Mating Call Of The Phoenix Ch 02

Utopia. It had been so long.

Had it really been a paradise? In hindsight—which this seemed like—it didn't taste that way. Still too much fear, too much uncertainty. Only instead of worrying about the outside world, they were worried about the inner circle.

You never could make people feel safe.

"We're floating," Scott said, looking over his surroundings. He recognized the changes he and the Phoenix Five had made. He remembered everything that was lost. By God, it was beautiful. "How can this be?"

"The Phoenix is more than fire and hunger," Jean said, enigmatic and helpful in equal degrees. "We can... sojourn through your personal timeline. See what we can see."

"Alter the past? That's impossible. We'd just create an alternate timeline."

"Don't think so three-dimensionally."

"How do I know we won't carve a hole in space-time? The O5 are bad enough..."

Jean held up her hand in a placating gesture. "The Phoenix is a universal force."

"So is Galactus."

"Anything of the universe cannot harm the universe."

"So we're really here, then? We're really back."

"In a manner of speaking."

"And you're here?"

Jean swung her hand at a wall. It passed through. "Manner of speaking. Only you can see me, hear me. I'm a part of you, I'm a part of the Phoenix, the Phoenix is you—"

"Are you trying to be confusing?"

"Just listen to my advice. If you think you can get along better without me, you shouldn't have married me then."

"You shouldn't have died then."

Jean made a

yeesh

noise.

Could it really be true? Back in the thick of it. Xavier still alive. Emma still his... and wouldn't she love knowing he had Jean Grey in his head? Still—still. She could look at him and see who he was, not who he'd been. That was enough. He needed it, more than words could tell.

She waited for him on a diamond throne, seeing if her fire could burn it. The flame played over her and her seat, but neither of them burned.

Scott felt her pushing at his mind, at

Jean,

and hurriedly shut her out. "Stop that," he said. "It annoys me."

Trouble in paradise?

Jean asked.

So easy to fall into the old habits, the bad old days. He had to stop strategizing, stop playing Chess games with his past to make this work. He hadn't been ready for the Phoenix then. Too bitter, too desperate. He didn't know if he was now, but his only chance at it was getting Emma back. He needed to put her ahead of the world, ahead of the X-Men, or he'd lose her all over again.

"I know what you're thinking either way," Emma said, her flame dying down to sparks in her eyes. "There were five of us. Five Phoenixes. And each of us shared the Phoenix Force. And now there are two."

Poor little omnipotent girl,

Jean thought-cast at him.

You know her problem, don't you?

Emma kept going. "Every one of us that falls, the others gain power. Now it's just us. It's just you and me splitting the Phoenix. And you're thinking: if I could only get the rest of the Phoenix Force from Emma, then

I'd

be the Phoenix."

Scott fought down the surge of denial. Honesty. Lies boxed you in, denied you strategies. Every lie was handing the other person a dagger and hoping they wouldn't figure out how to unsheathe it.

"I'm thinking that you had sex with Namor," Scott said, trying his best not to sound judgmental. After all, he'd just had sex with Jean. Possibly

all

the sex.

Emma winced, in a cosmic sort of way. "Tell me, Scott: does God really care who I sleep with?"

"I'm not a god, Emma, and neither are you."

"But I could be.

We

could be. We're playing nurses and caretakers, keeping this world going, when we could be

burning it

and starting over... every time I close my eyes..."

"Emma, be quiet," Scott said firmly.

She stared at him. Shocked. An attack she could deal with. Rudeness was... odd.

She's always drawn to powerful men, have you noticed?

Jean was sitting beside Emma, picking a stray hair off her cheek.

Shaw. Namor. You. I hear she fucked Doom...

Business, Jeannie.

You don't last long as a telepath without being a control freak. But deep down, she's out of control. A born rebel, forced to keep herself in check. She goes looking for the piece that's missing, lets you be the responsible one while she can be naughty. But this is too much power to treat as a fashion accessory. She's going mad, Scott, and she needs a firm hand. She needs the born leader. Control her, Scott. It's why she fell in love with you.

Finally, a wry grin formed on Emma's face. He wondered if she'd gonna through his shields. If she knew Jean was there. "Is this the part where you take my power, Scott?"

"No. It's where I take everything."

She still took her breath away. Even after all this time, all their debauchery, she was the most sensual woman he'd ever know, raw sexuality radiating from her like a secondary mutation. And now she displayed herself like a red flag before a bull. Her costume more revealing than ever, flagrantly daring anyone to take offensive, demanding that she be seen as a sex object.

No more than the symbol of the Phoenix emblazoned on her body, because that was all she needed, and even that overwhelmed by her buxom fullness, her hips dwarfing the tiny strap that dwindled down to cover her pubis, her breasts overflowing from the wings of the Phoenix as if making some inside joke on how flat-chested Jean was in comparison to her. The cape, the stockings, the gloves, the shoulder pads—all just to say that she could've done more to cover herself, but she wouldn't. She would put her ass on display, every perfect inch, and even sling her cape slow so it could be seen from behind. She didn't give a damn. Look and hope you didn't get burned.

"Dance for me," Scott said.

"What?"

"Like you used to do at the Hellfire Club, when you whored herself out for power. Take off your clothes and perform for me."

Her irises burst into flame. "How dare you—"

"How dare you

not obey me.

Do it! Now! Show me what you gave Namor."

Now she smiled. Flaunting her sexuality, turning it on like a spotlight and pinning him in it. "Do you think you can handle me, fearless leader?"

"I think I've always handled you."

She turned around. For the moment, he thought she was giving him the cold shoulder, drawing her cape up around herself so it concealed all her golden flesh from him. Then she began to sway. Her weight shifted like a fond caress, traipsing down one side of her body and up the other. He saw the lines of her body bend against the cape that censored her, the buoyancy of her ass protruding through the cape in inviting motion. The slow sway continued—an erotic undulation of her body, almost totally hidden by the cape she'd wrapped around herself. Her shoulders and hips loosened, flowing more strongly against the tangle of the cape. He could see the silent rhythm in the ripples of its fabric, twitching and jumping with the undeniably sexual rhythm coursing through her.

Well, she has talent, I'll give her that.

Jean said.

But then, I don't need talent, so...

Emma's head arched back now, over the concealing cape, more and more of her spun gold hair falling from her shoulders as she leaned herself back, hips working in counterpart to the slowly, stately motion of her arching back, jerking up against an invisible lover as if she were being fucked right in front of him. She bent nearly backward, a limbo dancer, her hips driving upward out of the concealment of her cape, wet cunt now fucking at the air. All while she looked upward at him, upside-down, her lips apart and her mouth panting in a barely contained frenzy.

Abruptly Emma spun around, facing Scott, and leaned forward, hands sliding down her legs all the way to her stiletto heels. Her hair fell over her face, tousled now, looking freshly fucked. It covered almost all but one blue eye. Her ass, covered mainly by the cape that melted to her skin like a groping hand, rose upward over her craning torso until the cape slid away and Scott could see the rounded cheeks, the neat separation where her costume disappeared between them—a little shake as Emma expressed herself.

Take your cock out,

Jean said—fully able to see Emma from her vantage point behind the blonde.

Show her what she'll get for being a good girl.

Scott did. He didn't have to unzip himself—just a thought and his cock protruded through his costume, offering itself up to Emma.

Emma rose slowly, hiding her ass behind her body once more, hands auto-erotically trailing up her legs. She sizzled them up her inner thighs, fingers spreading to feel all of the firm, precious flesh. They reached her groin. She slid her fingertips under the thin strap that concealed her sex, making a little bulge in the fabric—then the bulge disappeared as her fingers slipped inside.

Scott began to pump himself, pleasure himself. Emma had her fingers hard at work in her overheated cunt, needing an orgasm as badly as he did. She fingered herself as rapidly as Scott stroked his cock. It was a toss-up which of them were tantalized more.

Emma's hands came away—pulling at either side of the shorn groin displayed by her thin covering. Her labia opened, its pink interior displayed beyond the strip of fabric. The strip, seeming to get thinner every moment, now settled between her labia lips, displaying virtually all of her sex to him for a split-second before she fell to her knees, the cape flapping up to cross her thighs and hide her. Her hands slid up along her body, her heaving chest, playing at the sidelong straps that crossed her ribs, holding her so-called costume in place.

Wet fingers glimmered in the pale light as she broke one set of buckles, moaning as her creamy skin expanded ever so slightly to fill the void the undone straps her left. Her fingers came up, trailing her own wetness over her skin, and she opened another pair of buckles. This time she gasped. Only one more left. She slid her thumbs underneath them, swaying her body now with her hands locked in place, her aroused breath plainly audible. It was pure irony: Scott had wanted to see her sway like this, make these slow undulations, her head twisting from side to side in selfish pleasure, cascading hair moving in slow swipes over the tops of her breasts, but now that all he wanted was to see her costume come more undone, the dance was a slow torture.

That's it, take it off—

Jean said.

Show us.

She sounded excited.

Thumbs still trapped inside the tight straps, her fingers rose up to the undersides of her full breasts, gently trailing her nails over their gracefully descending slope. He watched the marks of her sharp nails blemish the tanned flesh, then be absorbed into the overriding perfection of her physique.

She fell back upon her shoulder blades, her legs still jack-knifed underneath her so her wantonly exposed groin was on display. When Scott looked at the snugly fitted crotch-band of her costume, he grunted as if he'd been struck hard in the stomach. The flimsy strip of material was now sopping wet, translucent with moisture—he could see the red petals of her sex, the absolutely bare skin that allowed not one follicle of pubic hair to affect its smoothness.

Oh, you sweet bitch...

And he could see further up her belly, to the undersides of her breasts now fully displayed to him, her fingers rubbing the usually untouched expanse, softly swaying the great mass of flesh within the tight confines of her costume. Her thumbs pulled hard at the costume's side-strap, slender fingers rising to surmount the tips of her breasts within their covering, and she pulled on them—he could see the dark, sweaty workings of her tits as they distorted under her fingers, the flesh completely giving in to the pressure of her touch. Scott could've almost laughed—with the power of the Phoenix Force, Emma had made her silicone implants real.

Emma's rough handling of herself nearly worked her breasts out of their confinement, but despite everything, they stayed frustratingly hidden. Her fingers emerged from beneath her costume and now she pulled hard at the straps until they broke, unhinging her entire costume. Now, with nothing to keep it in place besides Emma's firm body, every movement did a little to break its grip on her, sliding it over her body like one giant caress.

Emma took hold of the cape puddled under her and flung it in front of her with either arms, flogging its length over her semi-nude body like a fandance as she faced Scott, slowly drawing herself back up to her knees, now whipping the floor before her with her cape, the strenuous activity bunching her breasts together to form deep cleavage, pulling her costume taut over sweaty flesh. Finally, in an orgasmic paroxysm, she ripped the cape off her body, leaving her costume as disheveled as her hair—that freshly fucked look again. Scott realized it was a taunt. A reminder of Namor.

But that's nothing compared to how she'll look when

you're

done with her.

Jean's voice was a loving nibble on his ear.

Emma approached him now, strutting, practically jiggling out of her costume with every step, but now she was in a frenzy, moving so fast that nothing could be gleamed from her continuous wardrobe malfunction but a blur of flesh. Sliding right up to Scott, she planted her hands on his muscular chest and shoved him back—into a waiting chair her new power had provided. No sooner had he landed in its seat then she brought up a long, toned leg and planted her heel between his legs—the toe of her boot just touching his erect cock.

She leaned forward, forward, forward, her whole stunning body poised over her own towering leg, bending at the knee to run her hands along the length of her naked thigh, pushing her white stocking down, down, down the length of her leg. Scott obligingly took hold of the stocking as she pulled back, the impossible combination of boot and stocking coming away in his hand. Somehow, it smelled familiarly of her sex—like her arousal had infused her whole body and all that touched it with

need.

He tossed the shed skin away. It burst into flames, unnoticed by either of them.

Emma put her other shoe in his lap—now the ball of her foot touched the underside of his erection, pressing the column back into Scott's stomach while her heel rested on the chair. She leaned forward again, but this time it was Scott who took hold of her leg, by a deceptively delicate ankle, rolling his hands up the flow of boot and stocking. His fingers played at the garter space where the stocking magically stayed up, but then he ignored it, caressing her firm thigh, eyes red on her provocatively displayed cunt.

Before he could reach it, Emma turned away with a dancer's flexibility, leaving her foot gratefully poised on Scott's body but arranging herself away from him. It just put her ass on display, and Scott's hands traveled over the perfectly round flesh, thumbs dipping into her crevice, squeezing ripely. He didn't hear Emma moan, but he could see the wetness running down her inner thigh.

She was not one for things she didn't enjoy. If she'd entered the Hellfire Club as a dancer, it was because she enjoyed it. Enjoyed the attention, enjoyed the lust, enjoyed being wanted but not touched. And enjoyed most of all when the teasing ended and the touching began. When someone finally claimed her and she was, finally and irrevocably, his.

Emma began to wag her hips, dancing her ass against Scott's thorough caresses, actually gasping when he darted a finger under her thong and pulled it away from her asshole.

She feels so exposed,

Jean said, staring down at her vulnerable, puckered anus with Scott—memories of her own, filled with white cum, waltzing through their shared minds.

She likes it.

"Pull me on that cock, Scott," Emma gritted out, seething with frustration—anyone else would think it had something to do with powerlessness. "Grind me against it,

dig that cock

between my cheeks and come in your pants, come for me,

I want it!"

she added in a petulant cry.

"You forgot one thing," Scott retorted, to Jean's widening grin.

"What's that?"

"What you deserve."

He ripped away her thong with one powerful tensing of his arm, leaving Emma's quivering ass bare, perfect and proud, all of her clenching in anxious expectation of what he would do to her. Eat her ass? Finger it? Finally put the worry of hurting her to flame and actually thrust himself inside her asshole? Emma's whole body heaved with thought and fantasy.

Scott pulled her sideways across his lap, bending her over his legs, his cock digging up into her cunt as she was so unconventionally seated upon it. Emma cried out in surprised, almost girlish delight. "Yes, yes—fuck me, show me why you're the fearless leader, show me the cock that made Jean your bitch—"

"Shut the hell up," Scott said, calmly, but with grim determination in his voice. He looked down at the womanly softness of her ass and his hand moved like lightning, the flat of it striking her so hard that it sent the rounded cheeks into a paroxysm of jiggling, Emma gasping aloud—not just pain, but shock. Scott had just spanked her! Hard!

"How dare you!" Emma shrieked, but already Scott had struck her other cheek, compounding the pain of the first blow, making heat bloom out from Emma's buttocks and into her body as a whole. With shocking suddenness, all of her felt sweaty, flushed, feverish...

Desperately she tried to get away from him, but his left hand held her down as his right supplied an endless series of wincing slaps upon her plump ass. Worse yet, every blow jived her on his penetrating cock, bringing him the pleasure of her cunt tightening on his member, making Emma burn as she was constantly reminded of his tauntingly fixed penetration of her.

"I'm the White Queen! The Phoenix! The Headmistress!" Every plea just seemed to bring a new stroke, harder and more painful. "You don't have any right to—I'll get you for this, Scott, pay you back—"

But Scott wouldn't release her. He actually chuckled in rueful amusement, swatting her with renewed energy. Her ass actually seemed to be jiggling more now that he was getting into the swing of things—a bright pink flush spreading across it.

"Scott, please!" Emma's pride had quickly deserted her, at least for the moment, her relish of submission and surrender coming to the forefront. It was like her body had fully taken over and, seeing Scott's seriousness, seeing that there was no reprieve coming, had launched into intense arousal almost against Emma's wishes. She was becoming quite aware of a part of herself, growing in volume, that was actually

grateful

that finally she was being put to rights—the fuming power within her controlled, made to answer to Scott instead of her own reckless id.

She began to cry—good tears, tears of extremes that were satisfying, if not pleasurable. It'd been so long since she'd been reduced by tears, so long since she'd been anything but

bored.

The more abject her surrender to him became, the more she enjoyed it. She sobbed now, begging with him, but she wasn't sure what for: for him to stop or keep going, keep making her

feel.

"I'll do anything you say! Whatever you want!"

"I want you to learn your lesson!" Scott grunted. And now he really let her have it, firm, hammering slaps that jammed her down on his cock with pneumatic force. "That's for Namor. This is for Namor too—"

Thinks she can fuck around behind your back like some slut...!

Jean hissed, kneeling down to watch Emma's spanking from only inches away.

You're making her wet, you know.