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The Mind Is Virgin Territory	By : Ksennin Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 18387 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or any characters in the X-Men franchise. I make no money from publishing this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A thirteen-year-old simply does not make for an objective observer, especially when it came to superheroes. That’s how young Kitty Pryde had been when she’d met the X-Men, and they’d been Gods to her. It’d taken years for her to see them as they really were.
A growth spurt had revealed to her how short Wolverine was, and hard experience had taught her that his berserker rage could be as much a danger to his allies as his enemies. She’d learned that Scott mostly was the tightass he seemed to be, but he didn’t have all the answers—just all the pressure that came with leadership and all the wisdom he could muster, selecting one bad choice from a few worse ones. Even Colossus—perfect, boyish Piotr—had turned out to be fallible and flawed and, sometimes, a real jerk.
But Jean remained the same in Kitty’s expanding mind. The woman she wanted to grow up to be. Maybe it was because she’d died just a few months after they first met, leaving Kitty in the care of Storm. Storm, the closest thing to perfection Kitty knew, and she held Jean up as an idol. The goddess of a goddess. And when Jean came back, years later, when Kitty was in Excalibur—she was just as Kitty remembered her. Good. Capital G. Capital O, O, and D too.
Even now, Kitty’s thoughts were still honeyed with just how cool she found mutants. “It’s good to have you back, Ms. Grey.”
“Almost better than being back,” Jean said evenly, but with a smile.
It was a lovely morning on Muir Island. The sunrise turning the sky into a spread of purple silk was so beautiful it could almost wipe away the night before. Elsewhere, Kurt was catching up with Cyclops, while Rachel and Xavier practiced their psychic abilities. Scott, the Professor, and Jean were visiting the beset Excalibur team on business. Colossus had sustained a head injury and joined Magneto’s Acolytes. Kitty wished she could say that without a corresponding thought; ‘correlation does not equal causation.’
After Kitty’s abortive attempt to treat Piotr, he’d gone back to Magneto, their on-again, off-again relationship once more on the backburner. But that was in the past. It was a new day, full of hope and old friends. Kitty had actually believed Jean dead—killed in a battle with Sentinels. But she’d only been comatose, her consciousness transferred to Emma Frost until it could be restored. It seemed the universe realized how much people needed Jean Grey and kept giving her back to them.
“So how do you feel?” Kitty asked. “Didn’t pick up any nasty habits while you were in Frosty’s head?”
“No. None.” Kitty didn’t need to be a mindreader to know Jean didn’t want to talk about it.
Left to their own devices, the two old friends, never as close as they would’ve liked, had agreed to what passed for a girls’ night out on the beautiful, but underpopulated isle. A picnic on the cliffs with cooking that only Jean Grey could provide. Kitty could barely stop stuffing her face to make conversation.
“Kitty,” Jean said patiently, picking a grape from the fruit basket she’d brought. “Nothing is more irritating to a telepath than an unanswered question. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch. So, please, ask. Trust me, after you’ve read a couple dozen minds, it takes a lot to shock you.” She popped the grape into her mouth, ending the mischievous lilt of her sentence.
Kitty looked out at the waves crashing below the cliffs, dashing themselves on the jagged rocks and shoals over and over. If she fell off the edge, she could phase right through the stone. Walk on air. Even be caught by Jean’s telekinesis. She sighed. “Guess I’m just in a morbid mood from the Legacy Virus and everything. But you came back from the dead, or the next thing to it. I guess I was wondering what the afterlife is… like.”
“I wasn’t dead, Kitty. It would be much simpler if I was.”
“I know, I know. But… I mean… the Dark Phoenix and the Shi’ar and the Hellfire Club…”
“It’s… dissociative. The Dark Phoenix took my place and she wasn’t me, but she also was. All that destruction, it was me. And it wasn’t me. And now Rachel’s here…” Jean smiled grimly. “My future daughter. Born to a woman who I’m not either. It’s like there are so many echoes and they’re so loud—it’s hard to tell what the original sound is. It would almost be more comfortable making a clean break; joining the Avengers or something.”
“I tried that,” Kitty said. “They only gave me an interview because I told them I was Psylocke.”
Jean chortled. Her laugh was sweet as silver bells. “Well. I hope people will forgive me for holding to old places. Old friends. Scott…” She looked away, out at the white foam far below. Kitty wondered how much her powers could detect. The individual bubbles? The molecules of hydrogen and oxygen? “We’re getting married.”
“That’s great! Awesome! You two are—I mean, you’re a love song.” Kitty smiled gregariously, but her thoughts slipped away from her. She and Piotr had seemed like a love song once.
Kitty wondered if Jean needed her telepathy to sense where her mind had gone. “Kitty, I died. If my relationship with Scott can survive that, yours can survive—“ Jean waved her fingers in an inclusive manner. “Or… maybe you’re not a love song. Maybe you’re just the silence before a love song.”
“Huh?”
“Romeo never would’ve fallen in love with Juliet if he’d stayed with Rosalie.”
“Yeah, but—they died.”
Jean shrugged. “They also got laid.”
“Ms. Grey!” Kitty cried out, actually a bit scandalized. She was used to thinking of Jean as sort of a surrogate Ororo, who always treated Kitty a bit maternally. If they discussed men, it was always in the most chaste of terms, even if Kitty were now nearly old enough to buy one of the kegs Logan drank every other night. She calmed. “Suppose I’ll have to get used to calling you Mrs. Summers now.”
“You could just call me Jean.” She pulled the wine from its ice bucket, refilling her own glass and eying Kitty’s empty one. It wasn’t like it was illegal—Kitty wasn’t sure of the drinking age in Ireland, but if she was old enough to have Sentinels shooting at her, she thought herself old enough to have a shot with Logan. It just seemed so taboo to have Jean offering it to her.
Kitty muscled through it. “Yeah, sure,” she said, holding the glass up for Jean to fill. She sipped. It was good, in a bittersweet way. Better than what Logan drank, though. “Anyway, it’s not as easy for me to date. I know back in your day, you were the only girl at the Mansion and there were, like, playboy millionaires and scientific geniuses with… big feet… but now, the guys actually have options!”
Jean smiled as Kitty realized the hole she’d dug herself into. “Don’t worry. Telepath, remember? I understand what you were trying to say.” She sipped her wine lovingly. “Tell me, how do you feel about Rachel?”
That was an abrupt shift of topic. “She’s my best friend. No offense—I know you were gunning for it…”
Jean’s smile could be sublime. “We’re a lot closer than we once were. She’s accepted I’m not her mother and I’ve accepted that she isn’t some… commentary… on me and my…” Jean brushed some burnished red hair from her face. “She’s allowed me into her mind; a level of intimacy only telepaths can achieve. There’s a lot of darkness in there. The thought of you is like a candle.”
Kitty felt her face split in a grin. “I’m glad! She’s, Rachel is so special.”
“Yes. She is.” Jean’s eyes hit Kitty with a gentle chill, like the first snowflakes of a blizzard. They were so green, they seemed more like jewels than flesh. Eyes that had seen stars and death and time and atoms. “Everyone needs someone.” Those eyes looked away, and Kitty felt the chill of a dancer after the spotlight had left her. Jean’s hair caught the wind and the tips of her locks hit the sunlight, seeming to blaze.
Kitty opened her mouth to say she and Rachel weren’t together-together, but nothing came out.
Jean looked at her again. Her eyes weren’t cold anymore. “We should probably head back. I don’t know about you, but I’m full. I feel decadent. I’m going to have a nice afternoon nap.”
***
After Jean’s nap, Scott wanted a sparring session—for old time’s sake—and he and his fiancé handily gave the entirety of Excalibur a run for their money. Jean nudged him out of critiquing their performances too in-depth, and they followed that with a baseball game that Dr. MacTaggert found cheerfully incomprehensible.
The sun set and it was too dark for an eighth inning, so they settled around the TV to watch an old horror movie. Rachel sat next to Kitty, finding even a cheesy fifties alien overly frightening. Kitty obligingly took her hand for silent comfort. She thought it was the atmosphere that scared Rachel more than anything else. The future she was from was plenty scary, but it was real. A heightened reality with monsters and music dove past Rachel’s cynicism and tapped into the childish fear she otherwise suppressed.
Once or twice, Kitty looked around in the dark to find where she’d set her drink down and noticed Jean watching her. Her green eyes seemed to flash in the flickering light, like wolf’s eyes.
***
They made it a double-feature, but in the fourth hour of their little movie marathon, the mutants began to trickle to bed one by one. Rachel fell asleep on Kitty’s shoulder; with Kurt gone from the couch, Jean took his place, and on Jean’s psychic suggestion Kitty shuffled the redhead over to Jean’s lap. Rachel yawned and let herself be stroked by Jean’s slender fingers. And they call me Kitty, the other woman thought, and saw Jean smile, picking up the thought.
She left them alone in the light of the television, found herself thinking of Piotr again, took a sleeping pill so she’d go right to sleep instead of lying awake, making herself cry over him and stupid Magneto. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was gone. Staring up at the ceiling, a stranger in her own body, feeling it cool and congeal. A voice from the TV echoed up from the living room and caught her ear.
“I don’t hate the Phoenix, or even Madeline Pryor; I pity them. Pieces of me that just wanted to be loved, and she couldn’t find her place.” No, it wasn’t a voice. It was Jean. Like a hypnotist putting her under. “I’m so vast now. These powers: they steal memories, leech lives, borrow love. Like a camera in a primitive tribe, I take a piece of everyone’s soul with me. And having that intimacy with so many, I realize how small they are. The things they think are so big… And then I recognize a piece of myself in miniature. With Scott, with Maddie, with Rachel. I want her to be in the light, even if I can’t fit.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Kitty asked aloud, and Jean was next to her on the bed. Her costume was green; black-necked, gold-gloved.
“You have my blessing,” Jean said, “to court my daughter.”
This is a dream, Kitty thought, and the words echoed around the room. In a dream, what was the difference between saying something and thinking it? “Are you really here?”
“Of course I am.” Jean smiled sweetly. “You see me, you hear me—“
“But am I just dreaming you or are you in my head?”
Jean tilted her head to the side; a wry admission that there was no way to tell. “What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know you well enough to dream up a conversation with you.”
“So let’s get to know each other. Why haven’t you asked Rachel? She’d go with you.”
Kitty sat up, throwing off the covers. Underneath was her billowing, dark blue costume. “Rachel is great and all, but… I couldn’t… I mean, I wouldn’t… I don’t even know what I’d do with her!”
“Good, she doesn’t either. You can find out together.”
Kitty didn’t even swing her legs out of bed; she phased right through the mattress, feet striking the air below the bed, and stood up. “I’m not saying she isn’t beautiful or that we’re not compatible or that I’m not…” She hemmed and hawed, thinking how much she hated it when Woody Allen did this. Of all the times to be a stereotype…
“A little gay?” Jean suggested, lying on the bed with one leg drawn up, a mutant pin-up girl.
“Yeah. You try growing up with Storm as your best friend, see if you don’t end up a little on the lesbian side.”
“Who says I didn’t?”
Kitty’s ears burned. She really wanted to stop talking about the gay stuff. She was fine with it; she just didn’t like actually going through it and getting technical. Same-sex relationship. Bisexuality. “Rachel needs someone to be the adult… kinda?” She winced. “Someone who knows how the world works and how emotions work and can walk her through all the craziness she didn’t get to learn for herself.”
“You’re very mature for your age, Kitty.”
Kitty guffawed. “I’m a virgin! My longest relationship was crushing on an unobtainable Russian guy!” She rolled her eyes. “He might as well have been gay…”
Jean just tutted, like a teacher who’d coached her student through a problem and still found her arriving at the wrong conclusion. “Kitty. This is your dream. We’re in your head. Can’t we be honest here?”
“You think Piotr is gay?”
Jean blew air out the side of her mouth, stirring a stray lock of hair. “You lust after men who are unobtainable, Kitty, because you know they won’t be able to fulfill you. So they don’t try, they don’t fail, and you don’t have to ask yourself what you truly want.”
“Rachel?”
“Not specifically.” Jean grinned, hugging her knees to her chest in girlish parody of Kitty. “You want to be fucked. Hard, fast, rough. Just the sort of thing your gentle giant would be no good for. The kind of fucking Rachel could give you. Or Emma Frost.”
That was too much. Ever since Jean said the F-word, Kitty started feeling a fist clenching in her chest, but upon mention of that witch’s name—“Emma Frost!? I wouldn’t—I would never—ever—“
“The first time we met, Kitty. When you learned you were a mutant? You saw Emma take some of the X-Men captive. Seeing her strutting around in that costume, interrogating your newfound friends… it must have had quite an effect on an impressionable young girl…”
“I… no, I…”
Kitty suddenly heard, as if over the radio, a distant voice. “Harder, my queen, harder!” the voice cried out, begged, and Kitty knew it was for a hairbrush spanking—a hard whipping—then a brutal fuck afterward.
She’d had dreams about it. Ororo’s voice as Emma tormented her.
Kitty struggled to open up that fist in her chest, the one that was moving lower. “That never happened. Emma didn’t… and Storm…”
“You were young. It was hard to know what you saw. And it latched onto things you were already interested in. Scenarios, encounters—you’d spent all day crushing on Ororo, admiring her power, and then to see her humiliated, powerless—perhaps even enjoying it…”
“No!”
But Kitty could see Storm, her best friend, her most important teacher, in her scant costume made even scanter by Emma’s degradations. Emma’s white-gloved palm striking the globes of her ass with abandon. And Ororo moaning in agony. “Please?” her moan sounded like, and she was not asking Emma to stop.
Whether it had happened or not, Kitty could see it and the sight did not disgust her. It made her tingle like electricity was running through her. It made her wish that she was part of it, either Emma or Ororo, it didn’t matter, she just wanted some of their energy to run through her.
“Come over my lap, dear,” Jean said, sitting on the end of the bed, her thighs together, waiting for Kitty as surely as an open manacle.
Kitty shook her head silently. She couldn’t—she didn’t—
“This is your dream, Kitty… you control it… and where else can you confront your desires—your deepest, most secret desires—except in dreams?”
Kitty saw it happen almost more than she did it. She went to Jean. She laid herself over Jean’s lap, resting her stomach on those thighs so excessively detailed by her skintight spandex. The fist was between her legs and it was clenched so tight…
“When was the last time you were spanked?” Jean asked.
“Nuh-never.” A lump caught in Kitty’s throat. “Parents… didn’t believe in it.”
“But your friends were, weren’t they?”
“Sometimes. When they were bad… when they did something fun and got into trouble…” Kitty felt an odd urge to suck her thumb. Her voice quavered.
Jean undid the sash at Kitty’s waist, gently, slowly, as if it might tear. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Kitty. You’ve left my little girl Rachel all alone so you can play with boys. I’m going to give you a little discipline, Kitty. A little reminder of how to properly conduct yourself. How to please Rachel. How to be pleased yourself. Would you like that, Kitty?”
Her thighs were twitching. She felt her core, wet and hot, tightening on an intrusion that hadn’t yet arrived. She was as aroused as she’d ever been, and now she could admit it. “Yes.”
“So shall I.”
Dreams didn’t proceed linearly, like dance partners going through their steps. It was simple: suddenly her pants were down around her ankles, the chill of the night air feasting on her bared buttocks, and Jean’s hand was coming down hard on her ass. “Count the spanks,” Jean ordered as she rubbed at the palm print she had left on Kitty’s right ass cheek.
“One,” Kitty quivered.
“I can’t hear you,” Jean chided, and made her displeasure known with an extra-hard second slap.
“Two!” Kitty said, louder. “Three! Four!”
“Thank me for spanking you,” Jean demanded, and her voice was Emma’s directed at Storm.
“Five! Six! Thank you, Emma!” Kitty looked up and saw a mirror. Spread over Jean’s legs, she was gorgeous, she was a goddess. She was Ororo. “Seven! Eight!”
She remembered to thank Jean for taking the time to discipline her, every time she had a spare breath.
“Eighty-eight! Eighty-nine! Thank you, Jean! Thank you so much!”
Jean relished her power, Kitty could tell. Greater than the power of the Phoenix over planets and peoples was the dominion she held over Kitty, willfully, gratefully given to her. She flung Kitty from her lap, grabbed hold of her head, guided it between her legs as she stood. Kitty’s whimpering mouth was against her mound, and through the material of her costume Kitty could smell her arousal. Teary eyes looked up beseeching at Jean’s face. She was terrible. She was glorious.
“Do you want me?” Jean asked, but it wasn’t a question.
“Yes!”
“Do you need me?”
“Yes!”
“Now do you see how Rachel feels?” Jean stroked Kitty’s hair much as she would her namesake. “How she yearns for you? How desperately she desires you?”
“Yes! I’m so sorry, Jean! I never meant to shut her out…”
“Show me how sorry you are.” Kitty wasn’t sure if the strength was in Jean’s arms or in her power, but she found herself thrown atop the bed. “Spread your legs.”
Kitty did. She even held her knees apart with her hands. She didn’t want to displease Jean in the slightest.
Now Jean was dressed as Kitty had heard of but never seen—the black corset, the black thong, the hive of hair, the gloves, the boots and their heels… Storm was a goddess, but Jean was so much more. She was the Black Queen.
“I will kiss you,” Jean said. That wasn’t a question either.
Her mouth came to Kitty’s lips, her body stretching over Kitty’s like a shadow falling across her. They didn’t touch except at Kitty’s hot, dry lips. Her eyelashes fluttered. She didn’t move.
It was light, almost innocent, quick by all measures except the pace of Kitty’s speeding heartbeat. By that, it was an eternity before Jean abandoned her, leaving her with only the cold, insubstantial brush of her lips over Kitty’s forehead, her nose, her cheeks, the answer to everything but the question on Kitty’s soft, parted lips. But finally, she was lured back by Kitty’s sheer desperation.
Jean kissed her more forcefully, more sexually. Kitty’s mouth opened; her tongue responded. The kiss deepened and neither could tell whose fault it was, but Jean was unable to resist letting her tongue explore Kitty’s glowing lips and deeper, further. It was only then that Kitty really realized her ordeal was done. Her bottom no longer ached with red marks.
Her emotions welled into tears. She bowed her head to Jean’s shoulder, finding it soft and sweetly perfumed, and she let go of her childish tears. Jean stroked her hair, more because she liked the feel of it than anything else, but she whispered soothing little sounds in Kitty’s ear for her benefit. Made the tears taper off into a heavy lump in her throat that became lighter and lighter.
Her breath ran down Kitty’s back, a warm thing that left a shivery sensation behind it. Kitty enjoyed this. She enjoyed Jean. And Jean pulled Kitty closer, shifting them onto their sides, and tugging Kitty’s head down so her cheek was nestled against her cleavage, which was almost entirely revealed by her low-cut corset. The slope of her breasts was now a pillow for Kitty’s flushed face; she felt her tears dry and disappear.
“Better, little sister?” Jean asked, her hand flowing down Kitty’s hair and continuing off it, over her arm and her hip and her leg. “You’re amazing, Kitty. Such a sweet little thing. You bring out a motherly instinct in me.”
Kitty’s chest heaved with dry sobs, even as she delighted in Jean’s touch.
“Let me take care of you now, Kitty. Just relax. Don’t worry. Don’t give it another thought. Let me keep petting you… and touching you… and making you feel good. You’ll like it. You like it already. I can tell. I’m going to fuck you now, Kitty. I’m really going to make you come.”
Kitty was aware, suddenly but belatedly, as if she just couldn’t recall the build-up. She was aware that she was naked, her skin both vulnerable and pleasurable. And she was aware that Jean was not wearing a thong, but a strap-on.
“I’m a virgin,” she said defensively.
Jean just smirked. “Not for long.” Her finger sinuously traced through Kitty’s hair. “I’ll be gentle. It’ll only hurt at first, only a little. And then it will feel better… and better… and you’ll find yourself screaming for me not to stop.”
“I’m afraid,” Kitty said, but distantly. She didn’t know quite what she was feeling, but it seemed closest to fear. The fear you felt on a roller-coaster slowly clicking its way uphill.
“I’ll stop if I feel it’s too much for you; if you tell me to. But you won’t.” Jean’s green eyes looked deep into Kitty—cutting into her like scalpels. “I know you, Kitty.” She pressed the dildo’s huge head to Kitty’s entrance. “Open yourself to me.”
Kitty was rigid with fear, unable to move a muscle in her own defense. But she did move to obey Jean. She splayed the lips of her sex, replacing the brown of her pubic hair with the shocking pink of her cunt in Jean’s eyes. And Jean pushed. Kitty saw and felt the dildo disappear into her, but the searing pain she’d been bracing herself for never came. There was just a discomfort, an odd pressure, but she was so wet—it was slipping right in.
Jean held the dildo just inside Kitty as she kissed her, lips now completing the circle of Kitty’s mouth, tongues meeting like an extension of each other, her slender hands slipping over Kitty’s naked form. She cupped Kitty’s small breasts, squeezed her quivering back, and finally found Kitty’s asshole with her probing fingers. She rubbed the pads of them back and forth over it, rimming it with her wet fingertips, before she pushed her index finger deep inside.
“Oh goodness!” Kitty cried, but she barely had time to enjoy the new sensation before Jean was pressing forward, her silicone cockhead prying Kitty’s labia into a tight, hot vise for her strap-on. More than that, Kitty could feel Jean in her mind—feel the lust, the arousal so intense that it radiated from Jean’s soul like heat off a furnace.
She knew that Jean could feel her virginity—it was as if the dildo were a living part of her. There was a kind of madness in Jean that she chose to share with Kitty: she wanted to fill Kitty, she wanted to be her first, to give her such pleasure that she’d be a slave to it, forever unsatisfied with anyone less able than the Phoenix. And she wanted Kitty to know that. To know that she enjoyed the mix of pain and joy twisting Kitty’s face as their bodies melted together.
“I can’t!” Kitty cried fearfully, anxious now of how good it felt; how the pain didn’t hurt her somehow, but flowed somewhere special. “It’s too big! You’re tearing me open!”
“Yes,” Jean said softly, absorbing Kitty’s wails as inch after inch of hardened silicone wrenched her pussy. “That’s it, girl. You just take it, because I’ve got plenty of cock that needs your sweet little pussy around it.” She stopped suddenly, pulling out a little, and Kitty choked with relief. “You might consider this training. An X-Man has to push through the pain, after all. So let’s push.”
And she thrust deeper, faster into Kitty, pressing her palm over Kitty’s mouth to muffle her raw-throated scream. Kitty twisted, trying to escape from the pain that suddenly gripped her. Her asshole and cunt both blazed. Jean was driving in and out of her, going deeper and deeper into her yielding depths. Six inches, then seven… now eight. Jean felt the slap of her crotch against Kitty’s mound, and a supernova of ecstatic triumph burned in her mind. Kitty could feel the realization nudging into her pained thoughts. Eight inches. Eight long, solid inches were inside her, cramming her to her limit and beyond.
Kitty’s voice was hoarse from the one unending scream she’d let into Jean’s hand, while her belly ached like she’d been sucker-punched. Then she felt a second finger slip inside her asshole. Fresh tears flowed like a dam breaking.
“You’re a big girl now, Kitty.” Jean lovingly worked her dildo in and out of Kitty, relishing the slow drag and the pull of Kitty’s virgin body on her endowment. “I don’t want you crying like a little baby. I know it hurt, but now it’s starting to feel good. Isn’t it, darling? Isn’t it?”
Kitty shook her head. Her hazel eyes were glazed with a kind of transcendent pain; it hurt and it didn’t hurt. She’d read romance novels, a little porn, and she didn’t think sex was supposed to be like this. With Piotr, she’d imagined it being nice and sweet and warm and tingling. This wasn’t tingling. She was quaking like she was on the verge of having a seizure.
But all the bits about how wonderful it felt, how overwhelming it was—that was true. The ache that now rippled through her body was different; good, actually. Warm…
“Now what should I do with this new cunt of mine?” Jean said wonderingly. Her voice frightened and aroused Kitty in equal measure.
She pulled a few inches of her strap-on from Kitty’s sex, then plunged back into her. When Kitty recoiled, it only seemed to work the dildo in further. Without respite, Jean threw her cock into Kitty, every thrust jamming Kitty back into the long fingers that impaled her ass. Between the two penetrations, the pain began to seep away. Her pussy felt good as her ass hurt, then her ass felt good as her pussy hurt, and the good feeling grew as the hurt receded.
And it struck her. This was really happening. She was being fucked. She had lost her virginity, she was a woman now, she was sexually active. Jean growled and gasped with harsh lunges that made Kitty’s whole body jerk, and before she knew it, Kitty was flinging herself up to meet her.
When Jean took her hand away from Kitty’s mouth, her voice was made of pure joy. “Jean! Jean! Jean! Fuck me!”
“Certainly, bitch,” Jean said, smiling sweet as sugar. She rolled them over so Kitty was on top, but gravity held no meaning: she still thrust into Kitty as if she were above her. But Kitty could still feel Jean’s thoughts; felt her reach out with her mind, open the sock drawer on her dresser, make her dildo levitate through the air. Dream logic had it already lubricated, and its dripping tip touched Kitty’s small, puckered asshole just as Jean pulled her fingers away.
“What are you doing?” Kitty demanded in a gasp. “It’ll hurt!”
“That’s the idea.”
The dildo made a hard little lunge into Kitty’s ass just as Jean sunk her strap-on in to the hilt. Kitty’s mouth opened in a silent scream, of pain or pleasure she didn’t know, but she heaved and choked as the muscles of her asshole gripped the dildo. It seemed to be pulled inside more than it was pushed in. Suddenly, she was filled completely, back and front. And she was out of her mind with pleasure.
“Fuck me!” Kitty laughed and cried, screamed and sobbed. “Give it to me, Jean! Don’t stop now! Don’t ever stop! Rip me in half with that thing! Kill me with it! Fuck me to death! God, it’s so big, it’s so huge—fuck me with it! Fuck my ass and my cunt and my clit and my tits, fuck my mouth… fuck all of me! Do whatever you like so long as you fuck me!”
And even as she surrendered, Kitty felt Jean’s divine joy in her yielding, the waves of orgasm growing choppy in the redhead’s body, rising higher and higher, taking her to her peak.
Jean gave a shove with all her strength, one that seemed to send her cock into Kitty’s very womb. Kitty felt herself clench, holding the strap-on inside her like a hot little mouth that started to swallow, contracting again and again. Kitty wrapped herself around Jean as if the woman was her orgasm made flesh, holding fast to her for pleasure that went on and on until Kitty could stand no more. And they kept going, both the strap-on in her cunt and the dildo in her ass, fucking Kitty like there were two Jeans and they both wanted her to come.
Jean decided when it was time. Her strap-on grew harder and longer in Kitty’s open cunt and she came, she actually came, filling Kitty’s cunt with warm cum to soothe her enflamed nerves. And she let Kitty slip off her in happy exhaustion.
Kitty felt like she was falling asleep, having a dream within a dream. The aching pleasure felt realer and realer, and everything else felt further and further away. Soon, the echoes of Jean’s mind were louder than her own thoughts. She knew Jean was thinking of her almost-daughter, maybe sleeping in the other room, maybe listening, just beyond that thin wall that separated their neighboring rooms. Thinking of Rachel hearing Kitty’s moans and wondering what Kitty was dreaming of. Thinking see how Kitty likes it, even when she’s asleep? Doesn’t she sound like fun? Don’t you want to have fun with her? Aren’t you curious?
When Kitty woke up, it was in the dull, agreeable comfort of her own bed. One of those satisfying awakenings where there was no desire to urinate, no wakefulness, just the awareness that you had plenty of time to curl up and enjoy your warm bed and let sleep take you again. She thought of Rachel as she went to sleep. Wondered what she got from her mother’s side of the family.
In days to come, Kitty would date Rachel. It would ebb and flow, like all relationships, and she would find other loves with Pete Wisdom, with Piotr again, even with Illyana Rasputin. She’d lose Jean and Jean would return, bright as a rekindled flame. But wherever her heart went, whatever lovers came and went, she would always remember her first time. Not the physical act with Wisdom, but the mental surrender to Jean. The first time she’d realized the pleasure she could feel. The first time she admitted what she wanted from a partner. And the words she would always cherish, relish, as both a warning and a promise.
“If I ever have to repeat last night’s lesson, little girl,” Jean had said at breakfast the next day. “I will use a paddle, do you understand?”
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The Mind Is Virgin Territory