X Men The Beginnings Of Corruption 02

The room reminded Jean of a meat locker. The floor, through spic and span and polished to a sheen, was sturdy tile with shower drains at regular intervals. Designed to be hosed down. It gave the room an air of degradation that Jean wasn't sure if she liked.

The architecture was marble, with the right wall dedicated to a line of vanities that would be the envy of any Vegas showroom or chic make-up parlor. Domino was seated at one of them, wiping off her face with moist towelettes. Her panda-bear black eye seemed to be shot through with the same white as the rest of her body. Seeing Jean, she gave a little wave.

Jean waved back, though her attention was focused on the left wall of the room.

The top half was frosted glass looking into another room. Male silhouettes were gathering, waiting, talking in murmurs through the soft music that played. The darkest of them were up front, seven shadows facing front but unable to see through the glass. The bottom half of the wall was regular plaster, with a row of circular holes cut about three and a half feet up, each about the size of a woman's fist.

Seven of the holes had men's penises dangling through them. Before those holes, kneeling on silk cushions, were Colleen Wing, Misty Knight, that new Tarantula Maria Vasquez, Jessica Drew, and a few celebrities Jean couldn't place, but who looked familiar from magazine covers and the occasional commercial. If she hadn't been dead, she would've known them. And they were sucking on those cocks like they were trying to drag their owners into the room.

"Mistress calls this the Glory Room," Rogue drawled, going to the little salon where Domino was fixing her make-up. Jean trailed numbly after her. "There's one for the boys at the other end of the Club; good for yer viewing pleasure if you ain't in the mood to take a load."

"Those are glory holes," Jean said, allowing herself to be sat down in a stool by Rogue. "Seven women are giving blowjobs and they're—they're goddamn

heroes

, some of them!"

"Yeah, but it's Thursday. Thursday's always a slow night."

Domino got up, leaning into the mirror and smiling to check her teeth. After swiping her tongue over her gums, she turned to Rogue. "Ready?"

"In a few minutes. Ah've gotta hold Jeannie's hand here."

"Alright. Jean, lovely seeing you. You should've told me you had a membership here. We can come together next time." Domino's black-lidded eye winked at the innuendo, then she turned to leave.

"Ready for what?" Jean asked.

"Ah'm takin' her shift."

Just as Domino reached the door, it slung out of her way. Psychic trick. She and the new arrival brushed against each other as they passed in the doorway, sizing each other up with open lust. Then she was out and Madelyne Pryor was in.

"Goblin Queen!" Jean yelped, coming to her feet. She reached out with her psychic senses, preparing for battle, but the inundating lust she felt in every room, every foot of her surroundings sent a shock straight to her clit.

"Relax, Jeannie." Madelyne smiled dangerously. "I'm not going to fight you over

Scott Summers

. Or anything else. You've already died. What more can I do to you?"

"Then—then—" It was hard for Jean to think with Madelyne dressed like that. She was Jean's exact double and she was naked. No, not even naked: barely censored by thigh-high black boots, a ragged black loincloth that hung between her creamy thighs to caress her pubis, and a cape that did not so much cover her breasts as draw attention to their lower halves as they jutted and quivered and occasionally slipped to offer the attentive viewer a glimpse of her erect nipples. Every step she took was a peepshow.

"What am I doing here?" Madelyne sat beside Jean at the make-up table. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here for my shift."

On either side of Jean, Rogue was checking and triple-checking her inhibitor collar while Madelyne was burying her lips in gloss.

"But... you're me," Jean said disbelievingly.

"No, I'm

me

. You're a stuffy preppie chick who was satisfied having everyone want to take her to sock-hop while she was in junior high. Me—I actually fuck people. And not just my dear, darling hubby. Strange men. Men whose names I don't know, men whose faces I won't remember. Women too. And the list doesn't end there." Madelyne popped her lips. They gleamed with wetness. "Watch me, Jean. Look what I do with your body."

Madelyne got up and sauntered off, Jean watching her altogether exposed buttocks rise and fall with each peepshow step. It was all so

casual

. And that just made it more exciting.

Brazenly, Madelyne sat down at an empty hole. She pressed a button on a little console over the hole, and a few seconds later, a long penis had come through. It wasn't hard, but Jean had given enough blowjobs of her own to know that it wouldn't take long once a pair of lips had touched it. It'd been years since Jean had seen a prick other than her husband's, and though this one didn't quite measure up, it was fat enough to make her shiver just a little.

"You don't even know..." Jean began. She had never seen so many cocks in her life. "You don't even know who you're sucking off."

"That's the beauty of it, sugah," Rogue replied.

"It could be your worst enemy!"

Rogue put her hand on Jean's knee. "That makes it so much better! Just keep watchin', hon. Ah love seeing a girl's first suck of the night. Always gets me hotter'n a sauna in hell!"

Jean didn't want to get hot. She didn't want to look away either. The unknown man's cock was getting hard just from the situation, the anticipation of a stranger's warm lips wrapped around his member. Madelyne's fingers, her fingers, took hold of the stiffening prick. She clung to it with both hands, brought her nose to its head like she was sniffing a rose. Precum dripped out from the head and her thumbs neatly wiped it away. She sucked on them first, letting her coy mouth pop off each in turn. Moaning at the whiff of taste she'd taken.

Jean tried to distract herself by talking to Rogue, but she couldn't look away. "And you—you do this too?"

"Damn near every night!"

"But

why

?" Jean demanded, her voice almost shrill.

Madelyne's lips brushed over the cockhead. They could hear a groan thundering through the muting glass.

"Cuz even if I put one of mah collars on, in the outside world, I still can't get loose of the thought of what would happen if it ever came off. Ah spent so long with mah curse that I can't shake it. I feel it in other people; worrying what I could do to a child or old folk that don't know no better. But in here, everyone knows. Jus' nobody cares. It's like everyone puts a collar on. They all let go of the outside and we do what we need. Emma just gives us the tools."

Jean didn't say anything. She barely listened; the words hit her mind like water dripping from a sink. Her body was throbbing so much louder than the conversation. The sight of her own mouth, as appropriated by Madelyne Pryor, opening wide to take a swollen cock inside—her own lips with a different shade of gloss moving over the engorged shaft—it sunk inside her and played a deep bass beat that rattled right against her clit.

Her body was burning.

"Ah thought you'd like this," Rogue said, and her voice was so unlike herself—so dark and sexual—that Jean had to glanced at her. Had to see her settled back against the make-up counter, her legs splayed and the knot on her tied-off shirt coming undone. "Mistress Emma said you would."

Jean watched Madelyne's tongue drift from the tip of the stranger's cock to the wiry pubic hairs he was trying desperately to push through the opening. She wondered if her own tongue was that long. Silly question. Of course it was. She was just like Madelyne. Exactly alike. She had never actually

watched

a blowjob before, just given them on occasion. Now she knew what she'd looked like then.

Madelyne grew more active, as if the excitement Jean were feeling was somehow funneling back into her. She sucked furiously, head moving back and forth, each thrust of her mouth trying to make her target disappear. Jean knew it was impossible from the very beginning. As thick as it was, Madelyne couldn't swallow more than a few inches of it. But the attempt made Jean's focus narrow until all she could see was cock and mouth. She felt a tension at the corners of her mouth, knowing what it would look like if she herself tried to swallow a thick cock.

The man's hand suddenly slammed against the glass, shaking it, and Jean moaned just as loud as he was. The women in the room couldn't hear him, but they could hear

her

, just as she felt the unmistakable lightning of his brain accepting orgasm.

Madelyne felt it too. She'd just licked his shaft until her tongue tapered off the underside of his tip, but now she grabbed him to point his eruption at her mouth. The very act of touching him, though, finished him off. His cock painted her mouth with white before she could so much as open her lips.

Madelyne was a fast thinker. If she could not have him in her mouth, where she could swallow him up in his entirety, she'd have him on her skin, completing what he'd begun. His hand smeared on the glass, wiping away swathes of condensation, as he kept coming, each gentle spur of Madelyne's hand rewarding her with another lashing of cum onto her chest. She carefully pointed him to keep from soiling her cape. Only the curve of her breasts and the valley of her cleavage were stung by his blasts.

"Come on me," Madelyne said in Jean's voice. "Come on my breasts—my belly—all the way down. Down, down..." Letting go of the deflated cock, she grabbed her breasts, squeezing them in autoerotic bliss before her hands dropped to rub his cream into her bare body. "Make me

slippery

with cum."

She cupped her hands under his prick as he dribbled out a little more cum, but that was all he could give her. His cock retreated almost meekly. Madelyne lowered her hands, all the way under her loincloth, and moaned as she finished anointing herself in strangers' seed. Then she stood to give the glass between her and the man a deep kiss.

"I need a drink," she said, returning to the make-up table.

From a drawer Rogue produced a bottle of wine and some glasses. One was passed into Jean's hand and filled. Jean gulped it gratefully. Her mouth was so dry...

Madelyne sat down with her own drink, the entire front of her body shimmering with the cum she'd massaged into her skin. Neither Rogue nor Jean could stop staring at it.

"Like some?" Madelyne asked, running a finger between her breasts, then bringing it to her mouth. She sucked obscenely on the digit.

Rogue stood, and for a horrible moment Jean thought she would lean down and bury her face in those cum-slick breasts. "Ah think I'll get my own."

That almost didn't surprise Jean. What did was Rogue taking her hand and leading her to the space Madelyne had vacated. They both knelt down. Rogue passed Jean her half-empty glass. Jean had drunken the first one without thought and she devoured the second as well. The carbonation tickling her nose was the closest thing she had to a grip on reality.

Jean watched as another prick, limp but long, came through the hole. It belonged to a black man—Jean tried to imagine Bishop or Luke Cage sticking his manhood through a wall. Rogue almost posed next to it, looking at Jean and smiling. Jean couldn't believe she and the prick were so close.

It all suddenly seemed like a practical joke—she was so sure of it—that the real Rogue would never do any of this and at some point the Rogue who'd been fingered in the middle of a crowded room had pulled a switch with the Rogue Jean had spoken with. It was all an illusion. Everything was an illusion. Maybe she was still dead. Maybe she had never died. Maybe she couldn't die.

She held an empty wineglass in her hand. She wondered how much harder she would have to grip it for it to break.

Rogue took the cock by the tip, one dainty finger pressed under the collar. She lifted it up, delicately, and leaned in to kiss it sweetly about halfway down the shaft. There was something so

Rogue

in how she kissed it, unashamed and yet hesitant—as brassy and cocksure as Rogue could be, there was a core of shyness in her that could not be melted, and she let it have its moment and she let it pass. Then she gave the cock another tiny kiss and it started to grow.

Jean sat heavily down, cross-legged on the bare floor. She felt the cold tile on the naked skin of her legs. She didn't want to sit down on the cushioned carpet running the length of the wall. It would've made her feel too complicit. Even now, her hands were stiff by her sides, fingers clenching and unclenching as she watched Rogue tend to a stranger's cock. Sitting down had driven her dress up her legs. She could see her own thighs now. Watch them clenching just like her fists.

Rogue began to pet the cock, stroke it not like a porn star, but like it was a small, cute animal. Jean's mouth fell open and she thought about the steady pump of her hands and thighs together, just watching that pulsating cock be readied. The blunted black head poked out of its brown sheath and Rogue rubbed it against her cleavage.

She pulled the knot on her shirt, letting the two halves fall to her sides and smothering the growing, thickening thing in-between her breasts like she wanted to kill it before it could grow any further. Jean felt the lips of her pussy dig into the crotch of her panties. She crossed her legs tighter and the band bit into her, into her clit.

"Ah have no idea who this is," Rogue said, the erection sticking out of her cleavage to let them see the slack skin pulling taut, thick blood vessels appear along the powerful flesh. "It could be anyone. Anyone at all. But I'm gonna suck him off, just like I'll suck the next man and the man after that. I'll blow 'em all and ah'll swallow all their cum. I do it for hours, some nights. I don't stop until I feel it sloshing around in mah belly when I walk. All of that is mine, sugah. When I leave here, it's still

mine

. It's still

me

that got all those horny devils off."

Jean subtly rocked back and forth, pretending to listen to Rogue, but her words could no longer penetrate the fog of lust that had formed in Jean's mind. It was more like mood music. No, all Jean could concentrate on was how her clit rubbed against her panties as she moved, and how that excitement spread through her body, colonizing the rest of her.

Making her prudish face into a flushed, panting thing. Making her demure breasts into heaving creatures with sweaty contours and tightly hardened nipples. She had to clench her fingers to keep from shaking her way into a seizure, and she squeezed so tight that the wineglass popped right out of her hand.

She didn't even notice it breaking.

The look on Rogue's face was one of silent ecstasy—still unbelieving that she was here, doing this, being this woman. Both her and Jean marveled at her fingers wrapped around the fleshy shaft of the man's prick. Rogue's fingers almost white from all the time they'd spent inside gloves, making them seem even smaller against the thickness. She squeezed it and her fingers barely sunk into the blood-gorged flesh; was Rogue even trying or was he that hard?

It didn't matter. He was heavy in Rogue's hands, and either there was heat coming off of him or Jean was just sweating on her own. The thought struck her a storm striking a lightning rod.

I wish that was me.

Then again, in rapid succession—so many strikes that lightning and thunder were indistinguishable.

Me, me, me, me...

The cock was jerking now, twitching in Rogue's hands. Rogue gripped it behind the collar and pulled the foreskin back with gentle care. The head came into full view, popping from the already-thick shaft like the plume of a mushroom. The thing seemed to be straining its way through the glory hole, a monster, a prehistoric creature unleashed on modern times. Jean was almost afraid of it. Then she watched Rogue lean forward.

Closer.

Closer.

She didn't touch it, but God, she was close. Her tongue flicked out of her mouth and stirred the swollen head. It almost jumped out of her hands. Jean had never seen anything like it. Her mouth was dry again. She wanted to go back to the bottle at the make-up counter, but she couldn't move. The space between her thighs was explosive, and she hung on the precipice between letting her clit fully grind against her panties and tightened thighs, bringing herself off, or stopping this. Stopping this before she learned even more of what she enjoyed and what she was capable of.

Rogue smiled up at the man, his body looming nearly seven feet tall through the misty glass. She gave him a wink and then she charged forward with her whole face, taking the head and shaft right into her eager mouth, gagging before she stopped moving. When she was done, her lips were spread as tight over his cock as his foreskin had been. Then Rogue's cheeks hollowed. She was sucking on it.

What Jean couldn't believe was how shocked she was. She was a woman of the world. Even if she wasn't a voyeur, didn't peer into things that should be private, she knew what people did behind closed doors. She knew what those things looked like. She had done some of them, because she was drunk, because she was horny, because it was an anniversary or a birthday or she'd come back from the dead. Yet, the simple sight of a blowjob was one of the most perverse, most exciting things she'd ever seen.

Rogue knelt before her, the white half-moons of her ass gleaming under the thin denim of her hot pants, which rode up barely able to contain her voluptuousness. She was practically writhing, arching her back and thrusting her breasts out when she withdrew, then jutting her ass out when she sunk back onto the man's cock with tightly compressed lips. She was sexy, she knew it, and she delighted in it.

Jean envied her. Not just for the taboo of manning a glory hole, but for the confidence with which she did it.

Rogue's efforts were definitely not wasted on the man. Jean could almost hear his groaning through the glass; his hands were steepled on it. His hips pumped, bucking his cock inside Rogue's mouth. Jean's dry mouth fell open and she literally panted. There was nothing in her world but the slide of that granite flesh in and out of Rogue's receptive throat.

Jean was not at all aware of the light on the door's lock turning green, beeping, as a keycard on the other side was accepted. Nor of the door opening and closing. She took no notice of Emma Frost, even as the woman walked toward her with an almost masturbatory stride, pleasuring herself with Jean's enrapturement and lust. She could've shot Jean in the head without the woman ever noticing, and years ago the thought might have been tempting. But it was nothing compared to the temptation Emma felt now.

She was living out the conscious experiences of the men on the other side of the glass—all of them. Not the ones occupying the mouths of Misty Knight, Jessica Drew, Megan Fox, no. The ones waiting their turns and the one with his cock comfortably lodged in Anna-Marie's throat. It was intoxicating, feeling both the satisfaction and the envy, seeing it from so many angles including that of Rogue's superlative fellatio.

With her own two eyes, she'd seen cocks sucked, sucked them herself, even hitched a ride in a man's head while he was blown by her sweet sister Adrienne. But nothing compared to the secondhand taste of Jean's experiences. All she dared was to bask in the surface thoughts, the psychic impressions Jean didn't even know she was broadcasting, but it was more than enough for Emma. She could feel Jean actually comparing her own technique with Scott to what Rogue was doing.

Delicious.