Make More Mutants Redux (Patreon)

Kurt’s beachhouse on Krakoa was a nesting doll of ironies. Just as the man himself was softhearted and kind underneath his devilish exterior… and strong as steel underneath the friendly manner he preferred… the house was light and airy, built of loose timbers that let in constant slivers of light. The roof was thatched from the local palm trees, and erected a few feet over where the walls ended, to let in still more natural light. And that was not including the French doors that were usually open, letting in the sea air to bat around white linen curtains like playful kittens. Giving a measure of privacy to an otherwise unabashedly open space.

And today that irony continued even further. He’d invited Betsy and Kwannon to join him for lunch, two beautiful women with a great deal of unbeautiful feelings for each other. Two warriors who looked as lovely as any fashionistas. Two reserved, honorable good girls who had done some very bad… but not always unpleasant… things.

Kurt had told neither of them that the other woman would be there.

Kurt looked at the two lovely women, their bodies mirror images of each other, but for their differing ethnicities, as though they were the same woman under different shades of light. They both had the same purple hair, the same almond eyes with pinpricks of violet within, the same lovely bodies even if Betsy clothed herself conservatively and Kwannon… did not.

Since her separation from Kwannon, Betsy dressed like a Disney princess, even if the lusciousness of her body could not be hidden no matter how cutely she dressed. Her hair was done up in an elaborate braid, complete with a flower nestled within its uppermost workings, while a halter top concealed her sizable bust more than Kwannon usually had—while tightly pressed to its contours to more than hint at its abundance. Her gypsy skirt was ankle length, lavender like her top, though the wind flattened it against her long legs more than once, making it clear how toned and supple they were. Not an ounce of fat there, despite the plump breasts and wide hips that dominated her physique. A pink shawl completed the picture, further hiding yet not hiding her chest, yet all that ‘coverage’ seemed to draw Kurt’s eye… the classic ‘don’t think about elephants’ problem. By concealing her body, however slightly, she gave Kurt’s memories of just how deliciously fleshed she was underneath a thrill of the taboo.

Not that Kwannon was any slouch in that department. She was still dressed for war here in Paradise, her iconic one-piece hugging her from her lush breasts to her tight hips. As an Asian, she didn’t have all the proportions that Betsy did, but there was something to the way she held herself—something more openly, even daringly sexual compared to how polite and genteel Betsy conducted herself. And then, of course, there was her costume. There was no lack of sexuality there; it was virtually lingerie. The fact that Kwannon walked around in it in broad daylight made it all the more sensual, all the more… kinky.

“I don’t see why you felt the need to deceive us, Kurt. Me especially. I thought we had a strong working relationship. And I’ve always found you… rather dashing. But now you’ve lured me here under false pretenses…” Betsy said, pouting adorably, her lovely features twisting in such consternation to make Kurt want immediately to comfort her—though he held himself back, in deference to Kwannon. Thatwoman’s body language all but screamed ‘Oh, please!’

“The princess is right, even if she is making a whole essay out of it,” Kwannon interrupted. “I took time out of my busy schedule to be with you, Kurt. How unappreciated do you think I feel when I find out it was some dumb scheme to make me bury the hatchet with her? I don’t have time for that. It’ll take too long and I have better things to do.”

“I don’t think it would take that long, because there’s nothing to bury. I’m over it. It’s fine,” Betsy said.

Denial, Kurt thought. To be expected. To admit how harshly they’d been affected by their shared trauma would be to make it real, in a way. Like the animated coyote that walks off the side of the cliff, then looks down and realizes his predicament before gravity starts his fall. Only this wasn’t a case where cartoon logic was there to make children laugh. They were falling regardless, whether or not they admitted it.

And the cracks in the veneer inevitably showed…

“You’re fine?” Kwannon snorted. “Yeah, you would be.”

“Is that meant to imply something?” Betsy asked.

“I think what Kwannon means to say,” Kurt jumped in hurriedly, “is that while you’ve both been affected by what happened to you, that experience comes out in different ways, ja? Some may be perceived to be handling it better than others, but there’s no telling how it may be festering under the surface.” He nodded to himself. “Ja, ja, it seems as if many of our personal issues, we cannot confront unless in some deadly situation, forced to rely on someone with whom we are having conflict with. This country is meant to be a new beginning—for once, can we not resolve this peaceably, without some threat to force us together?”

Kwannon barked a laugh. “How can we resolve the ‘conflict’ when goodies like you want us to pussyfoot around everything? Yeah, what I ‘mean to say’ is that she’s handling it better than me because she got the better end of the deal. She got to be a hot ninja on the X-Men, shaking her ass at Cyclops. I wasn’t so lucky. But the moment I say that, I’m the bitch because I haven’t had the luxury of being nice like she has…”

Anger, Kurt thought. Also expected. Now that they were admitting what they’d been through together, they could not help but also admit to their negative feelings, giving them free rein to lash out. Sad but necessary. He only hoped he could get them to vent their toxicity in as safe a way as possible.

The German worked his three-fingered hands together in a consoling gesture.

“Kwannon, Betsy, I understand there can be a great deal of tension between you two, since the pair of you are each other’s reminder of what you’ve been through. Surely, with all of us being X-Men, you can see the need for us to be on all the same page. Let us try to be soft when admitting these feelings, so as not to ignite a conflict that will result in more hurt—”

“The same page?” Kwannon interrupted. “When she stole my body we were on the same page, since we had to do whatever she wanted to do…”

“Me?” Betsy demanded shrilly. “You stole my life! And acted a proper slut with it, having everyone think I was a whore because of your hot fanny!”

Kwannon scoffed, folding her arms across her pert chest. “Pfft. That’s what you’re sore about? You just can’t stand that you had the best sex of your life while I was in the driver’s seat. Even that Doug Ramsey kid got us off. Who have you gotten lucky with since I left? A Frenchman?”

“You posed naked for Colossus!”

“Ladies, ladies, please!” Kurt cooed to them, holding up his hands. “Let’s not fight over der unfug of the past. Surely, we can all agree now that it is no bad thing to be permissive. After all, we all must make more mutants.”

“Are you sure there’ll be any left for me?” Betsy sneered. “I think she’s already had every man on the island; why would they want me when they’ve already had her?”

“Why indeed?” Kwannon tossed back.

“Maybe you should shag the women too and make a clean sweep of it.”

“Why don’t I fuck your brother instead? Then we can all be happy: you can have all the other men in the world and he can finally—“

“Don’t you dare finish that thought!” Betsy cried.

“You are both being very immature right now!” Kurt interrupted. “I’m surprised at you, meine Freunde, when you’re clearly both so well-developed in other aspects of your life.”

“Those are mine too!” Betsy protested. “If it weren’t for my superior breeding, she’d never have tits so big!”

“Superior breeding? Oh, it’s all about race with you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, don’t you even think you have room to talk, when you and the Hand think anything that’s not Japanese is inferior! Then again, perhaps that’s why when you were pretending to be me, you fucked so many white men!”

“They were your friends!” Kwannon insisted.

“Indeed they were! And now they can only see me as a sex object!”

“Not when you dress like that. You even wear a bike helmet just to completely rid yourself of your sex appeal. You never took such good care of my body.”

“Should I have taken a page from your book and thrown myself at horses and large dogs?”

“I hardly need animals. I can get any man I want!” Kwannon boasted.

“But not get them to call you afterward,” Betsy jibed. “Face it, lads don’t respect ladies who simply give it away.”

“Not if they’re no good at it. Face it, if not for you looking like me, no one ever would’ve given you the time of day!”

“You little gobshite! If you’re such a looker, why’d you have to steal the purple hair thing from me?”

“You stole my body!” Kwannon insisted.

“And I took proper care of it. Imagine the STDs you would’ve accumulated if you’d still been in there!”

“At least I never went to a barber and asked him to make me look like Princess Anna!”

“No, you picked Jasmine instead. Why such a long ponytail? Are you going to lose the costume altogether and go full Godiva?”

Kurt could take no more. This was ridiculous. The two women should’ve been closer than sisters after all they’d been through, yet now they were virtually a girl arguing with herself. He had to step in.

Or, more accurately, step beside them, as he came up next to the two warrior women and set his hands behind both their heads. Then he pressed them together. In the heat of their argument, they went along without thought, merging according to the instincts of their overheated bodies. Betsy’s mouth was open and Kwannon’s tongue went into it. Their lips slammed together, heads rocking as Betsy sucked Kwannon’s tongue furiously.

Kurt stepped back, but the kiss went on, the anger they felt for each other now pure passion. Their tongues twisted and turned around each other, lips pressing hard and harder into each other to see which would relent first, both their faces flushing as the heat of their kiss settled into their cheeks.

Their rage was leaving them, falling away while the pleasure grew and grew. Yet the passion remained—all that anger between them becoming a hunger for sensation. They mewled while they kissed each other, petted and rubbed one another’s creamy skin, moans coming up from their dueling lips, little shudders going through their jubilant flesh to show the ecstatic tingles they must be feeling. They might not have liked each other, but Betsy and Kwannon loved what they were doing to each other.

Kurt circled around them, reaching around Betsy from behind to shrug her shawl down her shoulders. Despite Kwannon’s condemnation of her sex appeal, the halter Betsy wore had cleavage plunging down between her succulent breasts. It took little effort for Kurt to finger that neckline to either side, exposing her breasts—then a little petting of Kwannon’s hair, a little push downward. Kwannon kissed his stroking fingers when they came within reach of her mouth, and then went along with their urging. She started sucking at the bare teat Kurt had uncovered for her, then moaned around the nipple, the same sound Betsy was letting out, as though the two were harmonizing.