Trying It On 2 (Patreon)

“Are you going to give back my dress or not?”

Emma’s eyes strayed from Jean’s face down to her breasts. She didn’t seem to like showing interest in them, admitting there was anything intriguing about the other’s body, but she couldn’t help but allow a slight loss of control.

“Why not?” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Jean whispered back to her. “Why not?”

Jean’s body smoldered and her blood ran rampant through her veins. She stiffened her knees, hoping to keep her weakening legs strong. Her pussy felt like a flashing stormcloud, her clit like a bolt of lightning.

Slowly Emma peeled the dress up over her head, twisting her head to untangle its many little snags from her long, flowing hair. Jean had plenty of time to look at Emma’s naked body with Emma unseeing, uncaring that she was doing it—Emma even arched her back as the netting peeled off her so that her firm, round breasts were straining out to meet Jean’s eyes—before finally the dress was off and Emma was looking back at her.

Jean froze, locked in her moment of desire for Emma. She didn’t want to admit it, but this was what her body had been pulling her towards. Emma’s pale, perfect skin swam in her eyes, the sight of it blazing with lust in Jean’s vision. Her proud breasts, in all their ivory grandeur, were high, firm mounds of flesh with large, soft pink nipples.

Jean’s head reeled. Her body twitched with a perverse energy. She wanted to touch Emma’s breasts. She wanted to feel them. She was used to this pull being towards Scott, but now it felt diametrically opposed to that, like a thing that someone else entirely would feel.

Emma dangled the fishnet dress from two fingers, smiling puckishly at Jean. “What’s the matter?” she cooed softly. “Haven’t I shown off my tits enough for you to know how splendid they are?”

“I never looked at them like that before,” Jean whispered. “I always thought of you as this vain thing, with your paid-for breasts, displaying yourself to men like some alpha female high school cheerleader, but… they really are beautiful. Just perfect.”

Emma chuckled nervously, as though unsure how to take the sudden compliment. “I suppose that’s the benefit of your taste in fashion,” she murmured. “You don’t exactly display yourself… you know you don’t have to… you just have to wear something that doesn’t distract and everyone notices how lovely you are.”

Jean caught herself looking at Emma’s naked breasts again. She looked up and saw that Emma had certainly noted the glance. But she also saw that Emma’s eyes were looking back at her; they had to be giving her as longing a look as she was giving Emma.

Emma grew more uncertain. She shook the fishnet at Jean. “You should try this on. It suits you more than me.”

“It’s not too… distracting?”

“I think that’s the thing about you, Jean. Once one has noticed you… there’s no way to stop looking, no matter what you wear.”

“Then all that’s left is to do something about it.”

“Yes. Quite.”

“Emma, could you…”

“Could I what?”

“Could you be you?” Jean whispered, her eyes imploring the other woman.

“Are you sure you want me to be? You’re the one dressed as the White Queen. Halfway, at any rate.”

“Then you want me to act like it? You can at least want me to act like it…” Jean pressed.

Emma smiled slightly. “I never do anything I don’t want to do, Jean.” Then she sighed, as though giving into an annoying child, favoring them with an undeserved treat. “And when you saw me with your husband, it wasn’t because I just wanted you to watch. I can have people watch me wherever I go… White Queen.”

Emma paused as though she’d said too much, then shuddered, gripped by an unexpected nervousness. Before she could say anything more, Jean stepped into her personal space. She put out her hands and felt Emma’s supple breasts, pushing her fingers into them, filling her palms with the smooth, feminine flesh. Emma’s soft nipples tightened and stiffened to push against Jean’s rubbing palms.

Emma bit her lip. Her eyes were excited. Her lips quivered—Jean was sure she was torn between teasing her and not scaring her off. She couldn’t tell that there was no scaring Jean off. “Can’t help yourself, can you?”

“You really are so, so gorgeous,” Jean sighed.

Emma’s throat released a small moan, though she kept slowly shaking her head in a kind of disbelief. “I knew that. I didn’t know you knew it.”

“Scott and I share everything.” Jean kissed Emma’s creamy shoulder. “He knows how beautiful you are and so do I.” She slid her lips down over Emma’s collarbone, cupping the woman’s breasts in both hands, lifting them up to greet her kisses. “He makes this look so much fun…”

She kissed Emma’s breasts, her lips drawn like magnets to each harshly swollen nipple, touching left and right and left and right and left and right…

“If I’m you in this scenario…” Emma said breathily, “you don’t mind how passive I’m being…?”

“If you were doing this to me, I’d certainly be letting you… White Queen.”

Her lips came off of Emma’s nipple, lifting instead to her face, and they kissed, mouth to mouth. Emma’s full breasts still in the embrace of her cupped hands. Jean squeezed them as she ran her lips down Emma’s throat, down to the slope of her cleavage again.

Emma shuddered warmly at the feeling moving over her nubile body. She looked at Jean’s own nudity and when Jean put her mouth on her breast, she felt the lascivious weight of Jean’s soft tits resting on her belly. The redhead’s hard little nipples singed her like sparks.

Jean suddenly took her mouth away from Emma’s decadently fleshed tits and said “I’ve looked at you too much—all of you—just to play with your boobs all night. I need the rest of this off. I need you on a bed.”

Emma agreeably flounced her way to her bed, lying down on it with her legs facing Jean, making her leggings Jean’s to take off. It was strange and new for her to allow anyone, much less Jean Grey, to take these liberties with her, but the urge inside her was too intoxicating for her libertine nature not to go with it. She wanted to find what pleasures waited for her when she gave herself over to Jean’s desires.

Jean took her by the pantyhose and drew it down off the smoothness of her toned thighs. The gorgeous blonde lay on the bed with nothing on except her usually skimpy panties. They were so tiny that Jean could imagine everything underneath, but of course she knew that when it came to Emma, imagination never quite reached the heights of the real thing. The eloquent sleekness of her long legs, her yoga-firm calves and thighs, made Jean even more turned on than before.

“And now it’s my turn, isn’t it?” Jean panted, talking to Emma but really to herself. “Not that I’ve got anything to hide. Nothing to be ashamed of. Scott wants me as much as you. Even you want me… a narcissist like you… you wouldn’t hesitate for an instant to tell me if you’d rather touch yourself than let me do it… but you want me to do it, don’t you? Here. Here’s what you’ll be touching while I’m touching you…”

She stood next to the bed and slipped down her panties, or Emma’s panties—whichever they were now. Then she knelt on the mattress beside Emma, wearing little more than the other woman was.

Emma saw that Jean was wet. The soft red hair of her pubic thatch was dark and damp. She let Jean take her hand and lead it between her legs. She didn’t resist and she didn’t encourage, just gave Jean a look of inscrutable curiosity. Then Jean pressed Emma’s fingers into her cunt.

“Touch me,” she breathed. “Don’t be shy…”

“Is that what you would do?” Emma asked. “If I stripped you down and wanted you to play with my cunt?”

“I don’t know what I’d do,” Jean retorted. “I just think I know what you’d do, White Queen.”

“Of course you know—I’d have fun.”

And Emma unzipped the towering boots that were the last part of the White Queen’s persona, the last things that Jean had on. If the redhead had intended to wear them while Emma fucked her, she was going to be disappointed. Emma wouldn’t have boots on her bed. Even Scott she made take his shoes off before he ravished her. Her sheets could take a lot, but if she ever opened the floodgate to a parade of high heels and combat boots going over them, she could kiss sleeping in comfort goodbye. She would never choose between comfort and pleasure when she could have both. Just like she wouldn’t choose between Scott and Jean…

She pulled the white boots off each of Jean’s feet. Once they were gone, her fingertips roamed over the silky skin of Jean’s legs. Yes, that was much better. That, Emma would like having in her bed. Jean’s thighs alone were soft enough to make the satin sheets feel like sandpaper.

“I remember doing this for Scott,” Emma breathed. “By the time I’ve got him naked, on his back, that big scary cock is always standing up so tall. Oh, I just don’t think I could lower myself down onto it, White Queen. It’s just so big. Better to get underneath him. Let him be the one to force it into me. I just have to trust him that I can take it.”

Teeth clenched, Jean swirled to take Emma’s old place, kneeling above her as the blonde got down on her back. They were both breathing harder than before; Emma had a bright gleam in her eyes.

“Is that supposed to be your impression of me?” Jean demanded.

“Is it? When have you ever known me to ride Scott’s prick? Have you seen me do it? Or me down below him… maybe bent over for his cock…”

Jean growled. “For a sex goddess, you make a good insult comic. Do you constantly bring up Logan when you’re with Scott too?”

“Contrary to the rumors, that actually does nothing to help the mood. Shame, isn’t it? They’d make a great double act.”

“Well, if you’re Jean, you can just lie there. Don’t have to do a thing. I’ll love you like a sweetheart like you ought to be loved—slow and nice.”

Jean lowered herself to Emma, practically purring as she rubbed her naked tits against those of the other woman’s. When their nipples touched, both women moaned—feeling as though they were being burnt by the same fire.

“Mmmm,” Emma mewled.

“Feel good?” Jean asked, not that a psychic needed to ask—or that Emma ever hid her voluptuous sexual pleasure. “You’re not such a slattern, Emma. You may convince everyone else that you’re some kinky little bitch who wants Scott to paddle you, but we both know how good it is when he’s being soft and gentle…”

Jean entwined her long, creamy legs with Emma’s, knotting them together as she pressed her pubic mound into Emma’s own cunt.

Emma gasped, shuddering as their bodies kissed, every little shake a twitching pleasure inside her, along where their pussies touched. “One way I’ll never describe Scott Summers is ‘soft’.”

Emma gladly rolled her hips, pushing the hollow of her groin into the pressure Jean put on it. Jean lowered her mouth back to Emma’s chest, running her tongue around a stiff nipple. They hunched together, sliding their bodies into one glorious friction, legs churning together to caress each other’s sensitive, silky smooth flesh.

Emma didn’t pretend not to be hungry for the sensual molding of their bodies’ meeting. She threw her arms around Jean’s neck and hugged the redhead’s face as closely to her succulent breasts as could be desired. And Jean opened her mouth, taking in all the luscious flesh that Emma could give her.