It was finally happening. Shanna looked down between her legs, almost in disbelief. Her cunt had not caught fire, nor was it flashing like a storm holding lightning inside, yet it felt like both these things and more. All because of the boy... the man... between her thighs.
Zar, with his bright eyes and wispy hair and that smile that made her heart quicken, all now coming against her sex,
licking her
like a savory treat. She was making such sounds, sounds she had never made with Colossus or the Wolverine, and that was why his smile was so sweet—he liked it when she felt good.
Everything was lost then but the pooling heat within her cunt. She felt once more as she had with Dr. Elsa, but it was not woman's work anymore. This was a man doing this to her—virile, fertile, life-giving. She let loose a warrior's scream, muscles tensing, hips jerking upward as she
gushed
for him. Zar kept licking her through waves of climax, her fluids copious and sweet, trying to drown his insatiable appetite.
When Shanna awoke from the blackness of her pleasure, one of his hands was on her breasts (smearing the evidence Logan left of their rough play) and the other's fingers were inside her, alongside his tongue. He twisted her nipple and slid inside her folds and rubbed at her clit, learning her pleasures as he inflicted them.
"Curl—curl your fingers inside me. Find the place... my place..."
Wonder of wonders, he did. He found the territory claimed by her own exploring fingers, where not even Dr. Elsa had ventured. Her flesh was his. It changed to suit him, swelled, flushed, wettened, and finally, obediently, she came for him. Rained upon her own thighs and his handsome face, let
him
moan at the taste of her.
Her hands were in his hair now, his hands at her bottom, lifting her to his mouth like a fine dish. He smiled as she moaned anew. Then fingers went back inside her, his smile at her clit, and she clenched down on those fingers so hard it hurt her, a wet hurt, she was wet under her ass and down her legs and up to her belly button and across his face where he kissed her as her cunt went sweet and a little pained and very, very
wet
.
She kissed him back without hesitation, a cleansing, sucking away the wetness she'd gifted him with. His cock was hard and strong, and the way he stroked it was a question, but she knew her cunt was too sore for it to be good. Instead, she pulled his hand away, sank to her knees, and returned the worship he had shown her.
It was not as lengthy. As soon as her mouth opened, he hammered himself inside and
burst
, giving her much to swallow. Still, she swirled her tongue over the softening muscle, left his hips jerking and raw, and then embraced him to let Zar hear the fond whisper of his name. It was all her lips could release after they'd sobbed out so much pleasure.
She collapsed there, in his arms, and as Logan had said, luckily, they were in a bathhouse. He carried them to a great pool of water and they both sunk under its surface, the blue soothing and cool. Both came up for air at the same time. A loofah floated between them. Zar took it.
The same worship, a different prayer. He cleansed her of all Logan's seed. She didn't want it anymore, didn't need it. She needed his touch, running guilelessly over her breasts, feeling their firm weight. She moaned with the tensing and tingling of her nipples, and he dipped down her stony stomach to the triangle of her sex. That he washed very thoroughly.
She, in turn, scooped up water in her cupped hands and anointed him, bathed him with her bare fingers, the soapy water dripping from them. His left hand retracted daringly from the loofah, still running it in circles over her body, but with the other hand massaging her soap-slick flesh, rubbing the lather in.
Shanna responded in kind, taking his limp cock, easing back the foreskin, gently washing the head and empty balls. She released it only to turn around and have him wash her shoulders, her back, her ass. When neither of them could take it anymore, they clinched together, kissed, and sunk into the water. Letting it rinse them clean.
When they came up for air, Shanna had no desire for anything but Zar's embrace. She coiled herself, kittenish, against his chest as he opened either of the bath's sluicegates and let the fresh water run over them both.
"My sex is clean now," she said sleepily. "For your tongue and cock."
"And fingers." He chuckled, in a mood where all is forgiving. "Don't forget my fingers."
"I will never forget your fingers. My man. My Zar." Flesh soothed by the warm water and cleaned assiduously of Logan's mark, she fell with Zar as he sat against the edge of the bath, holding her in his arms like he meant to carry her away. Shanna rested her head against his chest. She could hear his heart from ten feet away, but skin to skin, its beat crashing into her ears, it was an entire world.
His hands lazily stroked her body—not with lust, but with comfort. A sense of belonging. He didn't need to say anything.
"I never knew I could feel this warm," Shanna said, her voice barely enough to stir the water beneath her mouth. "I've felt it before—sparks when I look at you, when I think of you. But this—you're the sun, Zar. You end my darkness. I will bear your children."
He knew enough to say yes. Why not? Who else could he possibly want?
"Good," she said, facing him with a smile brighter than he'd ever seen on her. "Good." She took his arms by the wrists and pinned them against the rim of the bath, spreading his body for her to straddle.
As she sank onto him, he felt the world shake.
It took the screams from outside for him to realize that wasn't Shanna.
***
"God, this place looks like Glenn Beck's summer home," Emma said of the Nazi bunker.
Tessa dutifully laughed, though it was the hacky sort of joke her computer mind could've written while running Crysis 3. It didn't even make sense. If this were an inviting location that happened to have Nazi regalia, yes, then you could comment on confusing it for a far-right summer home, but everything was concrete and dank, spider-webs, dried blood—
skeletons
, even, like a Halloween haunted house.
Still, she followed Emma through the bunker's flooded corridors, trying to move her bare feet around the many puddles, and especially trying not to brush her nude body against
anything
. Emma had requisitioned her clothes, so Tessa was on the look-out for—
There. A lab coat was hanging from a rack on a tilted door. She picked it up, looked it over, deemed it satisfactory, shook it out, and quickly covered herself. Emma looked back at her with almost disappointment in her eyes. "Leaving behind your nudist ways so quickly, Tessa? I would've held out for something a little more flattering. That white does nothing to bring out your eyes..." With a glamorous flip of her hair, Emma was facing front against and marching off, leading with the breasts Tessa's catsuit hadn't been able to zip up over. "Come, Tessa. I've got a birthday present for you."
Tessa followed. Dutifully. "My birthday was three months and four days ago. You shushed me when I tried to tell you."
Emma waved her hand dismissively. "Pish-tosh. I never forget anything. I simply don't care. But I
do
have a birthday present for you, my dear Tessa."
The corridor opened out onto a copper walkway, overseeing a vast empty space. Emma, a three-year veteran of a modeling contract, splayed herself against the catwalk's railing, legs spread, arms akimbo, ass out. Tessa felt herself
heat
. Emma must've been psychically interfering with her again.
"Behold, my lovely. The remnants of Project Vengeance." Tessa joined Emma on the catwalk, looking down on a storehouse of glass columns. Inside each, cloudy water and organic tissue—everything from fetuses to full-grown adults, each female, each blonde, each beautiful. Emma was staring at one in particular. "I can't wait until this one misbehaves. Imagine giving that ass a good spanking..."
"What is this place?" Tessa asked.
"A tiresome last-ditch effort by the Nazis to restart WW2. Clones, Tessa. Of the finest stock the Aryan race had to offer. We'll simply tinker with the formula a little. Introduce the X-gene from our own
truly
perfect DNA, and suddenly have an army of young mutants to educate, to raise, to lead into the birth of a new empire." Emma kissed Tessa's cheek sweetly. "You're going to be the perfect mother—and you'd better get used to calling me Daddy."
"Emma, that's..." Even with a thesaurus in her brain, Tessa was lost for words. "Really something."
Emma patted her on the back. "I know! I know. Don't worry if it's a bit much to handle at first, darling, I don't expect you to be a visionary like me. Just see if you can tidy this place up while I find you some more suitable garments. As is, this is no place to start a family."
Emma looked over Tessa with a girlish charge of excitement in her eyes. Victorious, desired, and well-loved, she was like a new person.
"On second thought, let's leave the clean-up to the natives. I'd hate for those clever hands to go coarse."
Tessa knew enough of Emma's methods to know what she intended. "Slave labor...? Mistress?" She added the last word in an attempt to mollify. "Isn't that a little déclassé?"
"I'll pay them at least as much as Wal-Mart would. Maybe they like Beanie Babies. I was so sure those would be worth something..." With an exhale, she switched to child-like glee. "It's so nice here. The city has it beat on shopping, but oh, all those millions of people—and their thousands of thoughts. I get the most awful headaches, Tessa, you wouldn't understand. But without them, my power extends for miles. I'm my own empire."
"I'm happy for you," Tessa said and wondered if she meant it. Even though she hated Emma.
The White Queen took her hands. "Let's go exploring. Maybe they have a Hitler clone somewhere..."
"We could shave his moustache off."
"And they say I'm the mind reader."
***
Karl Lycos's pang of conscience quickly gave way to Sauron's confidence, his relish. Yes... yes, how could he regret taking the dark-skinned one, especially when she showed such pleasure at his attention? He was
Sauron
, king among mutants, and all that mattered was more. Giving the gift of his pleasure to more willing wantons like the so-called goddess, and taking the gift of their mutant power for himself. How many 'X-Men' lamented their power? Wouldn't they be happier if he took it for himself? Wouldn't they all be happier if
he
was in charge?
Stretching his wings to catch the wind and the sunlight, he let his body become attuned to the mutant radiation that had invaded this paradise. There was a great mass of it in the Fall People's village, but he knew what that was. The X-Men. He could not be drawn into conflict with them, not while his form still stunk of that fool Lycos. He needed smaller portions—more paeans to his invulnerability.
