The Gift

disclaimer: Except for a couple OC's, all characters are the sole property of Marvel Comics. We expect to recieve no monetary benefit from this story and it is meant for entertainment purposes only.
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The Gift
by Dizi and Jaenelle Angelline


Chapter 3

Logan closed his bedroom door behind the girl. “Take yer clothes off, Freckles. Put 'em on the floor next to you.” She did, neatly folding them before putting them down. He gestured towards the bed. “Go on an' bend over, legs apart.”

She obeyed, and he got an eyeful of anal cleavage and the tiny, inviting pucker of her anus. He slid a finger into her vagina, being careful of her hymen, and his thumb into her anus, massaging the tissue separating the two orifices inside her body. He did this for a full minute, before pausing to check her cunt for sexual excitement. Nothing. “Do ya like that?”

No answer. “Freckles!” he spoke sharply, prodding a particularly raw-looking cut on her back, knowing she wouldn't react but wanting to accentuate his irritation. “Do ya understand the question?”

“No, Sir.”

“Then ya best say so. We wanna hear answers ta each question we ask. If ya don't understand ya tell us.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now let me ask ya again. Did ya like that?"

“It doesn’t understand, Sir.”

Logan nodded to himself. If he’d done that to any other woman, she would have been panting and begging by now. He'd expected that, it fit with what he had experienced with other toys, but he didn't like it.

As Remy had said, toys weren't a lot of fun. He liked his women to let him know when he was hurting them, and he also wanted some evidence that his efforts to excite them were paying off. This girl, this toy, could do neither because of her training. It might take a while and some patience, which he admitted he didn't have much of, but he could fix that.

While waiting his turn with her, he'd smoked a couple cigars and thought hard about it. He understood she'd endured so much pain that she had eventually become desensitized. He'd have to take it easy with her for a while until she could really feel again. Then he would be able to teach her the difference between sexual pleasure and sexual pain.

"Yer Master ever let ya come, girl?” He asked, hit by a sudden thought.

A hesitation, but she spoke before he could remind her about his desire for her verbal responses. “It doesn't understand 'come', Sir.”

He sighed in frustration, knowing this was going to be harder than he'd originally thought. She'd never experienced the pleasure only the pain. He wasn't sure how to get past that.

He slid a hand down between the smoothly shaved labia to find the tiny button of her sex. He massaged it gently but firmly, rolling it around in his fingers. He received no reaction. Nothing, she remained dry. But right now he wasn't doing this for her pleasure. It was for his own. He liked touching her warm soft sex and deserved something ahead of time for all the work he was planning to do.

Then he caught a medicinal scent coming from his thumb. He sniffed it delicately and grinned. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but knew what it did and what it was from. Blue had given her an enema with something in it that would numb her rectum. He could fuck her ass several times without causing her enough pain to worry about.

Slipping a finger inside the elastic ring, he rolled it around inside her, stretching and working the muscle for several minutes in preparation for his entry. When he released his cock to push it in, he did it slow and careful, helped somewhat by her bearing down so that he slid into a hot, tight, pillowy softness. He groaned at the erotic sensation of it and let himself come right then, knowing he'd be ready for round two in less than a minute.

Leaning forward, Logan started to trace the red lines on the pale-skinned back, fascinated by them. He wondered how badly she would have to be hurt before she showed any external sign of pain, or even a change in her body scent that would indicate she felt what was happening, wondered if she could at all. His wild side rose up, begging him to let it come out and play, but reason prevailed. It would defeat his purpose and he wanted her healed completely so his enjoyment of what he would do to her wouldn’t be curtailed by the visible evidence of what others had done.

“What made these marks?”

“A wire whip, Sir.”

He flinched even as his dick began to hardened inside her. “How many times?”

“Twenty-five, Sir.”

“How long did it take?” His voice was harsh. He'd seen the damage a wire whip could do and never seen anyone take so many strikes. Whoever had done this had known what they were doing or it could easily have gone to the bone. Depending on her healing factor, it might have, but he didn't think so with as little as she'd been eating.

“Until Master said Master's arm was tired, Sir.”

“Is this the worst that bastard did ta ya?” He started pumping his hips, moving in a slow, steady in and out rythym because he wanted it to last this time.

“No, Sir.”

“What's the worst thing they ever done?” Leaning forward, Logan began to rub his fingers along her spine in time with his cock's easy movement.

“It doesn’t know, Sir.”

"How many Masters have ya had, girl?" Up and down, in and out. It felt so good he had to concentrate to hear her words.

"It doesn't know, Sir."

He was getting damn tired of that answer real fast and almost wished he hadn't told her to give it to him. He gripped her ass cheek under his palm, a finger digging into one of the shallower cuts, and snarled. "Guess." He punctuated his words with a deeper thrust that pushed her further forward on the bed.

"Many Masters, Sir."

"Blue said ya ain't sure how old ya are. Are ya over eighteen?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do ya know?"

"Master told last Master, Sir."

That relieved him of one worry. By the look of her, she could have been either way, but he didn't like to fuck jailbait. Not that he'd have given up her sweet tail easily, but he would have thought twice about screwing her again. Briefly, but he would have thought twice. Trying to get an idea of her age or how long she'd been being used, he asked, “How long ago since yer first fuck?”

Her anal ring suddenly tightened around his so strongly he felt as though his dick was being strangled. Panting at the sensation, he came again in surprise. At the same time, his senses were filled by the changes in her. He heard her heart begin to race, felt her breathing go faster, and smelled her body scent completely change. She stank of fear and panic.

He eased out of her carefully, feeling the tension in her body and muscles, and sat down beside her. Something about that question had terrified her. Looking at her heaving shoulders and youngish face, he had an idea why. "Freckles? How old were ya?"

He stroked her hair back from her face and was just about to prod her to answer when she whispered, “S-seven, Sir.”

His hand clenched involuntarily, pulling her head up from the bed. He got up, furious, spinning away from her, trying to restrain the fury inside him. His claws slid out, slid back in, slid out again. He didn’t see her, didn’t smell her fear. Instead, he was thinking of Jean, of a photograph he’d seen of her at the age of seven, laughing as she played with a puppy. This girl would have been just like Jean, looked so much like her. What if some sick bastard had...

Logan steered his mind away from that train of thought, filled with an unrestrained fury. He hated nothing more than child molesters.

“Did it hurt? Did ya scream? Did the sonuvabitch punish ya fer it?” Even in his rage he realized it fit with what he'd figured out. She’d been punished so often and so long for an unwanted reaction to what they did to her that she had learned to suppress all reaction to all feeling, starting when she'd been a child. That was what had made her a toy.

“Y-yes, S-sir.” Her voice was shaking. So were her legs. Logan registered it in the back of his mind, knew he'd better do something quick, but first he had to know who. "Does the kiddie fucker have a name? Who did it?”

“M-master, S-sir,” she said.

"No! His name! His real name, what is it?" he snarled.

"I-i-it d-d-doesn't kn-n-now, S-sir." her words were barely discernible.

Forgetting the cuts on her shoulders, he gripped them hard, shaking her slightly, needing to know. "Tell me!"

"It doesn't know, Sir."

Shocked at how her voice had steadied, he got control of himself and let go abruptly, watching her fall back to the bed. Pushing aside his guilt at so forgetting himself as to hurt someone obviously in a state of shock, he quickly considered the change in her. It struck him that it had been caused by the pain, a feeling so familiar to her. Familiar and therefore a comfort.

More forcefully than before, he pushed his cock into her asshole again, his anger having affected him sexually. He pistoned in a quick hard rhythm, feeling her body start to relax and respond automatically as she'd been trained. He continued until she was back to normal, the irony of it twisting his lips into a grim smile. She needed pain and fucking to help her deal with the pain of her childhood rape. The start of her conditioning.

Once she'd completely relaxed, he allowed himself to really feel what he was doing. He groaned, the heat and softness driving him wild, making him spend only a few seconds later, howling his satisfaction inwardly. Basking in the afterglow, he stood there for a time, rubbing the soft skin of her ass, thinking what a pity it was he couldn't order her to come as a reward, or apology.

Finally, he pulled out reluctantly and shoved his cock back in his pants. Disgusted with himself, he pulled her cheeks apart, checking her still stretched anus for blood to make sure he hadn't damaged her. He'd known Freckles would just take anything he did to her and it had been his responsibility not to hurt her. So what had he done? He found out she was molested, something he should have thought of earlier, lost control and failed.

After ordering her to stand, he began inspecting her entire body. He noted the bruises on her shoulders, touching them lightly. Then he forced himself to move on and make sure he hadn't opened any of the welts and cuts. All the while he watched his three loads of cum sliding down her thighs and smelled the sex clinging to her body.

Satisfied no real damage had been done, but still angry with himself at how he had treated her, Logan spun away. Snapping "Fuck!", he grabbed his cigars as he stomped toward the door. "Bathroom's that way," he pointed to his small private bath, ordering gruffly, "Get cleaned up, then kneel there on the floor 'til I get back."

About twenty minutes later, after he smoked a cigar to help him calm down, he was back with a plate of meat left over from dinner which he'd reheated and taken the time to cut into small bite-sized pieces.

Sitting down on the battered couch, he beckoned to her holding out a piece of meat. "C'mere, I got somethin' fer ya."

Crawling forward on her hands and knees, she delicately took it from his fingers so he didn't feel her lips or teeth. Sitting back on her haunches, she chewed carefully and swallowed slowly as he watched her through half-closed eyes.

"C'mon up here." He had her curl up beside him with her head on his thigh, trying not to think how close her mouth was to his dick. She had to be tired.

Stroking her hair and face with one hand, petting her, Logan fed her with the other. He could smell her confusion at his gentleness but this was something important she had to learn. There were two sides, though she had only experienced one, to the scenes he played in. He wasn't going to just hurt her but would also take care of her needs. Needs she didn't even know she had.

This had been a good idea. She needed the protein to heal and needed to be comforted by something other than pain and sex. Feeding her this way accomplished both and showed her what to expect in the future.

When the plate was empty, he set it aside on an end table. He allowed his hand to trail down her side, lightly stoking his way down her body, bypassing her breasts to carefully press against her belly, feeling how full her stomach was. The way her former Masters had starved her, her stomach would have shrunk and it wouldn't do her any good to throw up.

He sighed, it was late. “Get dressed,” he ordered. "Ya need some rest an' we gotta go find yer room."

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Having gotten as much information as he expected to at this point, and having established with Freckles his expectations, Logan took her to Jean. He had heard where she was supposed to go but thought Freckles should get used to interacting with the others. Charles wasn't the kind to just put her away somewhere.

Though she felt uncomfortable around the young woman, Jean was too well-mannered not to be polite to Freckles. Even if she didn't understand the difference in how Jean behaved, she would and just couldn't be otherwise. She led the way to the room uneasily. "Long ago, Charles had a nurse who stayed in here, but it hasn't been used for a long time. Ororo and I cleaned it earlier while you were with Hank, and we changed the sheets and put on fresh bedding."

The girl said nothing but Jean got the impression she was waiting for something.

Nervously, Jean pointed out the doors. "This one is a closet. I know you don't have any other clothes now, but we'll fix that soon. Here is a private bath, and this one leads to Charles room. He said you should feel free to go in whenever you might feel a need to."

Freckles had watched her closely but still said nothing. Unsure what she should do, Jean looked to Logan.

He knew Jeannie wouldn't like this, he'd seen the way she'd flinched at dinner when he'd spoken to Freckles, but... "This is the room yer Master wants ya ta sleep in, Freckles. If ya don't know what ta do, yer to go inta his room an' ask him. Do ya understand?"

She nodded and when his eyes hardened she remembered his instruction to speak her answers. It was hard to remember all these new things Master wanted of her, but she said quickly, "Yes, Sir."

Nodding, Logan gestured to Jean and they left her alone in the room.

Because they had said the Master wanted her to sleep in this room she understood that was what she was supposed to do. By the same reasoning, which she wasn't used to doing, the woman had said the closet was for the clothes, and she took them off, neatly folded them as she had seen the dark skinned woman do in the attic, and placed them on the floor of the closet. Then as she could not remember ever sleeping in a bed, she curled up on the floor and went to sleep.

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In the hallway outside, Jean turned on Logan. "Is it really necessary to treat her that way?"

"It ain't like I got a choice. That's what she understands." he defended himself. "I know it ain't what yer used ta but after awhile she'll understand ya or you'll get used ta her."

"I really don't like it, Logan, and neither does Ororo. Rogue hasn't said but she feels the same, I think." Jean shuddered, and wrapped her arms around herself tightly. "That girl, Freckles, she thinks strangely and I can't always block it out."

"Right now, she's somethin' a person ain't meant ta be, an' that's what yer feelin'. I cain't promise it'll change anytime soon." he said quietly.

She looked away from him suddenly embarrassed. "Are you really going to... to do THINGS with her?"

Raising a shaggy brow, Logan asked, "Do ya really wanna know?" He waited until she nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I am."

"How can you?" Jean demanded. "You just said she's been mistreated."

"Couple reasons. First, I ain't gonna mistreat her. I might have some tastes ya don't approve of but I ain't gonna mistreat her. An' she won't understand if we DON'T do nothin' with her. Ain't like everybody has ta, but if nobody does that'll really confuse the hell outta her." He hesitated, then shrugged. "Also, it's the way I am. Cain't put her in my way an' expect me not ta."

"If... if things had been different, would you have been that way with me?" She was a little scared of the answer.

"No, 'cause ya ain't that way." Logan shook his head sadly. "But ya always knew I had a darker side ta me. I am what I am. An' like I said, she is what she is. The same's true fer you. I coulda been happy with ya the way ya are." He walked away thinking of what might have been if she'd given him a chance.

Watching him go, Jean thought, 'Could you really?'

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Sometime later, Charles lay back on his bed with a sigh.

What had started out very ordinary had turned into a strange day. His mind was still running round in circles. How could Gatlin have done such a thing? And what was he to do with this young woman? Freckles? He couldn't just keep her, but what else was he to do? From what he could tell she was practically helpless.

And pretty. Though he'd tried, Charles couldn't get the image of her lovely perfect body out of his head. He couldn't walk, had completely lost the use of his legs, but there was still a part of him below the waist that still functioned, and it had reacted to Freckles. To know that she felt she belonged to him, that she had been given to him, intensified his reaction considerably.

It had been a long time since he had been with a woman, a very long time. Not since he had parted from Lilandra. He used to be so active sexually. He missed that. A lot.

And Freckles was so very close... and belonged to him...

Charles fell asleep with the image of her kneeling beside him, her body completely visible through the negligee, and her softly calling him "Master"...

On the floor not far from him really, she dreamed of when she was young.

... a man and a woman who loved her but had gone away... she had been given to HIM... then HE had hurt her, had put his thing inside her... HE had made her bleed from there for the first time... there had been so much blood... so much pain... HE said she belonged to him... would always belong to HIM...


Charles woke with a start, his heart pounding. His mind was filled with broken blurred images. There was a sour-sick feel to them, along with grief, pain, and fear. Freckles was having a nightmare. In his sleep, his mental shield must have lowered enough that he had felt her. This was why he slept on the first floor, so far from the others, so he didn't touch their minds in his sleep. But it was done and he couldn't leave her suffering like that.

He threw off his covers and turned on the light, but looking at his wheelchair he didn't want to take the time to climb into it when he knew she was in such mental anguish. "Freckles! Wake up!" Charles called urgently. "Come here! Freckles!"

Only seconds later, the connecting door opened. She hurried to the side of he bed and knelt, whispering "Master".

It was a repeat of the evening before, sans negligee. Charles closed his eyes, leaning back on both elbows, clenching his fists as his body reacted predictably.

He wasn't sure what he'd done, but he must have done something which she misconstrued. Because she climbed onto the bed, nudged her way between his thighs, took his penis out of his shorts, and latched her mouth onto it. All in the time it took him to breath deeply a couple times.

Opening his mouth to tell her to stop, he looked down just as she started bobbing her head up and down, taking his cock into her throat. All he was able to get out was "Dear Lord!"

Charles collapsed backward, gasping. His gaze drifted back down his body and he could see his entire penis was in her mouth, her lips at the base surrounded by his pubic hair. It was an arousing, erotic sight, and he felt himself get even harder, if that was possible. She was exerting a gentle but insistent sucking pressure on his cock, while her tongue flickered around the underside of his shaft, doing the most incredible things there. Her hands came up to gently cup his balls, massaging them through the thin, sensitive skin of his scrotum, and his brain dissolved into a whirl of crazed sexual delight.

He’d never, ever had a blowjob like this from anyone, even in his wilder college days. The sensation was spectacular, wonderful... It was wrong, but he couldn't make himself speak to stop her.

The feel of her warm mouth, her soft lips, and her throat muscles constricting around him along with the sight of her hair shining in the light as her head went up and down was overwhelming. With a hoarse shout, a cry of passion, he spent in her throat and she swallowed his cum without missing a beat or a drop. His mind reeled with the absolute sensuousness of it.

When his body stopped shaking with the aftereffects of his orgasm, Charles again looked down to see Freckles still kneeling between his knees, her green eyes downcast.

"Freckles," he whispered, holding a hand out to her. "Come here, come to me."

She crawled on her hands and knees slowly up the bed. Charles pulled her down beside him so she lay with her bare body alongside him. He put one arm around her, holding her close, and turned off the light. Brushing her hair back from her face with his free hand, he kissed her forehead. "Thank you. Now go to sleep."

"Yes, Master." she whispered again.

He sighed, and wondered as he fell asleep again what he was going to do with her.

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This time he dreamed of her.

It wasn't just the sex he had missed. A man -- a woman too -- could have an orgasm alone. He had missed the feel of a woman lying next to him. A woman's breast against his chest, her warmth and soft curves pressed against his own harder male planes. The feel of her soft hair laying across his pillow, tickling his arms and skin with their touch. He ‘d missed all of those feelings intensely…had not even realized how much he’d missed them.

Asleep and dreaming, he started caressing her, feeling her soft skin, kissing her shoulders and neck. Smelling her womanly scent. "Freckles," he whispered, somewhere in the back of his mind, his subconscious he knew it was her. She belonged to him, had been given to him.

He dreamed of her wanting him, her Master.

Still mostly asleep, he pulled her across his chest, kissed her lip. He didn't notice how she cooperated but didn't really respond. His strong hands grasped her hips, pulled them down towards his erection. She straddled his hips without having to be told, well-trained as she was. He tightened his grasp, lifted her so his tip entered her tight pussy.

And woke the rest of the way as he slammed her down so he was fully seated in her, not feeling the barrier break inside as he filled her pussy completely.

"God!" Charles cried. His eyes wide open now, he saw her impassive face in the moonlight. She was so beautiful. Her skin seemed to almost glow, and though her eyes were shadowed in the darkened room, he knew she was looking at him.

She was also contracting her vaginal muscles around his penis, milking him with her inner muscles, without moving the rest of her body at all. She was incredible, this gift of his.

From somewhere, he thought he saw desire, sexual lust in her eyes, and it fanned the flames of his own lust. It had been a long, long time since any woman had looked at him with desire in her eyes, and the thought of it made him feel suddenly, powerfully male.

Charles groaned, reaching up and putting his hands around her waist. She was so tiny, his fingertips could almost touch. He gripped her, his thumbs digging into her belly. He loosened and tightened his grip slightly in the same rhythm as her pussy gripping his cock.

This time as he came he pulled her forward so she was laying on top of him, hugging her body to him but leaving her still fully seated. She didn't stop her contractions, but continued even after he stopped pumping his sperm inside her.

"Freckles," he said hoarsely, when he had again come to his senses, letting her go. "Go into the bathroom and get me a warm washclothe."

"Yes, Master." She almost ran to do his bidding, and he hoped it wasn't because she was afraid.

She started to wash him when she came back, but he took the rag from her. "Go to your bathroom and clean yourself. Then go to sleep in your own room." he ordered. He couldn’t sleep with her in the same bed. He couldn’t even think with her in the same room. And he badly needed to sort out his own mixed feelings at what he’d just done.

She turned and left without comment and without delay, the door to her room closing with a soft click.

He cleaned himself and dropped the cloth now covered in blood and sperm on the floor, which he hadn't really seen.

Charles forced himself to calm down. As he thought over the sequence of events, he knew he had done something terribly wrong, something he hated. He had unknowingly forced his mind on hers. She hadn't desired him, hadn't truly wanted him during that precious interlude. It had been psychic leakage, his own lust projected and reflected, giving him the illusion of something shared. Remembering the blood-stains on the cloth, he knew he had probably also hurt her physically as well.

Staring at the ceiling, now unable to sleep, he swore he would find a way to take care of her and find what was best for her, this gift of his. His Freckles.

*****to be continued*****