. I didn’t need to ask what she was doing again. I knew.

(Emma wasn’t fingering Jean, not like Wanda had, but Jean could no longer see Wanda, see anything but Emma—Emma and herself. Two women locked in a naked embrace, red lips touching and clinging to blue. Hands on the contours of firm breasts, fingers exploring smooth asses. Emma was biting Jean’s nipple now. It hurt. She liked it.)

It wasn’t like a man’s touch. She didn’t jab or stuff, try to get her whole hand inside my pussy. She just stood there, smiling at me, showing me it was okay, letting me feel the red lacquer on her nail as it nestled inside my sex, the finger just barely starting to twitch, the nail scratching delicately along the folds of my pussy.

I could feel myself getting moist, and it was liquid fire, flowing down me, wetting her finger. Aroused pussy smelled stronger than the shampoo now. It was so obvious then why she’d touched me, how she’d touched me. It was for this. It was for my cunt. Her finger in my cunt, my nipples hardening under the appraising stare of her eyes… blue eyes… soft, liquid, full of love… they lifted to my face and I felt myself sinking into their seas… Wanda pushed her finger inside, just a little bit, just a tiny little bit, and I came. I came for her.

Please, Emma, please… fuck me.

(“First,” Emma said, “let’s see you strip.”)