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Jean Grey walked through the quad of the Xavier Institute, trying to enjoy the crisp September afternoon on her stroll. She just couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t ‘her’ quad. Since she and the other X-Men—well, the ‘original X-Men,’ now that there were so many—had traveled forward in time, the school had changed so much, been rebuilt so many times, as to be nearly unrecognizable. Even the name was new. The Xavier Institute. Imagine!

Still, one of the nice things about it was the boys. She wasn’t the only girl there, so it wasn’t some dogpiling of attention. But there were also a lot more boys than the brotherly cadre of Hank and Warren and Bobby—it felt less incestuous to garner their attention.

And she liked the attention. Most of the boys would turn their heads when she walked by—even the teachers. She knew she was attractive. Her face clear-skinned, evenly chiseled, with high cheekbones and the sort of summerish beauty that was perpetually fresh-faced. Her lips were red and glossy, her eyes a dazzling green, and her hair trailed behind her with every gust of wind, but never ended up more than artfully tousled. A little telekinesis made sure of that.

Another silver lining for the dark cloud that seemed to be mutants’ lot in life in the future: the Xavier Institute had a cheerleading squad. She had aced her try-outs and now, for the first time since she’d left her old school in a haze of depression over the car accident, she could once again cheer, cheer, show no fear.

She quite enjoyed bouncing through the school in her cheerleader get-up. Because she was a little taller than her tiny waist size suggested, the blue and white plaid skirt was shorter than the skirts of the rest of the team, hemming out at about seven inches above her knees and displaying her slender thighs very nicely.

Down their long length, she wore white knee socks and black/white saddle shoes. The length of thigh exposed nicely showed off her tan, but thankfully her short-sleeved blouse was parochially loose enough to only somewhat outline her burgeoning breasts. She wasn’t a slut after all—some of these girls practically walked around with their nipples going right through their shirts!

Jean stopped at the driveway leading off the ground. There was a man in a car coming down the path, one of the New Mutants or X-Factor or something. She waited, expecting him to pass in front of her, but he was already slowing down and he motioned her to cross ahead of him.

Not wanting to delay him by arguing the point, she hurried across the gravel drive, her flimsy little skirt swishing and dancing high on her hips as she moved. She did it intentionally, knowing the man might get a tiny glimpse of her white cotton panties.

When she got to the other side, she slowed to a walk again, but looked back over her shoulder at the car. It was rumbling ahead, but she could see the driver’s head pointed in her direction, his eyes clearly fastened on her ass.

Jean smiled. Nice to know she could still get stares even with strippers like Psylocke around.

“You’re going to cause an accident that way, you know.”

Jean let out a little squeak as she stopped dead in her tracks, seeing Scott ahead of her. The older Scott, the one who’d filled out, bulked up, his torso thick with muscle, shoulders broad, the stubble on his face almost a beard. He was so different from her Scott—he was her Scott—but so much taller and more defined and assertive, like the platonic ideal of Scott. Or a fantasy of him dredged from deep in her subconscious.

“I just didn’t want to hold him up,” she said, and Scott smirked like he could see right through her. Maybe with that visor, he could.

“Got a minute?” he asked her.

“What for?”

Scott took a breath. “I know things are awkward between us—but I thought of something that might help. Something of my Jean’s that I think you should see.”

Something of the Phoenix? No one really talked about the older Jean, especially not Scott, but if he was offering… even just hearing how he felt about her could be…

“Alright.”

***

Scott’s room in the future was even cleaner than the one back in her own era. This Scott didn’t just fold his clothes and make his bed, he had a Roomba.

Luckily, he had a TV too, so at least he hadn’t become one of those ‘I don’t own a TV’ pricks as Jean might’ve worried. Wordlessly, Scott sat down on the couch in front of it and deftly worked a remote, beginning a recording.

“It’s a video of her?” Jean asked. “Did she record a message for me? I mean, do I record a message for me after I get back? Or—“

“Think of it as a history lesson,” Scott told her. And he patted the couch beside himself.

Jean sat down. She recognized the video immediately, even though she’d never seen it before. There was a chapel there that she knew from her hometown, the one she’d planned her wedding in since she was a little girl. And the men in tuxedos, the women in dresses—no one wearing white except her.

The video played through white cake, champagne glasses, bridesmaids in satin—friends Jean hadn’t made yet. Then the big double doors closed and there was the ceremony, the rings, the vows—Jean watched it all, spellbound. Then came the speeches, the eating, the dancing, inhibitions released by good drinks and good companionship. Everyone was in a good mood; a court presided over by their loving queen Jean. There was her father, surviving the emotional excitement of the wedding reception with all his stoicism. And always there was her.

The older Jean—Mrs. Summers, Jean thought to herself—was a dazzling beauty with blood-red hair, big green eyes, and a breathtaking figure that Jean could barely imagine herself having. What did she eat? What exercises could she possibly do to look that good in white satin?

And the satin was unforgiving, merciless, but no match for Mrs. Summers’ figure. It folded and flowed over high, full breasts and the trim, firm figure and the flat little belly and the magnificent ass that Jean would’ve actually been attracted to if it weren’t her own. Jean nervously crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together, suddenly struck by the thought of being that woman as she was touched. As all the lust she inspired came home to roost. She could feel it drifting off Scott where he sat beside her—not just his love for this woman, but his desire for her. Jean dug the nails of her left hand into the palm of her right, pressed the full, moist lips of her mouth tightly together, felt her heart going like a jackhammer under the thin cloth of her blouse and bra.

Was it egotistical to think that this older Jean was the most lovely thing she’d ever seen? Because it wasn’t just her physical beauty—Jean had much of that already. It was the dazzling look of adoration in her eyes, reflecting her deep love and happiness.

Jean was touched deeply, seeing that look on her own face, barely touched by time, waiting just around the corner for her. She identified completely with the woman in the video, even if it might not ever be her, and concentrated completely on her even as the video moved around.

Scott and Mrs. Summers were leaving the chapel now, happily running from all the rice being thrown at them—they were going to fuck, Jean thought. Scott was taking her away to have her all to himself, and he wouldn’t stop fucking her until she was dead. Literally. Right up until the end, Jean knew it was her fate to be this man’s lover.

Then the video cut—Jean expected it to go to interviews with friends, some cute scenes from the afterparty, but instead the next scene was a hotel suite. A swanky one—Jean could’ve cooed at how delightful it looked. There was a fireplace with a roaring fire going, a bottle of Champaign in an ice bucket, rose petals scattered about the floor.

And a bed.

Beside the bed was Jean. She began to undress with slow, sly motions—slipping her long white gown hesitantly upwards to expose the feminine musculature of her runner’s calves. This was their honeymoon! Jean wondered if Mrs. Summers was a virgin. She certainly didn’t intend to save her virginity for her wedding night… oh, now she could see the full, well-rounded thighs. Good to know she wouldn’t get fat… maybe Mrs. Summers was nervous because this was their first time as man and wife. Perhaps anxious it would set the tone for their married life?

There was the darkness of Mrs. Summers’ sheer stockings, held in place by a dainty, lace-trimmed garter belt that contrasted wondrously with the buttery cream of Jean’s exposed flesh. Mrs. Summers snaked the dress over her head and her beautifully proportioned body finally emerged. Oh, and her bra! Her panties! All lacy and trimmed with ribbons, ruffles of white, frills and silk. It looked good enough to be married in!

Mrs. Summers’ bra fell away with a flick of her fingers, and the beauty of her firm young breasts swung free. They stood high and proud, turgid nipples peaked still higher on the crowns of the luscious globes as the young bride raised her arms over her head in a drowsy yawn.

She wore only her high heels, her stockings, her garter belt, the thin wisp of sheer panties that were more embroidery than cover. But she wasn’t done. Mrs. Summers drew her silken panties tantalizing down her gently curved hips, turning and bending over slowly, her back to the camera.

Brushing her thin panties sensuously against her smooth thighs and calves, then discarding them at her feet beside her dress. She stretched languidly again and teasingly turned to the front, exposing herself shamelessly to the camera. All her delicious young nakedness, from her high-set breasts to the soft, coppery triangle of hair.

The little pose for the camera broke and Mrs. Summers was herself again, sweet and coyly nervous. She lay back on the bed, her legs scissoring open and closed slowly, exposing the thin pink slit that nestled teasingly in the soft fire of her pubic hair. Her feet pointed directly at the camera and sheer wanton desire reflected in her eyes, as she though she wished to be adored by anyone who was watching her.

Jean shifted nervously, not having expected anything like this, not sure what to say. She remembered lying in her own bed that very morning, imagining what it would be like with a handsome boy—Scott or someone else. She had almost relieved herself with her own fingers, but didn’t trust her psychic control enough not to embarrass herself in the subconscious of the entire dormitory.

She blushed slightly in the darkness, thankful that Scott had turned the lights down, guilt flickering slightly through her conscience. Why was she still watching this, this intimate moment, her own future lovemaking? Why was Scott? But she couldn’t stop watching. As wrong as all of this was, she had to see more. Maybe… if she just kept quiet… just let the video wash over her… she squirmed nervously in her seat, feeling the edge of the cushion brush electrically against the bottommost part of her sex. She jerked from the contact; her breath quickened…

Scott suddenly walked into the camera’s view and Jean felt her heart leap in her throat. He was so handsome, with a cocky grin on his youthful, clean-shaven face. Not yet the leader of men that sat beside her, but grown far beyond the anxious boy she knew. It was her Scott and not her Scott, and the mix was intoxicating.

She moaned inwardly as she watched Scott take off his tuxedo in a neat, orderly fashion. Slipping off his jacket, stepping out of his shoes, taking off his belt, dropping his pants. He seemed wholly ignorant of the hardened, virile cock standing out from his groin like the branch of a mighty oak. He edged toward the bed and his bride, smiling with anticipation as he unbuttoned his shirt. That came off before he crawled up on the mattress, kneeling between her widespread thighs like a slave to his mistress.

“Who’s holding the camera?” Jean breathed as she saw it zoom in on Mrs. Summers’ eager young pussy, just over the top of Scott’s head.

“She is,” the other Scott replied. “She wants to be seen…”

On the tape, Scott reached forward, placing one thumb on either side of Mrs. Summers’ slit and spreading her moist lips slowly apart, exposing all her wetness. The camera zoomed in closer, showing off Mrs. Summers’ clitoris as it quivered with obvious excitement. Scott moved forward until his face was only inches away from it. Then his tongue snaked out, swiping across the wetly glistening flesh, sending her little clit into jerking hardness that brought a groan of delight not only from Mrs. Summers, but from Scott as well. The Scott sitting beside her.

Jean dared not breathe. The sight of Scott’s heated arousal, not to mention that of Mrs. Summers, had turned her whole body into a loose bundle of raw nerves that she could barely seem to hold in. She could not comprehend what she was seeing or the unwanted feelings that she was experiencing as if she and the woman on the screen were one. She was so absorbed in the film that she could’ve sworn she felt the licking flames of rising desire herself, the exact same sensations her older self was feeling racing through the quivering flesh of her inner thighs, up to the tautly hardened nipples of her cleavage. She pressed her legs together to try and stop the taunting stimulation from getting any worse…

Scott wetly teased Mrs. Summers’s folds for another agonizing moment, then he ran his lips over her throbbing cunt, bringing contorted expressions of joy to Mrs. Summers’ face. She wrapped her hands in her groom’s hair, the muscles of her arms standing out tight and strained as she pulled him with all her strength into her pleasure. Her hips slowly ground against his face as he sank his tongue deep into her, transforming her into a raw, quivering mass of female desire. Mrs. Summers writhed and twisted like a languid belly-dancer under his hot, devouring tongue.

With each passing moment, Jean felt herself burn until she didn’t feel as if she was the same person she had been when she first sat down. The heat and excitement of the movie was searing her. She uncrossed her legs and squirmed down, one leg between the cushions so that the rounded edge of the one she was sitting on pushed her skirt and panties up into her sex. She rubbed herself gently against it, working the thin crotch-band up into the moistened lips of her womanhood, unconsciously letting her body rock on it in an almost indiscernible rhythm—in concert with her writhing self on the screen. She could feel the wetness spread between her inner thighs and she spread them slightly to gain greater contact with the edge. It touched soothingly against the tautness of her arousal.

Then she brushed against Scott’s body.

Jean looked guiltily out of the corner of her eyes, praying Scott hadn’t noticed what she was doing to herself. But she looked into his ruby quartz glasses and she just knew. However old he’d become, this was still her Scott, and she knew from the merest flicker of his optic blast within its confinement that he’d known. That he’d always known, from the moment she’d sat down, what would happen.

He unzipped his fly and hauled forth an incredibly long cock. Even soft, it appeared a foot long—even bigger than his younger self. Jean didn’t know how any woman could handle such a prick without ripping herself apart. But she knew she had.

He took her hand next, putting it on his cock. “If you’re not going to touch yourself, you might as well touch me.”

So she did. And it grew, it engorged, it burned. Erect, it must’ve been ten inches, and it was erect almost before Jean could appreciate its growth. But he didn’t come. Jean knew that wouldn’t happen until Scott decided it would.

The younger Scott had risen from between Mrs. Summers’ thighs now and was climbing up over her eagerly awaiting body. His hardness stood out like it was emulating Jean’s Scott, and he had his hand around it, rubbing the fleshy head softly against Mrs. Summers’ sex. Then he straightened his lean, boyish frame over her nude body, straddling her, with his hard cock poised at her inner thighs. Jean held her breath, as did Mrs. Summers, watching the bulbous head make contact with the fringes of Mrs. Summers’ pussy. His bride reached down and guided him into her with her hand, letting him into her with a moaning signal of desire.

Jean’s eyes were hypnotically wide as she watched Scott’s throbbing cock slide slowly into Mrs. Summers, and she heard through ringing ears the soft sibilant noise as she was wetly entered. Mrs. Summers moaned once, shivered slightly, and went rigid for a moment. Jean knew what it looked like when she came.

Almost immediately, Mrs. Summers’ eyes became glazed with lust once more and her lips peeled back from her sharp white teeth in a broad smile of delight. Scott began a slow grinding up and down, his naked ass rising in the air until the tip of his rock-hard maleness was left just inside Mrs. Summers’ sex. Then he dropped heavily back down between her wide open thighs, delivering himself completely with one smooth stroke. The camera moved around from the side of the newlyweds to view between their straining legs, and Jean could see her own goddamn labia lips moving in and out with each pumping surge Scott made into her exposed slit.

The attentive Jean could see the folds clinging to Scott’s thick impaling shaft with each stroke, the pussy lips disappearing as he sawed back into her. Mrs. Summers seemed to warm more and more to the movement, reaching down underneath Scott to cradle his balls in her palms. She stroked him gently as he fucked into her, a wetly glistening piston moving methodically in and out of her eagerly assisting cunt.

Jean tried to turn her head away, even to focus on the prick she was playing in her hand—a tight restrictive feeling had gone deep into her belly. She had never imagined what it would be like to watch two people making love, especially when one of the obscenely pornographic subjects was herself, and she found it more than she could control. She felt light-fingered quivering moving up between her thighs, building rapidly in strength, and when she closed her eyes, the vision of Scott’s cock still spearing into Mrs. Summers’ womanhood was all she could think of.

She clenched her eyes tighter still, but could not blot out what she’d seen, and the soft moans and wet sucking noises of intercourse filled her ears, magnifying the explicit images a thousand times. The sight of herself as a fuck, a lay, was too much for her helplessly aroused body to take. Something had to give!

It did.

Scott bent over her and started licking her tits, biting at the firm nipples right through her blouse. Jean obligingly slid her panties off and he flung himself into her, fucking her as she curved her spread thighs around his body.

“Oh God!” Jean panted, watching as Scott fucked her on the television as well as under her chin. “It’s so good… you’re so sexy… I love you, always loved you… fuck me harder…”

“You’re a porn star,” Scott replied, working his cock in and out of her slit. “Look at that—you’re fucking the camera more than you’re fucking me.”

“I’m doing it for you… I’m a porn star slut for you… fuck me, fuck my slit…”

On the TV, Scott had rolled onto his back and Mrs. Summers was now sprawled, facing the camera, fucking herself with her fingers while he bounced her up and down. Jean’s eyes were wide open, staring at the screen as she watched what she had coming. But for now Scott’s cock was enough. He thrust harder into her, fucking her rhythmically to the tune of her moans.

“We should sell it!” Jean husked. “We should sell this as a porno… let everyone know what a good fuck I am… how lucky you are… oh God… baby… fuck me…”

The soundtrack of the recording was just a series of moans now, as Scott rammed into Mrs. Summers without control. He pulled out of her and Mrs. Summers jerked him off, making him roar as his cum splattered on her tits, her stomach, her cunt. She went limp on the screen, but in real life Jean was still bucking and thrusting under Scott’s cock. She gripped him with all of her.

“Don’t pull out this time! We’re not on camera! I want to feel you come inside me! Come inside this pussy!”

Scott grunted. “I will!”

But first, he rolled half over onto his side, Jean rolling with him so that her cheeks were exposed. She lifted one leg and draped it over his waist as their nude bodies rubbed together, Scott reaching down and sliding his middle finger into Jean’s asshole, fucking her harder as he felt it go in.

“Fuck, that’s good! Oh, fuck yeah! That feels so sexy… wanna be a slut, wanna be a slut on TV… oh, fuck me, fuck me, come, come inside me, oh YES!”

Scott’s cock swelled with cum and he burst inside her, feeling her ass contract on his finger. He rutted and groaned as his cock spurt line after line of cum into her waiting hole, Jean fucking her hips forward and back against him, pleasuring herself with his cock as she felt his warm jism filling her.

Scott thrust his finger deeper into her ass, feeling the pressure against her anus as his cock shoved into the thin wall of flesh in between. Jean was moaning and thrashing and begging for him to fuck her harder, arms wrapped around him, tits rubbing against his chest, body squirming and rocking with him until she thrust her mouth against his neck and bit down hard. She worked her hips up and down, taking more and more of his cum. It had her whimpering. “Keep coming… don’t stop… spurt in my cunt… fill me… fill me…”

Scott kept going for as long as he could, satisfaction flooding through him as he lay wedged between Jean’s open thighs. She milked his cock with drum-tight contractions of her cunt. When he’d pitched his last, Jean went limp in his arms, releasing a long sigh of pleasure.

“Oh God…” she panted. “I can’t believe I did that… I’m a slut…”

Scott kissed her cheek. “You’re not a slut, you’re just a good actress.”

A spiraling cry of climax erupted from the writhing bride on the screen. She was twisting her head wildly from side to side, her slender buttocks dropping lower and lower on the thick, virile manhood inside her. Scott ground his long member deep inside her pussy, throbbing out white, milky cum with the same exact groan Jean’s Scott had just loosed. The rich, creamy seed filled her completely, cascading out around his manhood. To Jean’s mesmerized eyes, there was a clear view of Scott’s cum running down his still-erect cock like wax melting off a candle. The newlyweds jerked against each other a moment longer, then lay still…

The screen went black in a hail of static, leaving the scene of newlyweds lying together in satiated fulfillment imprinted deeply in Jean’s mind. The room seemed to be filled with the heated air of excited breathing, like the newlywed couple had been right there with them, and Jean was trembling and dry-mouthed with it, almost more than with what she’d done.

“Enjoy the show?” someone asked.

Jean almost threw herself off Scott to look at the woman at the door. She recognized her—it was the Russian girl, Colossus’s sister, Illyana!

“What’re you doing here?” Jean insisted.

“I live here,” Illyana replied. “So does she.”

Jean followed her gaze to the bathroom—there was the young Asian girl, Jubilee, wearing only a tanktop and panties under her trademark coat. Her thin white panties were moist with the same excitement Jean had felt.

“I don’t understand,” Jean breathed.

“Shh.” Scott petted her. “It’s all alright. These are my friends. And they’re going to be your friends too. We have Illyana to thank for getting us together.”

“We do?”

“Of course,” Illyana said. “Who do you think told him to seduce you instead of fucking Jubes for the millionth time?”

Jubilee giggled girlishly, hands raised to her mouth.

“I don’t understand,” Jean repeated.

“It’ll all make sense soon,” Scott promised her. “It’s just like the video. It doesn’t make sense unless you see all of it.”

“And there is more to see,” Illyana assured her. She locked the door behind her. “C’mon, Jubilee, Scotty, let’s watch it from the bed. We should all be comfortable as we welcome Jean to the new Phoenix Five.”

As Scott carried her to the bed, Jean took one last look at the screen. The tape wasn’t over yet, and now Mrs. Summers was being sodomized, two hands set on her waist, wedding band glimmering on the ring finger. How her little hole ever expanded enough to take in that monster cock was beyond Jean’s understanding, but she felt sure she was soon to find out.