Emma Frost entered the Vixen's Den without a word. She was dressed in her old Hellfire Club gear - a corset that thrust her tits upwards, an obscenely small white thong, and a large white fur-lined cloak. Despite the outfit, the bouncer looked right through her - saw nothing but air - as she used her powers to turn off his mind while she passed. Emma didn't need fake IDs or fast talk. Just a mental whisper to control him.
Inside, the club was a cathedral of decadence. Pink lights pulsed against sweat-slicked skin. Music throbbed like a heartbeat. Tits and money and glitter flew in every direction. Emma stood out, not just because of her outfit, but because of her posture, her attitude - in this palace of filth and poverty, she seemed somehow above it all. Her telepathy wrapped around her like silk - a mental projection of her absence. It was no effort to bend the feeble, pliant minds around her. The crowd parted unconsciously, the dancers didn't blink, the staff kept serving drinks. She was invisible.
She moved like someone who already owned the place. Soon, she would.
Her mind reached out, slow and precise, skimming the surface thoughts around her like fingers on piano keys. Lust. Greed. Hunger. Stupidity. Weak, flickering things. Easy to ignore. But deeper in the building - upstairs, behind a velvet curtain - she felt the heat. Three minds, flickering in sync. Slick with arousal. Drenched in shame and want and pleasure so loud it nearly deafened her. Beneath it, tiny flickers of selfhood - fragile, gasping for air.
Sue.
Rogue.
Harley.
Emma's lip curled in a cruel smirk.
"Oh my, girls," she murmured, threading her way toward the stairs. "What a mess you've made of yourselves."
Emma moved up the stairs slowly, savoring every click of her heels. The moans got louder the higher she climbed - breathless, animalistic sounds, soaked in need. The bass faded, but the rhythm of wet, frantic bodies didn't stop.
Outside the VIP area, she paused. Closed her eyes.
Inside, Sue was on her back. Legs spread. Panting. Her body transformed into a walking wet dream - tits obscene, lips pouty, hips pornographically curvy. Rogue was naked and furiously rubbing herself in a corner, eyes glassy, mouth open. Harley was riding an invisible cock, giggling through her own madness.
So this was what Reed hadn't been able to say out loud. He'd made it sound so clinical.
The Invisible Woman - so proper, so polished, always holding herself just a little too upright, like even gravity had to obey her sense of decorum - now reduced to a cum-soaked exhibitionist, grinding out orgasms in front of strangers just to feel her own name again. God, it was beautiful.
Emma had been there once. Years ago. Before the Frost name was worth a damn, before the mansions and the diamond skin, back when the only thing between her and starvation was a pair of stilettos and a pole. She remembered the stares. The bills. The heat. The grind. She knew how degrading it could feel if you didn't enjoy it. How women like Sue would judge her.
But Emma had owned it. Beat it. Become the White Queen. She'd made the stage her kingdom and expanded it to encompass the entire city.
But Sue Richards wasn't there yet.
Emma let out a quiet, amused breath through her nose. "You always thought you were better than me, Susan," she murmured. "But look at you now. Just another horny little fuckdoll trying not to drown in her own tits."
The moans spiked - Sue was close again.
Emma rolled her eyes.
"Time to clean up," she whispered, and with a flick of her will, she dropped the mental invisibility like a curtain.
The three girls finally saw her.
Sue's head jerked up mid-orgasm, blonde hair clinging to her sweat-slick cheeks, mouth still parted in a moan. Rogue's fingers froze between her legs. Harley gasped and blinked like she'd just remembered she had a name. They saw her - really saw her - and all three of them lit up with pure, hungry recognition.
"Emmmmma!" Harley squealed, scrambling to her feet and practically bouncing toward her. "Ohmygod, you came! We were just talkin' about how much we wanted you!"
Rogue was next, eyes wide and hazy, breasts heaving as she stumbled forward. "You feelin' the itch too, sugar? Come join us - we'll take real good care of ya..."
Sue said nothing - just stared, panting, one trembling hand pressed between her thighs. Emma didn't flinch. Didn't blink. She simply thought. The air pulsed. Everyone around them stopped.
Every man in the club froze mid-cheer, mid-stroke, mid-whatever. Rogue halted mid-step. Harley dropped to her knees, mouth still open. Sue's body tensed, caught in the aftershock of orgasm, muscles straining to move - and failing.
Only Emma stood free.
She walked slowly toward them, heels clicking on the stage, expression unreadable. She looked like a monarch surveying her broken court.
"God, look at you," she said softly. "The mighty, the brave, the untouchable - dripping, desperate, and dumb as bricks. Let's see if we can't find Ms. Richards in that horny little sex doll body." She psychically reached in and brought Sue - the real Sue - to the surface.
Sue's lip curled. "Emma. It would be you, wouldn't it. Did you do this?"
Emma smiled - all teeth. "Oh Susan, you flatter yourself. I'm here because - as usual - your husband had to turn to another woman for satisfaction after you couldn't do the job."
Sue snarled. "Bitch!"
Emma laughed.
Rogue whimpered.
Harley giggled, drooling a little.
Sue forced herself to speak, her voice hoarse, cold. "You think this makes you better than us?"
Emma crouched in front of her, eyes glittering like cut glass. "No, darling. I always knew I was better. But I enjoy watching you finding out that you're not."
She let that hang in the air. Then stood. Straightened her gloves.
"Still, since you're so eager to act like my little toy, I may as well treat you like one. My mental control is the only thing keeping you coherent right now. Come along, girls."
With a flick of thought, she unspooled her telepathy like a whip - not intrusive, not painful - just dominant. A leash of willpower wrapped tight around each girl's mind. Not to harm. Not to erase. Just to hold.
They shuddered under it. Eyes wide. Bodies twitching, not from fear - but from the hot, involuntary rush of obedience. The virus already made them submissive and Emma's dominance was irresistable at the best of times.
Emma looked down at Sue, who still knelt on the stage like a fallen saint, her transformed body gleaming under the lights. She knelt, leaned in close, and whispered - so only Sue could hear: "I'm here to help, darling, but whatever's happened to you is so powerful. I'll have to apologise to Reed for being unable to stop you fucking that guy."
Sue's breath caught in her throat.
"But I haven't... I mean Rogue and Harley were one thing but, Reed's the only... Emma, please..." She practically sobbed. "I'm married."
Emma's eyes flashed.
Now this was therapy.
Sue glared up at Emma, still panting, her face flushed from orgasm and rage. She clenched her jaw like she could bite her way out of the virus, her fingers trembling with effort. "You don't get to do this. We need help. Not a fucking power trip."
Emma laughed softly - not cruelly, but with the slow, rich amusement of someone utterly unbothered. "Oh, Susan. You don't call me for help without paying a price."
Sue's breath hitched. "Reed wouldn't want-"
"Reed doesn't even know what to do with you anymore," Emma cut in, sharp as glass. "He begged me to come because you're falling apart - tits out, pussy soaked, putting on shows for strangers just to think straight."
She leaned in, just enough that Sue could feel the heat of her voice.
"You need someone to make the choices now."
Sue tried to rise - to speak, maybe, to fight - but Emma didn't let her. Instead, she turned toward the frozen crowd. A subtle pulse of telepathy radiated out - not to the minds of the men, but to Sue. Forcing her attention. Guiding her gaze. To him.
A tall man near the front row - black, massive, shirtless, cock already hard and heavy between his legs. Built like a statue of lust. His mind wasn't strong - easy to hold still - but his body? It was everything Reed wasn't. Wide. Dark. Rough. A virtual adonis just sitting here in the strip club, dick already out. God, it's his lucky day, Emma thought.