Author’s note. This is a work of fan fiction using characters created by Marvel Comics who I assume still hold the copyright to them. It is based on the X-Men comics of the 1980s although the knowledgeable among readers will recognise that I have made one change to a character’s powers and have bent time so that certain characters can appear together. It does not in any way draw on the films of the 21st century or the depictions of these same characters by the likes of Halle Berry. Nor does it refer to the new Ultimate X-Men ongoing series.
The series includes a large number of violent, non-consensual sexual acts. In the real world such acts are despicable crimes, even when carried out against super villains. This is a work of fiction and should be treated as such.
Storm
Storm looked up from her prone position at her furry team mate and recoiled at the look of pure malevolence on his face. She pulled herself backwards on her elbows away from him as he laughed and bared his fangs in a demonic grin.
"Oh don’t go," he mocked, "think of the fun we could have together." As he spoke he pounced on Ororo who only just managed to summon a gust of wind to lift her from the floor and into the air, avoiding his leap by inches. "Allez Oop!" he laughed as he rolled back to his feet and began scaling the wall in pursuit of the African mutant. Storm allowed the wind to carry her backwards into empty space, well away from the pursuing Nightcrawler before trying to reason with him.
"What are you doing Kurt? We’re under attack! You’re not yourself!" Her voice sounded shrill and defensive, even to her, as she watched her friend move along the ceiling almost as fast as he could run on the floor.
"Well ‘Roro, you’re under attack for sure, and if I’m not myself, who am I? There the question is, eh?" He gave the pretence of considering this at length before launching himself without warning into space towards Storm. "Geronimoooooooo!" Startled, Storm flung herself backwards away from his attack and lashed out with a blast of icy wind at him which threw him off course and turned his leap into an uncontrolled fall.
"Goddess! What have I done?" breathed Storm as she watched Nightcrawler plunge downwards the sixty feet to the floor of the danger room. In a controlled fall with all his gymnastic skills he might, just, survive. Spinning wildly and disoriented as he was the drop would kill him instantly. Thought and action were one as she sped downwards after her erstwhile assailant and tried to conjure an up-draught to slow his descent. Almost she missed the catch, failing to anticipate a sudden twist by Kurt’s body, but at the last possible moment she grabbed his ankle feeling a wrench that almost pulled her arms from their sockets. "Go limp Kurt, I’ve got you!" she called out as she tried to recover enough lift to force them away from imminent impact with the metal floor.
"You’ve got me?" he laughed as he twisted in her grip and grabbed her slender calfs. "You’re so stupid! How could you ‘fall’ for that one eh? You’re supposed to be our leader you ignorant cunt." Any reply Ororo could muster was cut off as Nightcrawler’s tail whipped around her neck, cutting off her air supply and focussing all her attention on how to fill her lungs. With her mind so engaged she lost her control over the winds she had summoned and the struggling duo crashed the few feet to the floor, Kurt managing to spin them around so he landed on top. Ororo could feel the hardness of his erection pressed against her chest while Kurt found himself staring at her snow coloured bush. He cruelly tugged at her fine pubic hair, ripping a small tuft out. Storm’s shriek of pain was silenced by the prehensile tail around her throat, emerging as a gagging choke. Nightcrawler probed her slit with his thick index finger discovering that she was already wet and lubricated enough for him to gain entrance.
"Why Ororo! Can it be you desire me as much as I desire yooooooooof!" Timing her movement perfectly she smashed her knee into Kurt’s face as he leaned over her exposed cunt. His tail relaxed as he fell sideways and the beautiful African rolled back to her feet gaining them a moment before Nightcrawler too was erect. Unthinking now, elemental rage rising in her, she called lightning down at the blue mutant; a deafening thunderclap and the smell of ozone filled the room masking the odour of sulphur and faint ‘bamf’ as Nightcrawler was suddenly somewhere else. For a moment it seemed as if he had been vaporised by her lethal assault and Storm gaped in horror at what she had done, she who had sworn never to kill; the wind died and in the sudden stillness she clearly heard Kurt behind her.
"Miss me? I’m back!" His arms encircled her, his hands grabbing her glorious breasts, and he pulled her against him, grinding his prick between her buttocks, his pointed tail seeking out her quim. She gasped in shock, one hand reaching for his tail trying to catch it before it penetrated her, the other clawing at his vice like grip on her tit. In neither case was she wholly successful, the triangular head of his tail stabbed into her cunt like an arrow and her reaching fingers closed around the leather like tail a few inches below it’s point while his greater strength withstood her attempts to prise his fingers from the marvellous tits they crushed. Storm writhed in his grip, unable to pull free, while he twisted his tail within her unable to penetrate her as deeply as he wished with it clenched in her slender fist.
"That’s enough Kurt!" Havoc at last seemed to become aware of the life and death struggle going on between his team mates. With no further warning he unleashed the energy at his command and a burst of cosmic rays lashed out at Nightcrawler, throwing him away from Storm as if he had been grabbed by a giant hand. Storm yelped in sudden pain as his tail was ripped from within her, she too stumbled and fell from the near miss of the energy beam and rose groggily as Havoc raced across the room towards her. She eyed him warily as he extended a hand to her but though he looked flushed and excited there was nothing of the rage she had seen in Kurt and she hesitantly took it and allowed him to help her to her feet.
"Alex, I…." Before she could even begin to decide what to say he pulled her into an embrace and pressed his lips against hers. For a moment she resisted and then allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the tidal wave of lust she had not realised she was holding back. Her mouth opened and their tongues met and twisted together, without her willing them her arms encircled Alex Summers and her hands gripped his buttocks, pulling him against her. She felt his free hand reach for her left breast which had been exposed by Nightcrawler who had ripped the top of her uniform when he fell away from her. Havoc’s thumb caressed her nipple which instantly hardened and he flicked it back and forth, gently twisting it, drawing forth mewls of pleasure from the wind rider. "Alex." She broke their passionate kiss for a moment. "Alex, what about Lorna?" Two emotions warred in her, the lust which inflamed her and a strong sense that this was deeply wrong, that there was a hostile force at work.
"Fuck her!" he replied sharply. "She’s not here." He sought out her mouth again, crushing his lips against hers and rubbing his erection against her through the fabric of his uniform. A will not entirely her own pulled him tightly against her, her damp cunt pressing back against his cock, smearing her juices against the crotch of his costume. Desperately trying to retain her self control Storm again pulled her mouth away from his. Despite her desire she was scared, she had never knowingly had a man within her. Her teenage years had been filled with the fear of rape until her blossoming mutant powers had made that a virtual impossibility. Aside from one drunken night when she and Jean had gone down on each other, and a violent encounter with the morlock queen Callisto the night after she had won their duel* she was sexually wholly inexperienced and she was afraid she wouldn’t be a satisfying lover.
"Alex. Stop. This is wrong. We’re ullllllffffff." Again his mouth covered hers, silencing her protests as he fumbled with the fastenings of his costume. With a massive effort of will she let go of his hips and instead of pulling him against her tried to push him away, tearing her face from his.
"Alex! Stop! You’re like Scott! He…."
Crack!
Havoc cut her protests off by striking her sharply on the side of the face with the back of his open hand. Only his grip on her arm stopped her falling.
"I’m nothing like Scott! Nothing! And I’m going to prove it to you you white haired slut!" He pulled her back to her feet and against his body, savagely kissing her again. What tenderness there had been had fled and all that was left was the impulsive rage that Storm was beginning to recognise as the trademark of their hidden foe. She could feel the velvet hardness of his now exposed prick press against her thigh and she began to struggle against his greater strength. One of his hands held her arm, the other pressed into the small of her back pulling her slender body against his, her free arm flailed about in vain.
"Aaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" Nightcrawler had grabbed her great mane of white hair from behind and yanked fiercely, pulling her head away from Havoc once again and allowing her breath with which to scream. For a moment the two men struggled with Storm caught between them in a fierce tug-of-war, the German pulling her by the hair and the American with her graceful arm clenched in his grip. She thought for a moment that Nightcrawler would tear her hair out as he had done to her pubes then her wrist, coated in a skein of perspiration, began to slip through Havoc’s grasp. "Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" Storm screamed again as Nightcrawler pulled her free of their team mate and literally swung her by the hair away from him.
"She’s mine misfit!" Havoc again used his mutant power to channel cosmic radiation into a blast of pure force which he guided at the blue mutant who was laughing demonically at Storm’s pain as he whirled her around him.
"Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggghhhhhhhh!" Havoc’s blast caught Storm in the centre of the chest, smashing into her breasts and tearing her free of Nightcrawler’s grip on her hair. With bone crushing force she flew backwards the length of the danger room, destined to be smashed like a bug against it’s cold, hard walls.
Bamf!
"A favour for a favour unnnnnnnnnnnfffffffff!" Travelling instantly along the earth’s magnetic field Nightcrawler was suddenly elsewhere, specifically in between Storm and her fatal trajectory. She collided with him, driving all the breath from him and carrying him back with her.
"Go limp ‘Roro, I’ve got you."
CRASH! Their tangled bodies crashed into the wall with enough force to stun the German mutant despite everything he had done to slow their trajectory from it’s bone crushing initial force.
"Ooooof! Damsels rescued my speciality. A kiss is customary as a reward from a beautiful maiden," his hands reached around her and again clenched around her ebony tits, now completely exposed as Havoc’s blast had destroyed what was left of her costume. "On the other hand, given the circumstances I think I’ll take something a little more intimate." His costume had similarly been destroyed by the Summers boy’s previous attack and she could feel his rigid prick prodding the small of her back. Beaten, stripped and almost broken she could do little but lie there in his cruel embrace and watch Havoc approach. He had been slowed up by his costume which had been around his knees but had resolved this difficulty by tearing it and below the waist clad only in an erection he now raced towards them. Storm resigned herself to becoming the prize in their battle until Nightcrawler released her tits and pushed her forwards so that she fell onto her hands and knees.
"Don’t fuss Alex, there’s plenty of this witch to go around."
The younger mutant slowed and gained control of his urge to strike out at his rival and instead took a painful grip of Storm’s fringe and pulled her head up, forcing his prick against her face.
"So there is Kurt, so there is."
(* Uncanny X-Men Issue 170 – Lucilla, Morlock Queen)
Impulse
The young mutant known as Impulse knew very little of the carnage she was partially responsible for. Virtually crucified she was held by the machine designed by Emma Frost, massive probes were jammed into her vagina and anus and a small part of her recalled the pain and humiliation of the process, watched by a leering Mastermind and an impassive Mystique. A third was thrust down her throat, forcing her head back and virtually filling her windpipe, even breathing through her nose was difficult. All three of the monstrous tools vibrated infinitesimally maintaining the constant state of arousal that amplified her mutant power and fatigue, pain and constant sexual anticipation had driven her into a kind of delirium. The images on the computer screens which she could see through her half closed eyes almost became real to her and she suffered through the rapes of Moira and Ilyana, the anger of Wolverine and passion of Phoenix, each psychic shock gathered by the equipment within the RV and channelled directly into her through the intruders which had been plunged into her every orifice.
Within her deep memories she recalled how she had first become aware she was different, though it was years before she realised that she was a mutant. At first she had been flattered by the attention, all the boys at school and even some of the girls proclaiming their love for her, giving her gifts, helping her with school work, touching her in fumbling imitation of their elders. But with the attraction from one half of her schoolmates came the jealousy of the other, hatred from other girls, prettier, smarter, but not the magnet that she was. Cruel rumours spread about her and on one horrible afternoon she was accosted and badly beaten by the other girls, even those she had counted as friends. She lost her innocence then and finally began to notice the way others looked on her. Teachers watched her when they thought she wasn’t looking, covertly staring at her ass, her newly developed breasts, fabricated excuses to keep her back at school. Meanwhile her peers polarised still further, none of the girls missed an opportunity to demean her or hurt her, no human decency or compassion restrained them. The boys lacked the control of their adult teachers and pressed against her in the corridor, stole kisses, whistled and called out to her and so desperate was she for even this affection she almost encouraged it, meeting with them after school for fumbled caresses and passionate embraces.
The final break with normality came when her mothers husband, a man she’d always liked, almost felt of as her real father, following her too closely up the stairs caught her when she stumbled. His hand clasped around her breast and another cut off her scream. Impulse would almost rather have allowed his intended action than what happened for her mother came from the kitchen and seeing the attack acted without thought grabbing her husbands head and cutting his throat.
With no other relatives and at sixteen deemed too young to care for herself the young mutant was placed into the hell hole of state care. The Summerhill House Home for Children had had a poor reputation before, but after her arrival it became horrific. Assaults both on staff and between residents became a virtually daily occurrence, thefts and vandalism too commonplace even to record. Stress and injury led to staff shortages and the ‘home’ existed in a permanent state of near riot. Impulse herself survived by giving herself to the most dangerous of the teenage psychopaths residing there and while he mistreated her he also protected her from others. Her stay at Summerhill ended after just over a year when near riot became true riot and amidst flame and fury she fled into the night leaving one nightmare for another.
Impulse hitched a lift and was fortunate to be picked up by Jackie, a female truck driver, who missed her daughter and lavished care on the hungry and scared refugee until at a truck stop a large and unfriendly trucker also took an interest. Jackie stood up for her ward, fatally, and Impulse was passed backwards and forwards between the truck stop’s other patrons, raped and violated in ways she hadn’t known existed. The gang rape became a fight with herself as the prize and at the end of it there were four dead and many with serious injuries. Somehow she had disentangled herself from the wreckage and stumbled away, hiding in the shadows, living in the gutters, begging for food and warmth, fleeing from violence and lust. She knew, though she didn’t have the words for it, that she was the cause of this. That she was cursed, that violence and terror followed her like a shadow. Anyone who was kind to her suffered so she feared the compassion she engendered almost as much as the rage and fled from any who tried to truly help her, rather putting herself in the way of those who would hurt her and use her. Then, at least, she would not regret the inevitable violence that befell any who came into contact with her.
Impulse had lost track of time when agents of the Hellfire Club found her. She neither knew nor cared what the date was, how old she was, even what city she was in. She had found a hiding place where she was safe from prying eyes and the sudden impulses, both to cruelty and kindness, that characterised her interaction with other people and it was there they cornered her. Guided by their equipment which detected mutants the team found their way into her sanctum and this intrusion hurt her far worse than the many rapes and assaults she had survived. Despite their armour and their guns she attacked them. The three agents were ready for trouble, scared, not knowing what kind of mutant their merciless masters had sent them to find and when assailed by a ragged savage they almost responded with lethal force. It was only their realisation that their attacker was a young woman that saved her life and the impulse to murder was replaced by its twisted kin. Impulse herself was subdued in mere moments for the intruders were mercenary soldiers while she was a half starved woman not long into adulthood, but then there was a momentary reprieve as the three almost simultaneous realised that only one could be first to violate her helpless form. She curled into a ball, covering her ears against the deafening bursts of gunfire till the only survivor dragged her into the open and fucked her with the bodies of his friends still warm.
When Emma Frost, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club, came from the Daimler to investigate why the team which had promised to return with the unknown mutant in a matter of moments had not done so she found the team leader sodomising a young woman and the corpses of the other team members lying where they had been scythed from existence. Impulse made eye contact with the normally cold White Queen and the piteous look and silent plea warmed the chunk of ice which passed for a heart in her breast. Neither before nor since had she felt such a strong urge to protect someone, a burst of affection and compassion which allowed her to suddenly understand what her rival Storm felt for the teenage Shadowcat. The rapist screamed suddenly, fell backwards, clawing at his own eyes, tearing at his own wrists and Emma bundled the suddenly free Impulse into her snow white cloak and hurried her away from the building, from the city and from the horrors of her life up to that point.
Even bound and abused as she was now Impulse felt a warmth and love for Emma Frost, though since that first magical moment where someone strong enough to withstand the curse had rescued her there had been no further tenderness. True, the White Queen had tended her in the car back to her Massachusetts academy, stroked her ravaged pussy, kissed and caressed her abused breasts and created an ecstatic feeling which somehow cleansed her of the feelings that had been aroused by the rape but the love and compassion she had felt from her in that first moment had never been repeated. Emma was truly cold and whatever human feelings there were in her, anger or love, she crushed them and her psychic shields were even proof against the power that Impulse unknowingly wielded. That was what the curse was, as Emma had finally been able to explain to her, the power to bring a person’s deepest feelings to the surface, to make them act on them without thought for the consequences. Sometimes this led to compassion, generosity, acts of love but more often it caused irritation to become anger, envy to become murderous jealousy, attraction to become vile lust. Thus the White Queen had kept her isolated, built psychic shields around her so that the harm she did was kept under control and treated her for the first time in her life with consistency. For that too Impulse loved her; she knew she was not loved back, she knew that the White Queen used her for her own ends, punished her when she felt the need, treated and mistreated her as she saw fit. Yet this was how Emma treated everyone, nothing was done without a reason and for the first time Impulse could predict what would happen to her. She knew that on a Wednesday Emma came to her bed and would stay until she had been satisfied, she knew that if she failed to satisfy her or meet her expectations in any way she would be caned, she knew she would be fed and warm and that no one would touch her without the White Queen’s permission.
Thus when she had been told, not asked of course, that she was to participate in an attack on the X-Men she had been glad to be part of the plan. Shown the incomprehensible mathematics which indicated that the more violence and lust which took place within the Westchester mansion the stronger her power would grow and the more harm she would be likely to do to those within she had nodded and pretended she understood. When they had lashed her to the machine she had not struggled and even when they had forced the probes into her, explaining that to maximise the sado-erotic effects of the Impulse field they needed to continually stimulate her erogenous zones, she had clenched her teeth and tried to hide her tears. The great vibrating dildos had brought her to a series of massive climaxes before being turned down to low and she had felt her power expand and grow. Now she could almost feel how it encompassed the entire building, the countryside, and was growing still. The people trapped within it she could feel as glowing points of light and warmth, she hungered for their passion and fire and she could sense them drawing from her and feeding her and so she writhed and twisted caught in a delirium of lust and power which turned her into a kind of goddess.
Rogue
"Take that bitch!" The wire tines of the flogger lashed across Rogue’s back and buttocks again and again. Wielded by one normal human on another they would have stripped the skin in a few blows, driven by Rogue’s enormous strength they would have proven instantly fatal yet the invulnerable skin of the mutant barely coloured and the sensation was mildly uncomfortable rather than excruciatingly painful. "This’ll teach yah," she cursed as she sliced the wire across her own skin again. Her other hand played between her legs, two fingers sliding in and out of her snatch as she finally brought herself to orgasm. The whip dropped from her suddenly numbed hand and she sank back onto her bed sighing in a deeply unsatisfied manner.
"Fuck!" Though she had attained a climax of sorts it now seemed barely worth the effort she’d put into it. She reluctantly stood and posed in front of her full length mirror. Here she was, drop dead gorgeous, perfect figure, a mouth almost custom designed to suck cock, the breeding of a lady and the mind of a whore, and she was totally unable to get laid. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck." Rogue put her hands on her hips, thrust her tits at the mirror and gave her best Marilyn Monroe ‘come hither’ look. "Christ, it depresses me." She leaned towards the mirror and French kissed her reflection, touching her tongue against the cold glass. Glancing at the clock she realised that some time had passed since the computer’s call to action which she had delayed answering due to the apparent imminence of her orgasm. "Fuck. Well whoever it is had better have their insurance paid up, Ah’m in the mood to break some fucker’s bones." Angrily she pulled herself into the insulated costume which prevented her accidentally touching another person and sheathed her in a second skin of leather and plastic. "Fuck!" Her fist shot out and pulverised the computer monitor. "Even Cyclops can kiss!"
Her first victim had been her first boyfriend after her first fuck; they’d lain together in the back of his car his prick still held within her when suddenly she’d realised that something was wrong, that he was barely breathing. She’d leapt naked from the car screaming for help and eventually Ray’s comatose body had been taken safely to hospital while she was wrapped in a blanket and interrogated first by the paramedics, then by the police and finally by her parents. She hadn’t been able to help the medics, the police had told her not to leave town and her father had barely listened to her before bringing out his belt and beating her until she couldn’t stand. He hadn’t cared that Ray was hurt, maybe dying, hadn’t cared that Rogue was on the edge of hysteria, he had only cared that his daughter was a whore. As he finally finished the phone had rung, Ray was conscious again, and Rogue had held back her sobs of pain so she could weep with relief.
Ray, understandably enough, hadn’t wanted to see Rogue again, let alone touch her, so nothing kept her in her home town and she fled. Accused by her father of being a whore she had become one, exchanging her body for rides across the United States, until her developing power led to any sustained contact resulting in a coma. She was found by Raven Darkholme and taught ways of living with her power while she learned how to pleasure herself without touching another person. For Rogue the line between pleasure and pain had always been a thin one and the experiences of the night her powers awoke had permanently blurred it. With pain she could arouse herself, or be aroused by another, and with a combination of whips and dildos she could almost have a sex life, though not one which could be described as normal by any stretch of the imagination. Accidents had happened and it had proven safest for Mystique to beat Rogue with belt or cane or, courting danger, a gloved hand, and then for the younger mutant to finish herself off with whatever object was available. Thus had Mystique adopted a maternal role for her protégé. Even this had ceased when Rogue’s too long contact with Carole Danvers* had resulted in the permanent transfer of her powers, Rogue became invulnerable and the severest beating her foster mother could inflict was insufficient for Rogue to even notice it let alone feel any pain.
Since she’d joined the X-Men Rogue had become more and more frustrated. She could just about hurt herself, she could bring herself to orgasm but it was mechanical, pointless. She needed emotional contact with another person to fire the process and that was impossible. "Fuck!" She exploded again and her anger took hold of her until every article in her room was turned to matchwood or twisted metal. Breathing heavily and more satisfied by the violence than the forced orgasm of a few moments before she finally turned to answer the call when a blinding headache dropped her to her knees.
<Sorry Rogue but this is important.>
"Professah?"
<Hardly.> Rogue recoiled in anger as she recognised the telepathic ‘voice’ of the Hellfire Club’s White Queen. <There’s not time to explain. Raven’s in serious trouble, she needs your help. She’s in Ilyana’s room. Hurry!> Before she could be asked any questions the telepath broke contact leaving Rogue fuming, but also acting. Questions, like why Raven was here, what danger she was in, what the White Queen had to do with it, could be saved for later. Anyone who harmed Mystique was fair game to Rogue and faster than any other of the X-Men, save only Nightcrawler’s instantaneous travel, she sped to the rescue of her mentor.
(* Avengers Annual #10 - alas not in my collection, Lou)
Mystique
Mystique lay there helpless, bathed in sweat, he head turned to one side so her cheek was pressed against the floor, her tits crushed into the rough carpet and a huge log pounding into her ass. She could hear Colossus behind her grunting and panting as her drew out of her and rammed in once again. She heard someone groaning and realised that it was her.
"Uuuuuuuuuuh. Uuuuuuuuh God."
The terrible burning of the initial rape had subsided leaving a less agonising sensation of heat, the blessed relief of his withdrawal and the impact of his repeated penetration over and over again so she could focus her attention slightly on Ilyana who was leaning over her. The blonde’s face was inches away from the dark skinned mutant and when she spoke Mystique, no stranger to intimidation, felt almost as much fear as she had when she realised that Colossus could not be stopped.
"I hope you’re enjoying this bitch, because when my brother is finished with you I’m going to stick my soul sword up your cunt. It’s not supposed to hurt anyone but demons but I think you’ll find three feet of soul-steel is enough to ruin your whole day."
"Noooo…," Mystique recoiled in fear as she saw the orange glint in Ilyana’s eyes and tried to slide away from her however she was held virtually immobile by the large Russian whose strokes were getting faster and harder, hammering Raven down into the carpet as his climax approached.
BLAMMMM!
For a moment Mystique thought that was it but realised her mistake when Colossus stopped for a moment as he and his sister stared at the large hole in the wall and the mutant Rogue floating in the entry she had made.
"Christ! Mother!" The pain in Rogues voice as she took in the scene she had interrupted and realised what her foster mother had been through was heart rending but the anger in her face when she raised it again was terrifying. Before Colossus could react she was upon him.
"I’m goin’ to fucking kill yah you Russkie bastard!" With one movement she smashed her fist into his chin and threw him backwards, his limp body crashed into the wall behind him and his thick prick withdrew from within Mystique with an audible pop. No longer held up by the Russian’s lust Raven fell onto her side barely aware that her ordeal was over. Ilyana leapt to her feet and grabbed hold of Rogue’s arm, to no avail as the green clad woman shook her off like a small dog. The Russian girl’s naked body flew across the room, striking the wall head first and falling insensate into a heap in the corner.
<Stop lying around Raven you lazy bitch and get up.> The White Queen’s mental voice drove into Mystique’s mind.
"Fuck off Emma," breathed Raven as she was struggling to get to her knees, let alone her feet.
<I mean it, we have a real problem with Phoenix, get moving or I’ll make sure that Colossus reams you again.>
"Fuck you." The threat did spur Raven into motion as she saw from the corner of her eye Colossus rising to his feet, and she knew that the White Queen was quite capable of carrying out her threat.
"Get out of here Raven," called Rogue, "Ah’ll fuck the Russkie up for you."
"I think not," said Colossus calmly and with a slightly audible crackle his flesh and blood was replaced by the organic steel of his armoured form. "I don’t know what’s got into you tovarisch but if you’ve hurt my sister I will pull your arms and legs off." He advanced on Rogue and his fist lashed out striking her in the centre of her breasts; the blow would have destroyed a bulldozer and his opponents apparently frail form flew backwards, into and through the reinforced wall of the room. As he pursued her Colossus turned to Mystique. "I’ll be back for you in a moment."
Raven needed no more encouragement than the sight of Colossus’ prick, huge and shining like a great metal dildo; a new energy promoted by fear filled her and she scrabbled for her clothing, pointlessly as the leotard was totally destroyed. Her weapon belt was still in one piece and clad in that and her boots and gloves she slipped away hearing the conflict between the two powerhouses of the X-Men behind her. Her instincts were telling her to go to help her foster daughter but if Phoenix was loose it needed her immediate attention. Mystique paused momentarily to check Ilyana was still alive and debated for a moment correcting this, but eventually decided that they were quits and left her unconscious.
Slightly more focussed Mystique reshaped her form, choosing that of Moira McTaggart for security, and sighed in relief as her ruined insides reformed after the repeated pounding by Colossus.
"Too bad the real Moira can’t benefit from the same trick. Wonder if anyone has rescued her yet. Emma?"
<Nope. Still lying there with a bottle shoved up her cunt and I doubt anyone will be by to check on her till at least morning.> Mystique smiled wickedly but, in the interests of authenticity she stayed naked aside from a pair of sandals and stumbled through the apparently deserted mansion as if she had just been raped. Not too difficult an act to perform since despite her healing she still felt stretched and hurt from Colossus’ cock.
As she approached Xavier’s study she could sense the Phoenix force, her mind was assailed by the telepathic attack which radiated out from the red headed mutant. Had she been the real target of the violence her mind would have been destroyed in an instant but the rage was just collateral damage as Jean Grey rode Scott Summers to climax after climax.
"Christ," breathed Mystique, "I can imagine what this is doing to the Impulse field."
<Yes. This is definitely a success, but poor Impulse can’t take that kind of energy, you need to damp it down quickly.>
Braving the psychic force, summoning all her mental strength, Mystique approached until she could touch the redhead’s naked skin. With a sudden movement she stabbed a tool of some kind into Phoenix’s shoulder; Jean screamed in surprise, falling off Cyclops’ prick and lying on the floor quivering in a parody of orgasm as the Phoenix force died.
"Scott, Scott!" In her guise as Moira the shape shifter leaned down on the old leader of the X-Men, her nipples brushing his chest as he moaned and re-focussed.
"Mmm….Moira….what…?"
"Don’t try te talk Scott, ye’ve had a hard time." Mystique faked Moria’s Scots accent as she closed her lips around Cyclops prick. She could taste Jean’s musk and the strength of it, the smell and the Impulse field which was burning through her protection meant that although she knew she should try to get away she had to have his cock.
"But…what…Jean…ohhhhhhhhh, ohhh Moiraaaaaa." Scott, unable to keep up with the changes surrendered to the sensation of lips around his prick. Though he’d come at least a half dozen times while in the grip of Phoenix he was sustained by it as well as used by it and he was still rampant and ready for more. Then for the second time in as many minutes the warm orifice his prick was buried in pulled away.
"I don’t know who you are babe, but you ain’t Moira McTaggart." Wolverine grabbed the shape shifter by the hair and pulled her away from Cyclops glistening prick. The air was full of the smell of Jean’s cum such that he couldn’t identify the strange scent he was getting from the intruder and so was caught off balance when she lashed out with a perfect back kick. Whoever she was she pulled free and fled the room as he reeled.