"Welcome back to the Club, Sue. I've just thought up the most fabulous game for us to play..."
***
Jean always went to the Club alone. She was not ashamed, precisely. It was just that none of them understood. She knew that Ororo, Betsy, and even Jubilee went there, but they were just looking for a good time. They'd bought into Emma's snares. Jean, she knew Emma was full of shit.
But the Phoenix was still inside her, an addiction waiting to relapse. Most days she could lie in bed with Scott and listen to his breathing. Politely discuss curriculum and at-risk students. Joke with him over take-out. But some days, warmth and contentment and a love that was the envy of any woman were simply not enough. She needed heat. Sensation. She needed to burn.
The Club was a furnace, nothing more. It held her fire without letting it spread. It was... medicine. If it weren't for her affliction, she wouldn't go there. She wasn't that woman. She was Jean Grey, not the Phoenix. And not Emma.
Alone, Jean took the tram down the subway line, her body already breaking out in a sweat, breath coming a little harder than usual. She traversed the lobby so fast the echo of her heels beat a tattoo on the walls, and then was in the wooden hallways that led into and away from the Club proper. Emma was there, wearing a white evening gown from her clothing line—it bore a modest resemblance to her White Queen costume, but that wouldn't have gone as well with her sunglasses and updo.
"Jean, darling, it's been
ages.
I was beginning to think you'd found another solution to your... needs. Perhaps finally given in to that hairy little midget that keeps sniffing around you..."
"I'm faithful to Scott."
Emma traded kisses with her: one on the left cheek, one on the right. "I know, dear. It's just that Phoenix isn't, is she? Don't worry. I have something fun in mind for that..."
Further conversation was unnecessary. Emma turned and walked, knowing Jean would follow. And Jean walked after her, knowing Emma would satisfy her. As hot as their rivalry burned, Emma could never resist being the one who could get the Phoenix off, and Jean could never resist letting her.
They didn't go to the ballroom. That was for tourists. They went to one of the private rooms. This one wasn't the oddest Jean had been to—it didn't even have any toys—but it was mystifying. Walls divided the room into three slices, with a passage running through all three in the center. Emma gestured Jean over to a setting. There were two molded rests, which Jean knelt to place her knees in, and a cushioned stool, which Jean bent over. It left her in a comfortably supported 'doggy style' position, her lower body in the leftmost part of the room and her upper body in the middle.
Emma stepped over her, reaching up to a pull-chain and tugging it down. Like a guillotine, down came a section of the wall that'd been hidden in the ceiling, closing the left part of the room off from the middle until it settled around Jean's waist, an expanse in the bottom comfortably fitting around her. Under the middle of the stool, another bit of wall rose to completely cut off the two sections of the room, except for Jean's body.
"Bet you're glad you started that diet," Emma quipped. Across from Jean, there was another such setting. Emma got on all fours atop it, then gave Jean a risqué look. "If you'd be a dear?"
Using her telekinesis, Jean pulled on the other pull-chain, bringing down a section of wall between the right and middle of the room. It too sealed Emma in like a strange pillory. And if Jean brought the wall down
very
fast, what of it?
They were face to face, now. Like a massage table, the stools they were bent over continued to allow for a place to rest one's head. Jean folded her arms underneath her and set her forehead down, watching Emma, who clapped her hands.
The floor between them opened and up rose a small table. From the smell of lube, Jean could guess what its usual contents were. Today, it held a hill of cocaine, a mirrored tray, a wad of cash, literally a silver spoon, and a credit card with George Clooney's name on it.
"Hmm... how could that have gotten there?" Emma took a spoonful of coke, ladled it onto the tray, and used the card to sort it. Jean watched her mince the clumps of crystal up, the chaos of the dust replaced with four geometric lines. Very Emma. Even precise in doing drugs. "Want some?"
Jean shook her head unconvincingly.
Emma took one of the dollar bills from the sheaf, tugged it open—a hundred—and then rolled it up into a tight tube. "Alright. I'll go first." She brought the bill to her nose. "Honestly, Jean. You make it so hard to be a good hostess."
Jean watched the line disappear up the makeshift straw, into Emma's immaculately rhinoplastied nose. Emma bared her teeth, then threw her head back in a maelstrom of platinum-blonde hair. "Yes! Yes!" She snorted, grabbed Jean by the throat, and kissed her full on the lips.
Kissing Emma always gave Jean a buzz of electricity. Scott was warm and caring and comfortable, like holding a teddy bear. Jean liked that. She was a girl who liked that sort of thing. Emma was an adrenaline spike, a shot of jack, a dose of heroin. And Jean
needed
that.
As she backed away, Emma sniffed a few times, then pressed the bill into Jean's hands. "Take a hit, Jean. You're the perfect little X-Man, after all... and this is perfectly good cocaine." She giggled to herself, already high. Jean could only imagine what pills and liquor were already floating around that reupholstered carcass of hers.
Jean snorted up a line and—instantly her pussy was wet the rush was hitting her the rush was hitting her hard her asshole was twitching her body was tingling she needed to be FUCKED.
Her lips parted and Emma took the invitation, kissing her wetly, lengthily,
devouring
her mouth like a nine-course meal.
When she finally stopped, Emma left Jean buzzing like a high-tension wire. She took the bill back, lowered it to the coke, and sucked up a line like she was pulling a rip-cord. Then she threw her head up, licking her lips. "Let's get fucked, Jeannie."
Jean smiled, feeling her wet panties grinding against her wetter cunt with every breath she took. Suddenly, she felt cool air on her nethers as her clothes were drawn out of the way—
"Oh!" Emma cried out, then held a hand to her mouth like she'd made a rude noise. She smiled at Jean, mock-bashfully. "Nothing like getting eaten out on cocaine, is there Jeannie?"
This time Jean kissed her, heated, demanding, stopping only when she lapped her tongue out of Emma's mouth and up her face, licking the residue of the white powder from her nose. Emma laughed and stirred a wet finger through the residue on the tray, bringing it up to pop into Jean's mouth and slide over her gums.
Jean's eyes bugged out, prompting another cackle from Emma. Simultaneously, they both dropped down and licked the last of the cocaine from the tray, inexorably pulling to each other to slide coked-up tongues into each other's mouths.
Emma pulled away, too giggly to continue. "Your turn, Jean. I know that look. Your cunt's far too wet not to have someone
licking it
."
***
Sue was so nervous she turned invisible. She owned her desires: she answered to Stormy, she dressed in the black leather it was a miracle she still fit into, and while Reed was locked in the lab for twenty-hour stretches, she no longer bothered bringing him meals he wouldn't eat and trying to persuade him to take his children to the zoo. She let Johnny and Ben watch the kids. She went to the Club. She did drugs and she fucked women.
She felt a vestigial shame about it, but no real guilt. The shame made it better in a way. During the week, with Reed, she'd think back to what she had done and hate herself, in a self-congratulatory way, for being such a hot bitch. She'd admitted to herself that she had multitudes. She was not just a simple girl in fantastic circumstances. She loved exploring the Microverse as much as she loved cutting the crusts off Franklin's sandwich as much as she loved taking dildos in all her holes.
Earlier she'd snorted some coke from Betsy's—Slut's—belly button. Slut had laughed at the tickling sensation, Sue had had to use both nostrils to get all the cocaine out of her cute little navel, and she'd been humming like an electrical transformer ever since.
And now she did as her Mistress had commanded. She eased herself through the door into that trifurcated room Emma had shown her, finding the bottom half of a woman on all fours, a wall sealing off the rest of her. Sue smirked to herself. A glory hole for women. And Reed thought his inventions were grand.
Kneeling down, she folded up the anonymous woman's skirt to expose her backside, imprisoned in black panties that Sue quickly pulled away, much as she liked how they outlined the woman's firm, shapely ass. Now she, whoever she was, was bare. Sue could see how wet she was.
No tongue on a first date.
Sue remembered her mother's old prescription on dating, felt a hot flush of shame over her circumstances, and smiled wickedly as she bent her head and extended her tongue.
***
"Oh God, Emma... she's pulling my ass open... she's gonna do it... Emma... she's... she's using her tongue..."
Little shockwaves ripped through Jean, almost small orgasms. The tongue in her ass had at first been soft and gentle, merely licking her tiny hole, but her lover had had enough of that. Now it was a hard, violent thing, forcing its way into her tight space, making Jean lose her words to an endless moan. A finger snaked into her pussy, but it was nothing compared to the long, slippery thing now residing in her ass.
She's licking me... she's licking me back there...
Jean began to mentally babble as Emma held her face up in her hands, peppering it with soft kisses like she could taste the painful pleasure Jean was going through.
Giving me a rimjob... licking my asshole!
Jean groaned aloud at another swipe of her lover's tongue into virgin territory, and another, and another. The other woman had gone slow at first, teasing Jean, but that was over now. She was going fast. Very fast.
"It's okay, Jean," Emma said as the redhead virtually panted into her mouth. "I'm having my asshole eaten too."
***
Sue had thought she could only perform analingus on Emma, with the White Queen dominating her, telling Sue she owned her, that Sue was her bitch. But this woman's ass was just so perfect. All of her was beautiful, she wanted her tongue to know the flavor of every inch of her skin, but her
ass
—those two pale mounds just begging to be loved, exquisitely soft and slightly cool to the touch.
She squeezed them between her hands. Oh yes. Perfect. And eating her ass would be even better. It was taboo,
naughty,
