Emma's Punishment (Patreon)

It was altogether intolerable, Emma thought, struggling through the garden in back of the Hellfire Club, searching the darkness in vain for the wrought-iron fence that would let her out into the woods and from there to safety.

The Hellfire Club had, for a brief moment, grown more powerful than ever… and now it was destroyed. Broken by the bitch goddess that was supposed to be their crowning victory. Jean Grey. The Phoenix. Every contingency planned for, every preparation made… had all been a waste of time.

“You made a mistake, Frost.” Jean’s voice reverberated all around her, seeming to come from the very air. “You slew the man I loved before my eyes. Instead of severing my last connection with the X-Men, that acted like a bucket of ice water in my face.”

Emma’s toes dug into the ground. A clump of trees rose up in front of her, almost maliciously trying to snag her in the night. She tore around them, searching desperately for the gate that would at least offer some hope of escape.

“Instead of enslaving me forever, you shocked me awake. You set me free. Too late,” Jean continued.

“No!” Emma spat under her breath. “That was accounted for!”

The moon flickered through the clouds, revealing a small stream ahead. Emma leapt over it. The stream… that was just before the gate, wasn’t it? She didn’t know, she hated coming out here in this prosaic garden, such a waste of time compared to the pleasures offered within Hellfire…

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done—what forces you’ve set in motion!?” Jean demanded.

Something made Emma turn. The stream behind her—it was running backwards.

Before it, Jean Grey advanced, her black corset and cape now seeming like a cruel jest on Emma’s own sexualized attire. Like how the people of the Colonial era had believed that seeing a doppelganger of themselves would spell their doom.

Emma girded herself. This was no time to halter her ambition. If she’d misplayed the game, she would end it on her terms, not begging for mercy as so many others of the Lord Cardinals had. In her last moments, brought low by the X-Men, she could at least be superior to them.

“And do you know what you’ve done?” Emma questioned right back. “The life you’re spurning? Jean, think—we didn’t enslave you. We sought to free you from Xavier’s prosaic morality. You could know a life of unlimited pleasure, of the most libertine debauchery. You’ve only sampled a small morsel of a vast education. The Club was not without flaws, I admit, but you separated the wheat from the chaff. Now, together, we can rebuild Hellfire with true excellence. You’ll have power far beyond the magic tricks you can do now—and know passions that make what you shared with that dead X-Man seem like—”

“You dare!?” Jean interrupted her. “You actually think your tawdry performances compare at all to what Scott and I shared? You, who already know elegance and luxury the likes of which the common man cannot even dream of?”

Emma shrugged. “Ambition is the grandest aphrodisiac. There’s always something better. And the Hellfire Club settles for nothing less than the best, in every aspect of our lives.”

“You cheap slattern,” Jean roared. “Through me, you sought only new, base fulfillment. Very well, then. I will help you to find pleasures undreamt of!”

“No,” was all Emma had time to mutter, before Jean’s mind linked with her own. And suddenly it was like Emma was trying to drink an ocean.

She made Scott stretch out on his back, crouching over him even before he’d settled into position, sucking a member coated with her own excessive juices. She kept sucking until the blood charged back into his manhood, stiffening him to a new, profound length. Jean pumped her head up and down, licking and teasing each inch she found between her legs. Then, as he attained his ultimate engorgement, she went all the way down on him, taking the immense length of it past the root of her tongue and into her throat…

Coming back to herself, Emma ran in sheer animal panic. Despite her earlier confidence, this was a force beyond her power, able to tear through all her well-honed psychic skill like a knife through butter.

What Jean had made her experience had deeply aroused her, but with her unfettered access to Emma’s mind, there was no telling what could come next… what profound torture would attack her very soul.

“Am I boring you?” Jean called after her. “Surely, my dull little love life can’t compare to all the passion you’ve known, my dear White Queen!”

Jean slid behind the wheel, but the moment she did, Scott was out of the front seat, taking her and kissing her, using his tongue to fill her senses with himself. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the long wait as they indulged in conversation instead of physicality, but Jean didn’t deny him. Any urge to forestall him was like a flooded engine, unable to even start, much less outpace her racing desire.

She hadn’t turned on the dashboard lights yet, so she couldn’t see Scott in the black. She felt him, felt that he was a man, with an instinctive masculinity that reached into her and touched everything that was feminine. Jean was nothing but a question and she wanted nothing but an answer.

The passion of the kiss increased and when he finally moved to cup her breasts, she encouraged him with full-throated moans. Even that wasn’t enough; his hands went under her skirt, attacking her damp panties, and Jean teeped right into his skull: Yes, yes, fuck me right here, right now.

Emma came back to herself. Where was she? There was a shallow, rushing brook in front of her. Was that inside the garden or was it outside the grounds, in the forest? She couldn’t recall. Half of her was still back in the car, with Scott, and the other half was trying to claw her way back into that gifted memory, to see more of what happened, to feel what Jean had tantalized her with.

“You’re not getting turned on, are you?” Jean laughed. “Just from a few stolen kisses… some friendly squeezing! That must be old-hat to a woman like you!”

It was amazing how often Ororo could swan around naked and yet when she approached Scott and Jean in the greenhouse, wearing nothing more than her long white hair, it was obvious she wanted to join in on their romantic evening. Join in and enhance it as much as she could.

Soon her tongue was swimming in the juices of Jean’s arousal, lapping it up as fast as Scott rammed it out of her cunt. Jean’s hips surged back and forth between them like she was trying to impale herself on both at once. Every time her ass blurred backwards, Scott buried himself in her sex. And when she jerked forward, she pushed her cunt into Ororo’s face, letting the weather witch’s tongue lick deep inside her.

Ororo grasped Scott’s balls, squeezing them with one hand while the other sank into Jean’s supple thigh. Her tongue deep in Jean’s delicious pussy and both their hands in her luscious hair, holding her steady as they fucked each other and her. Scott was snapping his hips back and forth as fast as he could, knowing both Ororo’s face and Jean’s cunt could take it—both women were as out of their mind with pleasure as he was with lust.

Jean was so lost between them, pulled between one mind-shattering joy and another, that all she could do was tighten down on Scott’s prick. It was all she needed to do too.

Scott pounded her madly and Ororo delighted in her clit like she could feel the bliss she was giving Jean. The redhead no longer bothered to bite her lip against screaming. She would let the whole mansion know how good it was to be both Ororo and Scott’s lover at the same time.

Emma forced herself to remember her own thoughts and not Jean’s enthralling memories. The river. Could she make it to the other side without slipping and getting swept away? Still panting with the exhilaration of what Scott and Ororo had done to her… to Jean… she gritted her teeth and let fear drive her.

And yet, giving herself over to her terror, she glanced over her shoulder like a trapped animal and saw the dark silhouette of Jean—the only thing that wasn’t black was the hair like fire, now totally escaping the severe bun the Hellfire Club’d had it pinned in.

Emma’s heart pounded like a drum. She stepped into the river and felt the cold swirl of the water eclipsing her feet. Under the surface, it felt like a raging torrent, not at all the mild drift it appeared on the surface.

She forced herself onward, needing to get across before Jean hit her with another memory.

And yet, when she felt herself being pulled into Jean’s body, Jean’s thoughts, Jean’s sensations, she went willingly.

“Stick your cock in my ass! Deeper! Give me all of it! Christ, it’s like I’m on fire! I forgot how big you were—my pussy’s used to it, but my ass—oh shit, how could I have ever thought I’d be able to take you in my ass?”

Scott used one hand to rub her pussy, his other hand clawing at her breasts. Jean didn’t know how much more she could take. It felt like she’d been on the brink of climax for hours; every thrust painfully robbing her of completion, yet also pushing her back to the precipice.

And then Scott erupted, gushing into her ass, finishing its destruction. She felt his hot love exploding inside her, filling her bowels.

“I’m coming!” Scott grunted, such beautiful simplicity that Jean laughed hysterically—so efficient, so focused on results, so perfectly blunt. He spoke, in his deep voice, the same way he rammed himself into her ass: deep as possible.

Then, charmingly human, he cursed and his callused fingers raked her clit and Jean burst, orgasmic rapture transforming her colon into an erogenous zone. Electrocuting her with depraved lusciousness, making her get off again and again on all the hot, heavy seed that he’d crammed inside her, that would be hours draining out of her splayed asshole.

“Fuck me, Scott,” Emma moaned as she drifted along, taken by the current, her soaked wet clothes censoring her perfect body as much as a spider-web would. “Fuck my ass and come in it… I can be your cum dumpster too…”

It was all she could think of, all she would think of for a very long time.