SUBMISSION AGENDA:

THEIR STORIES

I've had more than a few requests for follow-ups or sequels to the saga of Submission Agenda. As a treat, I decided to focus on a few short vignettes, re-tellings of the original story from the point of view of the prey. These will jump all over the story and work as stand-alone stories, offering a fresh take on the voluntary enslavement of the world's greatest heroines. In addition to seeing the Agenda from different angles, there will be a few spaces filled in as well.

I'm currently working on a separate sequel to Submission Agenda set in the DC Universe. If anyone has any ideas, please send them my way.

 All feedback is much appreciated: benchleyfan01@yahoo.com.

EMMA'S STORY

Emma Frost stepped out of the limousine and squinted in the bright sunlight, regarding the house before her. She had to admit, she was impressed by the show of wealth the owner had exhibited by constructing a mansion of this size in the suburbs south of Chicago. Even more amazing was that the owner, the boy she had been sent to consult with, was only sixteen years old, the heir to a fortune of the size that it allowed him to throw around money in such conspicuous ways. 

As she strolled up the front walkway, she felt her cell phone buzzing in her pocket and picked it up. The man on the other end was gruff.

"You need to hurry up," he said.

"And hello to you to, Logan," she smiled.

"I'm serious, darlin'. I know you don't like being sent on these errands, but I don't need to tell you how important recruitment is these days. Where are you now?"

"Chicago."

"How did the kids in Tennessee and Nebraska react to your proposal?"

"Oh, you know, Logan," she said, heading up the front steps. "They're pubescent boys. They stared at my chest for half an hour, and then begged their parents to send them to the Academy. That's how it'll go here in Chicago, and that's how it'll go on the next three trips I have scheduled for tonight and tomorrow."

"What can I say? You make good bait," Logan chuckled. "Well, okay. Hurry up and get back to New York when you can. We might have a situation here. No one's heard from Scott or Jeannie in a day or two."

"Oh, those two are just probably off doing something romantic and dreadful," she said with a wicked smile, lifting the knocker on the enormous oak door before her and clicking it three times. 

"Yeah. Okay. Bye," Logan said, and the conversation ended. Emma slipped the phone into her pocket and checked her appearance one final time as she heard someone approaching the door. She looked stunning, if she did say so herself. It was no doubt why she always had the highest recruitment numbers for these little mutant boys. 

Emma Frost was tall, beautifully proportioned, with a long wave of gorgeous blonde hair shimmering in the brilliant sunlight. Her sheer white business suit showed off her body spectacularly, from the short skirt showcasing her legs up to the blouse opened just enough to hint at her fleshy cleavage. She had no problem showing off her body this way when it came to recruitment. A majority of prospects were indeed young males, and the manipulation of the male mind was a talent she considered to be her second mutant gift.

The door opened and instead of a butler or a servant, she found herself face to face with the young man she'd been sent to see. The files she'd been given didn't say exactly what his burgeoning powers were, but he didn't look like anything special. True, he was dressed well, in a blue polo shirt, khakis and loafers, like any young and rich American should dress, but he was not handsome, not too tall, not too well-built... He looked at her dead-on, though, with no sign of surprise or shock many boys his age did when confronted with a beautiful woman like herself, and no lack of confidence. He held eye contact for a moment then his eyes darted away and he held out his hand before looking up again. She took it and stepped inside. 

"My name's Emma Frost," she began, but all of a sudden there was a quietness in her head, as if a light had gone out. As a psychic, Emma was used to the background noise of ambient thoughts her talents allowed her to hear, but now that background noise was gone. Very quickly she realized - somehow this boy was responsible. She did her best not to let him notice her sudden slip in composure. "and I'm from the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters."

He nodded and welcomed her in, then they walked together down a long hallway past a staircase and a kitchen to a well-lit office in the back of his house. She tested out her mind-reading abilities but there was no doubt now - they were gone for the time being. She was instantly wary of this boy.

 "I would imagine you're quite aware of this school?" she asked when they reached his office.

"Very aware Miss Frost," he replied pleasantly, taking a seat behind a massive mahogany desk and motioning for her to sit in one of the room's two red leather high-backed chairs.  "My files on your Massachusetts academy - and Xavier's old school in New York - are somewhat exhaustive. And of course I've been noticing that Frost Enterprises has been buying up the stock of my father's company at quite a frightening rate. As of now you're... let me check here... a 26.4% shareholder."

Emma did her best to hide her smirk at hearing this. That's right, you little punk, she thought. Your days of wielding power are coming to a close. She looked around the ornately decorated room, from the bookcases to the large globe to a bust of Caesar on the kid's desk. 

"And I notice," she replied, "that you're used to dealing with other mutants. Psionic dampening field? Something like that?"

"Something like that," he smiled back. "Just giving you the respect you deserve, Ms. Frost."

But even as he said those words she saw his eyes wandering, from her eyes over her face, down to her breasts, then to her long, white stocking-clad legs folded in front of her. She grimaced at this. He was even less subtle than the other boys, even more egotistical and devious. Still... maybe it was the light here in his office, but she found him slightly more attractive the more she looked at him. That is, for a boy of his age.

"It doesn't feel much like respect," she said, a tinge of disgust in her voice as he regarded her body. "I don't need to be a mind reader to see what you're thinking about. Forget about it boy, you're out of your league."

"Why are you here, Ms. Frost? Professional courtesy before you buy us out? Or is it something to do with your school?"

"Both," she said, taking the opportunity to push the conversation away from awkward territory. "You'll just about be a billionaire by the time the buy-out is complete, you’ll have a generous option on Frost Enterprises shares. But more than that, I can offer you a future with those of your own kind. At the academy, we can teach you to reach the zenith of your mutant capabilities. We can involve you in all aspects of our operation, from the corporate to the covert. I should imagine you’re fully aware of what I’m talking about.”

"Yes, the X-Men," he replied in such a nonchalant tone that it surprised her. “Not that you guys are having the best of times at the moment. Charles Xavier missing after the Onslaught farrago. X-Men team members lost in the latest battle with Mr Sinister. I can see why you’re recruiting. Yes Ms Frost, I’m fully aware of what you’re talking about. But with all due respect, you are not. Your Cerebro machine zeroes in on me as a mutant, but I’m guessing that your technology has no idea how to categorise or even identify my abilities. Am I right?”

Emma kept her composure despite her growing distaste for this irritating young man. She was close to getting up and leaving right then, but something kept her seated. She was... almost amazed by his bravado, his obvious arrogance. She found herself guessing what his powers were. Then, for just a brief instant, she pictured what he would look like without his clothes on. This startled her - she barely ever fantasized about men. She had always seen them as things to be exploited, not objects of lust. 

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then Ms. Frost," he smirked, getting up from behind his desk and walking towards her. "Perhaps a small demonstration might be in order before you go and leave me in peace, withdrawing your poisoned claws from my company."

"Look," she started, rising from her chair to calm his sudden hostility. Instead, she found his hand on her shoulder, softly yet firmly returning her to the chair. She allowed herself to be pushed back down, surprised at her own willingness to submit to this showing of willpower from her target.

"Humor me for a while, Emma," he said, kneeling next to the armchair. "Just close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply. Relax. I'm not your enemy."

She found herself doing as he said. She didn't know why, and she didn't ask why. She only thought about how aroused she was feeling all of a sudden. She thought of him naked again, smiling at the image, guilt over her feelings of lust towards such a young man falling away as he began speaking quietly into her ear.

"You're a beautiful woman Emma Frost, a body craved and desired by both men and women. You know that they look at you, want you, desire you. What would they give to enjoy you? How many men have masturbated with you in their minds? Do you enjoy that savage urge every man has, to impale you, to fuck you? How often have you peered into their minds and gotten off on those sensations? I know you enjoy your power Emma. I enjoy it too."

Emma smiled at this, her breathing becoming heavier. She was surrendering to arousal now, his voice setting a fire inside her. She felt her breasts tingle, her nipples coming to arousal, her pussy becoming warm. She kept her eyes closed, riding this wave of unexpected arousal. A voice in the back of her head told her she shouldn't be so careless, that this was his mutant power, the power to manipulate her just as she had manipulated so many men in the past, and she ignored it.

"Let me tell you what you are, Emma. You're a tease, an exhibitionist."

"Nnnn," she protested meekly, more of a reflex than anything.

"Quiet, whore," was his instant rebuttal. "You put yourself on display in order to get what you want. Your looks are a promise to every man that has something you want. Such power you have Emma, but it's nothing to me except an obstacle to break down. I can strip all the control away from you, make you needy, make you want nothing more than to give your slut body away."

His words confirmed her minimal fears about his mutant powers, and she was dimly aware that she was under his thrall even now. But she decided the feelings of pleasure flooding through her were worth surrendering to him for the moment. The promise of sex compelled her to sit and listen to him. 

She felt a tickling on her chest, realized it was his fingers fiddling with the buttons on her blouse. Then she could feel his hand, cold to the touch, slipping into the silky warmth, rubbing over her taut stomach, then up, rubbing against the lace of her brassiere before suddenly palming her whole breast roughly. She gasped but did not move. She heard him chuckle as he placed his other hand on her thigh. His voice came to her through a haze, her only true awareness being at the points of contact she shared with him.

"I can turn all of your most powerful attributes against you, Emma. Your looks, your mutant powers, your confidence, your downright arrogance. I can reshape you." Even as one hand continued massaging her lingerie-encased breast, the other slid down her leg, moving towards her inner thigh. Emma's pussy was radiating heat - she yearned for contact and without a word parted her legs to allow him easier access. She found herself fantasizing again about his body, imagining his cock, wishing it was heading for the juncture of her thighs even now.

"I can make you want it like you've never wanted it before," he whispered as his hand neared her panties. Emma felt high, felt herself drifting away from lucid thought. But then, all at once, she began to come out of the daze. Even as part of her brain hoped he would continue his molestation of her body, her sanity seemed to snap back and the scene became slightly appalling to her. She opened her eyes and looked down at this boy who was touching her so inappropriately, and as she felt his hand graze the lace of her panties, she flinched and decided enough was enough.

"NO!" she screamed, standing up and pulling away from the boy in terror. He remained kneeling on the floor, looking up at her with a face filled with supreme confidence. She backed away then turned and hurried to the door of his office, out into the hall and towards the front door. She rushed outside, not bothering to close the door, and jumped into her limo.

"Everything alright, Ms. Frost?" said her chauffeur, noting her disheveled appearance and partially unbuttoned blouse. 

"Just drive, Geoffrey," she said between gasps. "Get me to the airport. We're leaving."

The drive to O'Hare allowed her time to contemplate what had just happened and forced her to confront her own mental state. She hugged herself and shivered as she replayed the events. Why had she allowed him to do that? It was not as if she was starved for sex. And he was only a boy! No man touched her without her approval. No man had that right. Yet she had let him touch her, molest her, degrade her, insult her very integrity as a woman... And what disturbed her most about it was that it had felt right. She held back tears as she questioned her very sanity. 

She considered calling Logan back in New York to let him know what had just happened, but decided she would come across as too frantic. Sure, she could get the X-Men to find out what the deal was with this kid, but she would be humiliated if she ever admitted to anyone what he had managed to do to her. She felt her psychic powers returning to her the further away from the house she got, and she decided to leave that unpleasant event in the past.

The limousine pulled onto the tarmac for private jets and Emma stepped out into the blazing summer afternoon, walking with renewed confidence to the plane she would take to the next recruitment opportunity in Seattle. She prayed it would go better than this one had as she stepped inside her jet.

But this was not her jet. This was a different plane from the one she had taken here. Instead of a few rows of plush seats there was a bed, and beside it a table with a bottle of cooling champagne and one glass. The pilot was in the cockpit checking coordinates, and she inquired as to the change.

"This isn't my jet, Captain," she said sternly, adopting some arrogance in order to reclaim the self-confidence she had lost.

"I'm sorry Ms. Frost, but there was apparently a problem reported with that plane's engine. This one was sent for you by your organization. No worries - we'll get you to your destination in no time."

Emma sneered at this as the pilot turned away and continued working. Again she considered calling Logan, to ask if the School had sent this for her so quickly, and again she decided against it. Instead she strode over to the champagne and poured herself a glass. If the trip was going to continue in this direction, she might as well get smashed for the remainder of the flight.

She noticed an odd, flat taste to the champagne when she took her first liberal sip, almost a bitter flavor, but ignored it and took another drink before reaching out to pour another glass. But she was amazed when she saw her own arm shaking in front of her, the room spinning around and dimming. She was suddenly so tired, her eyelids so heavy... She turned around to say something to the pilot, but the sudden movement sent her off balance. She heard her champagne glass fall and break, and the last thing she saw before blacking out was the carpeted floor of the jet coming up to smack her in the face.

****

Emma woke up slowly, with a headache and what felt like a bruise on her forehead. She couldn't remember where she was or how she had gotten here. The first thing she was aware of was that she was lying on a very soft bed, and her head began to connect the dots - was this the bed from the jet? The jet that had been sent? She remembered now, remembered talking to the pilot, drinking champagne... She heard engines roaring dully outside, but if this was the plane, why was it so dark? She fluttered her eyes, and it took her a few moments to realize that she had been blindfolded.

"Wh... where am I?" she asked to no one.

Her stomach clenched at this realization and she felt a sinking feeling. She groaned aloud from the grogginess she still felt. She tried instinctively to sit up but she felt a tugging resistance on her arms and legs as she tried to move. She could feel cloth on her wrists and ankles and decided her arms and legs must have been bound to something, probably the bed frame. She broke out in a cold sweat as she squirmed against her bonds, twisting her head back and forth trying to get the blindfold off and failing. She heard the bed frame creaking, but behind that she heard another sound - a zipper opening and clothes crumpling to the floor. She caught her breath at the recognition that there was someone else in the room with her. Her brain was rushing with scenarios, wondering who her captor might be. Her psychic powers were noticeably quiet once again, so even though she suspected any number of super-villains who might have a score to settle with the X-Men, she had a sneaking suspicion as to who had abducted her.

"Who... who's there?" she asked nervously. "Who are you?"

For a moment she heard nothing except her own frantic heartbeat, and then she could feel warm breath on her cheek and a man's voice spoke directly into her ear. 

"I am your lover and Master, Emma. Your body is to be my plaything, your mind my possession. In return for your submission, I give you rapture beyond your comprehension."

Emma was still processing these words when she felt warmth and wetness on her cheek, the scratchy texture of a human tongue sliding from her chin up to her forehead, leaving behind thick traces of saliva. She barely contained a whimper of fear; she was having trouble asserting herself and could only shiver. Her suspicions of her captor's identity were growing at this development, however - the image of the boy-mutant she had met earlier flashed in her mind, and again she imagined of him naked. This, with the addition of the heat flaring in her face as she blushed, caused her hips to buck slightly. She noted that her nipples were growing to arousal and cursed her weak body.

"No," she pleaded meekly. "Please... Don't do this."

She could hear the mystery man's breathing now, imagined him standing above her, triumphant. She wasn't about to give him that satisfaction. She was about to open her mouth and say something more forceful when she caught a whiff of a strong scent. It was a familiar odor, yet foreign and new. It was not unpleasant. The next second she felt warmth on her lips as fluid was wiped onto her. She had no time to resist. Partially out of surprise at this sudden gift, and partially because the liquid was causing her lips to burn slightly, Emma immediately licked the stuff away.

Her first thought upon tasting it was that it had to be some kind of drug; such was the brief euphoric sensation she gained before swallowing. She moaned involuntarily and tried to lick up what more she could from her lips. But she recognized the smell and the taste now of this mystery liquid, and understood with horrifying clarity what had just happened. It was pre-cum, the lubricating fluid a man secretes in preparation for a sex act. This man, whoever he was, had just rubbed his... his penis on her mouth, and left some of himself behind, and she had swallowed. And she had liked it. Dear God, she had liked it.

The euphoria was passing now, though, and pure fear returned to her body. She felt so cold and alone. The man wasn't saying anything now, wasn't touching her... Then she felt his hands on her, gripping the collar of her blouse and moving downward, slowly but surely unbuttoning it against her will. She squirmed, tried to kick her legs, but she was helpless against him. She felt the cool air on her bare chest, then her bare abdomen as he finished his work. 

"Please," she whimpered. "Please, I--"

She felt his fingers slide up her stomach to her lacy push-up bra, where they crept under the edges and began to pull down. 

"No!" Emma cried as she felt her flesh being exposed, her puffy nipples popping out of their imprisonment. She lay there twisting ineffectively, shouting with rage. "No! You mother fucker! Do you know who I am, you son of a bitch?"

Her molester's only response, apparently, was to climb on top of her. She felt his body weight and warmth pressing down on her as he climbed on to the bed and straddled her stomach. She felt drops of his pre-cum landing on her upper midriff already, giving that familiar burning sensation where they met with her skin. 

Then his hands were on her breasts, massaging them, thumbs resting on the nipples as he squeezed her. She screamed in horror as she finally felt his penis slide into the valley cleavage he created by mashing her mammaries together. She heard him let out a sigh as he began to thrust against her flesh. Tit-fucking her. With every push she screamed in defiance against him.

"Don't do this," she pleaded. "The X-Men will make you pay for this... I will make you pay for this!"

It was true. Unless he killed her at the end of this encounter, and she knew that was a distinct possibility, she would have to kill him. No man used her in this way. It was awful. She could feel every touch of his skin on hers, feel his erection between her tits, the veins down its length pulsing. She fought back nausea, trying to remain strong as her body was used, against her will, by a total stranger. 

"Nuhh," she groaned. "Nnrraa!!! God damn you! NO!! Help! Help me! Somebody!!"

She thought of the pilot of the plane, a man she had never met. Was he to blame for this? She was almost certain he was - he had set up the plane, the champagne, the bed... Or could it be that he was merely complicit with the rapist sitting on her now?

She lost that train of thought as the feelings of intense abuse in her bosom begged her to pay them heed. This rapist knew how to do his job, that was for sure. Despite everything that was happening, Emma could not deny the pleasure this tit-fucking was engendering in her chest. She could feel warm liquid spilling over her breast, and though she wasn't sure she expected it was semen. But there was so much... It lubricated her breasts, allowing for more savage thrusts, her skin making squeaking sounds as her moist tits rubbed together. 

Emma's resistance had been reduced to merely a stream of grunts and curse words as she continued to be used.

"Hhn... hrrn... nuh nuh... Son of a bitch... urnh... Get you," she muttered as the feelings of pleasure skyrocketed. She could not wholly deny it now - this rape was beginning to make her wet. She was being aroused by this. Tears welled in her eyes as she reflected on her own weakness in the face of this brutality.

"Aah," she said softly. "No. No, you fuck... you fucking... fuck, oh fuck..."

She heard the man groaning in pleasure above her as he continued thrusting into her cleavage. She tried to move with him, assisting his pleasure, but still mumbled threats against him as she was used. She felt his semen dribbling over her chest, over her breast bone, to the sides and down into her armpits... And as this ridiculous amount of semen continued spilling forth onto her body, her rapture only increased.

"Fuck, fuck, ooohhh Gaawwwdd," she moaned. "Guhhh... you mother fuck... Oh Christ... Oh God... Fuck... Oh, that's..."

She felt flecks of excess cum landing on her chin and cheeks as this man viciously humped her breasts. They were sticky now, coated with his fluids, radiating heat and pleasure she never thought possible. Her nipples stood at full attention, her pussy flowing with her own juices, and her mind was foggy with undeniable lust.

"Haaahhh," she breathed. "Ah, that's... That's good.... hunh... unh... that's it... Oh fuck oh that's it... uh God... that's it so good... gah yeah... yeah... yeah..."

Emma couldn't believe the words she was speaking now, but they were true. She was encouraging her own rapist onward, abandoning her reservations. The pleasure he was giving her was simply too great - her mind buckled under the pressure, surrendering to the needs of the body. She didn't care that this was wrong, immoral, debasing - she wanted to orgasm. She wanted to cum and she wanted more of his cum.

"Shit," she gasped, breathless now, panting as he continued his manipulation of her semen-soaked titties. He squeezed them roughly, pinched her nipples and she yelped then let out a nervous, frantic laugh. She was beyond help now, beyond caring. 

"Yes!" she cried. "Do it! Do it! Fuck my tits! Yeah! Fuck yeah!! Do it! Fuck my titties oh baby fuck me God fuck YES!!!"

The orgasm hit her before she had time to prepare for it, and as a result it shook her to her very core. Her entire body quivered, all disbelief gone now in the face of such overwhelming pleasure. Her back arched and she screamed like she'd never screamed before, even when she'd been calling for help. Warmth flooded her loins and her head twitched back and forth as she rode the wave of climax for a long several seconds. She didn't know it, but a large part of her identity died forever as that climax swept through her body. 

Her mouth was wide open and she thrilled to the surprise of a load of that semen she had craved dropping onto her tongue, followed by more gobs of cream on her lips, her cheeks. It tasted so sweet and yet so salty, numbing her mouth like anaesthetic. How could one man produce so much cum? The answer came to her quickly from somewhere in the front of her mind. This was no mere man. This was a God. Her God. Her Master. 

Her Master rubbed his dick on her cheeks, smearing more of his heavenly cum into her flesh, and she turned her head to take his shaft in her mouth at last. It seemed she had been waiting for this moment her whole life, and it didn't disappoint; the taste of his cum drunk directly from the source was so good it threatened to drive her crazy. She moaned out loud, exploring this cock with her mouth, enjoying the hardness of the shaft, the softness of the skin enveloping it, suckling on it like a baby on her mother's teat, shaking from pleasure at every drop of excess sperm she was able to coax from the tip. 

A moment later he withdrew from her mouth and untied her, saving her blindfold for last. She squinted at the sudden abundance of light in her eyes, but when she could see clearly, she sat up and looked upon her rapist. It was, indeed, the boy she had been sent to Chicago to recruit. How the tables had turned. He stood above her, completely naked, his pole still erect and dribbling cum. She looked up at him in awe; her mind was having trouble comprehending this turn of events. 

"My God... it is you... but you're a kid."

"Whatever I am Emma, I am also your Master," he responded quickly and assuredly.

As if to emphasize the point, she watched him reach down and scoop some jism from his drooling cock, that wonderful cock, and present his fingers to her mouth. The scent of it was everywhere. She hungered for it. She couldn't imagine a life now where she didn't hunger for it, this nectar of the gods. Still, a part of her told her to fight it, cried through tears that she was abandoning everything good about herself by submitting to this madman. The conflict raged inside her as she battled her demons and lost. The conflict lasted all of a whole second. She dipped her head and sucked greedily. When she was finished, she pulled away and began wiping the cum off her own body to eat. She was covered in it, after all, nearly completely from the chest up. 

"Why... why me, Master?" she asked as she did this. He smiled.

“Why? It’s very simple, Emma. I desire a challenge. Since age fourteen I have fucked whomever I want and desire. I started in my hometown by fucking the prom queen. After that, I soon realised that the sky was the limit. I made supermodels beg for my cum. But it was too easy; there was no danger. So I’ve decided to bring down you super-powered types… if I can best you, there will be nobody to oppose me.”

As he said these words, Emma pictured her friends in the X-Men bowing before him, sucking him, fucking him. It made her... happy.

“But you could have taken any one…” He smiled again.

“I wanted a telepath… secretly, I’ve always wanted a telepath and you were the most convenient choice. You literally walked in through my door and made yourself my prey. You would not believe the scale of my plans, slave. First you, then the other X-Men… and then?"

He glanced down at his genitals and she followed his gaze, noting the swollen size of his scrotum. It had swelled to superhuman proportions, and she could only imagine the sperm inside it eager to burst free onto her. Into her.

"Blow me," he said.

Inwardly, Emma balked at this sudden crude comment. That kind of treatment of women was exactly what Emma had never put up with for her entire life. She was an independent woman, strong, talented... And yet she found herself kneeling before this man she had never met before today, her eyes locked on his rigid shaft. She took it in her hand and it made her happy, the feel of his veins pulsing up and down the length. She kissed the glans sloppily, letting her saliva spill out over his erection, rubbing her tongue over the slit that had gifted her with that heavenly cum. 

Above her, her new boy-master sighed and pushed into her mouth with his penis, holding the back of her head to keep her locked on, but there was no where else she would rather be. She thrilled at the sound of his pleasure, at the acknowledgment that she was doing a good job. She had always been skilled with her mouth - men fell before her based on her oral talents alone. Perhaps this boy was no different, she thought as she bathed his penis with her spit and licked everywhere she could. 

He groaned in contentment again and she chuckled. He was just like every other man, she thought. Reduced to a simpering child as soon as Auntie Emma got her hands, and yes, her mouth, on him. 

Then all of a sudden her mood changed. She felt his hands holding her head tighter, clinging tightly to her hair. And then she was being pushed backwards by his hips. He moved her back until her head was pinned against the bed, one of his hands under her jaw to keep her from opening her mouth as he stepped up his face-fucking. His thrusts were swift, brutal, his penis hitting the back of her throat repeatedly before easing itself slowly back and down. She panicked, gagging at the intrusion. She was helpless, she realized. He was using her body as he saw fit, and there was nothing she could do about it. At last, the true meaning of the phrase "He owns me" struck her. No man had ever treated her this way, used her with reckless disregard for her own personal emotions and desires. She was just a mouth to be fucked. That was her identity now. And yet it felt right, felt good...

She continued gagging, her entire body now convulsing as her breathing became labored. Still he pushed ever further into her, until he quickly withdrew into her mouth. The gasp of relief she released was stopped as she felt the sudden warmth of cum in her mouth, felt the hot jets hitting the roof of her mouth and teeth. She let him continue, and soon realized he had no intention of stopping. The jism kept coming, filling her mouth before she knew it. She looked up at him frantically as she tried to swallow it all, but it seemed there was no limit to the amount of semen he could produce. She gagged again, feeling the backlog of cream filling her, finding an exit out of her nostrils. 

Only then did he pull out of her, looking down with satisfaction as she tried desperately to swallow the last of his fluids, seeking out more with her tongue. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, which she quickly wiped away along with the excess sperm running down her face. It tasted so good. It completed her.

As he looked down at her, she could only imagine what he was thinking. How the mighty had fallen. How quickly she had been turned. How easy it had been for him to transform her from a powerful woman to a wanton whore. She supposed it was true, but somehow it didn't bother her. She looked down at her well-used body, noticed she still wore her skirt and panties. Her cunt burned for him, for his seed.

"Do you want the rest of it, Master?" she asked, trying to remain cool. "If you think my head's good, you won't believe how exceptional fucking me is."

He let her get away with this boast, and she regained a little of her self-confidence.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered. "Have a shower. Lose the bra, but put everything else back on."

She stood and stumbled away from him, doing her best to look sexy. Her mind was racing with thoughts of how this boy had just changed her life forever. She thought of her colleagues in the X-Men and how his plan might include them. Suddenly she stopped and turned.

"Just one thing... I take it your powers don't work on men. Are you just going to fuck us all with no interruptions?"

"Just do as I say," he growled, and she scurried into the bathroom to avoid his wrath.