X-Men: Trying It On (Patreon)

Emma’s panties were as tight as could be imagined. They were actually a little small for Jean, whose ass was a glutton for all the weight in her body, not the tight, toned little thing Emma boasted. So their back crawled along Jean’s buttocks, disappearing up the cleft in the middle to show off the ample flesh of her round cheeks. They weren’t any looser in the front, displaying the pouting mound of her womanhood.

Jean was smaller in the chest, though, so she had to lace up Emma’s corset tighter than the blonde ever did. Thankfully, Emma favored her top being a size small, her full breasts bulging almost out of its confines, the laces stretched taut as her sizable mammaries split the corset down the middle, so it ended up fitting Jean’s more modest bosom quite well.

And it still shamelessly outlined the high, thrusting contours of her cleavage. After a pinch, her nipples poked out through the clinging cloth. Satisfied that she made the look as sexual as it ever was on Emma, Jean went to find her shared lover.

It wasn’t like they had threesomes or anything. It was more like she, Scott, and Emma were some byzantine alliance. They’d simply… evolved past the need to fight over Scott. Jean satisfied herself with him, Emma did the same, and apart from that, the two women were cordial to each other. Jean did try to wear Scott out past the point that he’d be any good to her rival; Emma no doubt did the same thing. But despite their efforts, Scott was always ready to satisfy them.

Jean hated to admit it, but this was some of the best sex of her life—and she knew that Emma was getting it too. It had to be partly because of that. The unspoken rivalry with Emma driving her to demand more and more from Scott, try more and more… who knew what Emma was doing with him? Jean had seen her being rather chummy with Psylocke…

Reaching out with her power, Jean opened up her dresser and brought out a flimsy, see-through shirt-dress she had woven years ago and never worn. Never had the courage. It was made of green yarn stitched together in a net with wide holes between the strands. You could easily see through that mesh to the body underneath. It had the lingerie feel of being more naked than being naked—the bracing amount of skin it showed, the way a thousand little Xs crisscrossed the tantalizing flesh of the wearer from the high hem to the low cleavage.

Jean wanted to try it on, but Emma’s costume showed her off well enough. She’d found it in her and Scott’s bedroom. Jean didn’t want to know what Emma had left wearing—if anything.

Then an idea came to Jean. As quickly as she’d put on the other woman’s clothes, she went down the hall to the suite where Emma lived—as close to Scott as Jean was. Emma was in the bathroom, running water from the sink to wash her hair. She was topless, wearing only her bra, a wisp of cloth that barely contained her proud breasts and was as milky white as her fair, unblemished skin.

Jean gulped at the sight of her. She tried to keep her eyes off of Emma’s beautiful breasts. She’d only done this because she hadn’t thought about what she was getting into. Looking at those tits felt a lot like what she would’ve thought of, if she’d had a second thought.

She smiled when Emma glanced up at her. “I found something of yours,” she giggled, her nervous laugh forced.

“So I see,” Emma replied, testing the water with her finger. “It fits well.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course, it can be more fun when something doesn’t fit.” Emma tilted her head to the side. “When it’s just a little too big… or a lot.”

Jean frowned. Bitch. As per usual.

But she didn’t mind that Emma was getting fucked by Scott too. It was just that there was no way Scott—as hung as he was—was at all too big for Emma, of all people. Who did she think she was kidding? The woman must’ve had the vaginal capacity of a mare…

“I thought you might like something of mine,” Jean added, realizing as she was saying it that it was the perfect straight line.

The retort was too obvious for Emma to make; she only smiled suggestively.

Jean felt Emma’s eyes on her, looking at her body as much as the unfamiliar costume on it. “I really do have good taste,” Emma purred, and Jean didn’t know if she meant the clothing she’d designed or the woman she’d made her frenemy.

At any rate, Jean tried to ignore the excitement flooding through her. Emma was only curious, surprised at Jean’s reaching out to her. Which she was doing now, literally, holding out the dress that was like a knitted recreation of Jean’s first costume as Marvel Girl.

Emma took the dress from Jean’s hand and held it up, smiling as she saw the light flowing through its little crosses. “My, my, Jean. Usually I have to be brainwashing you to get you into a dress like this.”

Jean smirked back at her, showing Emma’s wry taunts weren’t getting to her. “I’m not getting into it. You are. I bet it’d look incredible on you.”

“Of course it would,” Emma said blithely. She turned the see-through dress one way and another, gauging its size. “But one must have standards. I only wear clothing that fits and I have more… up top… than you do.”

“Now you do,” Jean mused sarcastically. She’d seen Emma’s teenage memories. The woman had been flat as a skillet before any number of expensive surgeons had had their way with her—in lots of different ways.

But the best way to respond to Emma wasn’t to get bitchy alongside her, it was to threaten not to play anymore. Emma was catlike in that regard. She could bear any insult with the smirking knowledge that she’d made someone overemotional—except being ignored.

“I’ll try it on,” Emma said. “But if I like it, I’m keeping it.”

“Then I’m keeping this,” Jean said of her corset and panties, trying her best to contain her enthusiasm. She didn’t know why she wanted to see Emma in her old things—she was just excited to for some reason.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you want to remind Scott of me?”

Jean didn’t trust herself to retort any further. She had burned through a lot of courage, and good sense, by doing this much. Emma closed the door; a surprising amount of modesty for her. Maybe she’s worried she’ll look bad in it and she doesn’t want me to see that.

Jean hummed to herself inwardly, feeling the hot rush of adrenaline in her veins, not knowing what she’d done or what she was driving Emma to. She paced around Emma’s room, wondering if it was her room—certainly Emma had treated Scott’s room and Jean’s as part of her territory, for her to wander into as she liked and do what she wanted.

Once, when Scott was spending the night in Jean’s bed, Emma had strolled right into the room with them and started blowing him. Jean had awoken to Scott’s groans; watched as Emma devoured his orgasm and slunk away, Cheshire-cat-grin dripping with cum while Scott’s breathing settled back into light snoring.

Emma had stopped being so bold after that. When Jean had Scott for the night, she had him. So what’d changed? Had Scott had a talk with her—told her she was going too far? Had Emma herself realized she’d overplayed her hand, for once? Or had she just left the ball in Jean’s court… waiting for the redhead to respond?

And was that what Jean was doing now?

Deeply frightened at the thought, Jean started for the door, but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of the bathroom door opening.

“Tell me, Jean… when you made this dress… did you picture yourself looking like this in it?” Emma asked, stepping out of the bathroom.

The jade-green netting, designed to match Jean’s eyes, clung to Emma’s abundant chest, the woven mesh sampling every curve but giving only the barest hint of each. The bright color accentuated the ivory hue of Emma’s skin. When it went between Emma’s firm thighs, it went pink with the color underneath. Alternating flesh and fabric like a pattern.

Blood hammered between Jean’s eyes. She tried to speak and her mouth was dry.

“Let me see it in the light,” Jean muttered, voice quailing.

Emma walked slowly forward. Through phantasmagorical holes in the netting, Jean clearly saw the rounded moons of her tits swaying gently. The netting was more dense over the nipples, but Jean still caught hints of their pink coloring. Big, tender buds that must’ve sung with sensation against the ever-shifting wool.

“So, what do you think?” Emma asked with a spin that lifted the hem of the dress up her thighs.

Emma smiled, an endearing tease in her grin. Like she knew how good she looked and was mocking Jean over it, but only ironically. Knowing how good Jean looked too. She would never have tolerated her man having dalliances with anything less than the best.

Emma put her hands on her hips, shimmying her shoulders like the exotic dancer she had been. Her outthrust breasts trembled and bounced.

“If I wore this on the street, no man would be able to take his eyes off me. Is that why you never wore it? You know Scott only has the one and you thought it’d be too much for him?”

Though she tried desperately, Jean couldn’t look the blonde in the face. Her eyes were fixed on Emma’s body. And as powerful a telepath as Jean was, and as tightly as she protected her innermost thoughts, her gaze was telling Emma everything about what she was thinking.

“It looks gorgeous on you,” she moaned, her pulse hammering and not just in her neck. “Scott will love it.”

Emma whirled, looking at Jean over her shoulder. She tensed her buttocks, making the pert mounds pull together. She had just enough for the hand of a big man like Scott to fully slap. “He’d love it on you too. Far more than he would some secondhand lingerie… and it’s after Labor Day anyway.”

“It wouldn’t look the same on me,” Jean protested.

“So? Variety is the spice of life. Why do you think Scott enjoys both of us?” Emma’s smile was razor-sharp. “He’s a very smart man, Scott. Don’t you think?”

Recklessly, Jean plunged into defending herself. “Still, you only put some spices on some dishes. You wouldn’t want to eat an apple covered in salt.”

“No. But I wouldn’t want to eat only apples for the rest of my life either. I’d like some nice… juicy… meat to go with it.”

Jean was unable to stop herself. “I thought Scott might like seeing us like this—see we’re not interchangeable—but this just doesn’t look as striking on me. And that doesn’t look right on you. Here, give it back, I’ll take this off…”

Quickly Jean reached between her breasts and undid the laces holding her corset together, her telekinesis aiding her in slaloming the laces through their little holes. Emma canted her head, not quite knowing what was happening. When the corset came off, her eyes fell to Jean’s bare breasts and held onto the sight of them. Emma was a little embarrassed, a little shocked, but most of all fascinated.

“Now let me put that on and you be as brutally honest as ever… I’m sure it looks better on me.”

Emma looked back up at Jean’s face as if she were coming out of a trance. She seemed confused, a little alarmed. Then, she smiled. Amused with herself or with Jean, it was impossible to say.

“That corset isn’t the only thing of mine you wore…”

Jean nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “Why don’t you just go back in there… I’ll put your clothes in and you can put my clothes out?”

“Actually, I was thinking of Scott’s cum. Have you ever seen yourself covered in it? Do you look as delectable as I think you do?”