Going Solo

Rolling over, Paige's eyes peered at the large digital display on her clock. The evening was just barely setting in and Paige's long, graceful limbs still ached from the work out she had put herself through just an hour ago. Every day it was the same thing. A run in the morning, a light breakfast, some form of idle research and further workouts. Paige was not like every other female at the mansion, she did not have better things to be doing with her time.

Gently she arched her body and fell back as she splayed herself out spread-eagled amongst the silky smooth expanse of her bed as she looked from the clock to the ceiling. Its white breadth, while soothing, was plain and uninspiring.

The X-woman had just completed yet another voluminous, positively juicy entry in her treasured journal that seemed to revolve around a certain Millionaire playboy. Dropping her fingertips to the smooth, strong expanse of her belly, she plucked her soft-backed journal and closed it with the care and delicateness that one delivered to priceless china.

Sluggishly she pushed it up behind her, setting it back into its familiar place beneath the two pillows upon which her thicket of long blonde hair was fanned out. It felt comfortable there, leaving her with a sense of security. That journal, dog-eared and harmless as it seemed contained the depths of her soul, her heart bleeding onto the pages as she detailed every caught breath, every suspicion, rumour, secret...Every sordid thought, every fantasy and, most importantly, every crush.

Jonothan Starsmore filled the most recent pages for the previous month since she had graced the halls of the Massachusetts Academy, albeit against her better judgement. He savoured his isolation, was touchy, moody and his deliberate distance was what made him desirable, albeit untouchable. Every pass in the hallway, the occasional greeting, the rare flash of a would-be-smile crinkling around his eyes sent her heart racing like a rabbit. Paige Guthrie had it bad.

She always had it bad, didn't she? She did nothing by halves and when she first set eyes on Jono at the airport she had expertly concealed any trace of a tell-tale reaction. It had caught her off guard; him a walking furnace, a hollow chest leaving him morose, her attraction had gradually escalated; lust and desire born of unpleasantness and fierce competition.

Paige's fingertips curled unconsciously against her belly. The pads of her fingertips grazing the soft fabric of her T-shirt; the simple motion offered her little relief from her thoughts of Jono which, while starting out as innocent and seemingly harmless, would no doubt stray into the not-so-wholesome, into the disreputable, into the amorous and erotic. For it was here, lying within the (assumed) privacy of her bedroom, stretched across the soft, familiar comfort of her bed that she was allowed to think the unthinkable.

One did not allow their thoughts to wander to the simply unmentionable when out and about, not when there were two telepaths in her midst. Thinking thoughts driven by lust was dangerous business here and thus Paige, the ever cautious, kept her thoughts confined to the privacy of her bedroom.

Lolling her head to one side, the young mutant's eyes stared fixedly upon the opposite wall, seeing it and not really paying it any mind. While she noted a crack in the paint-work that needed touching up, Paige's mind was not on the details of DIY.

She hated to think it, but Jono fit like a glove into the stereotype of tall, dark and broody. The fact that he was a London lad only added fuel to her metaphorical furnace. Paige found herself unwittingly sucked into fantasies of conquering the mysterious Starsmore, finding out just enough to know with confidence that the feeling might be mutual. She saw herself standing face to face with him. His stony silence, dark eyes burning into hers, wide and eager for what would come next. Only she'd take her time. She'd trace the lines of him, familiarise herself with what his mutation had left to him. She'd take a risk and dare to take off his bandages a layer at a time, exposing herself to the blaze, trusting on her husking to protect her. Unfortunately he hadn't shown much, if any interest and she didn't know for certain if he would.

Paige's hand fell flat against her stomach, her head righting itself, she tilted it down a fraction of examine her body from this angle. She was not a bad specimen, was she? Bending one leg, she studied her thigh, entrapped only by the running shorts she had pulled on after her exercising. It was strong and well proportioned, tapering into a slim knee that wasn't knobbly, nor graced with thick skin. She had nice legs, she decided silently as she reached out a hand to touch her knee.

Gently, splayed fingertips slipped down the smooth, hairless skin of her thigh, enjoying the silky feel and the sensations it roused below the waistline. As the familiar, welcome stir spread with the wandering of her fingertips Paige made the conscious decision to finish what her team-mate had started.

She slid her hand lower, grazing the hem of her shorts and to where it dipped between her thighs. Her skin jumped at the touch, the delicate patch calling out to her every pore and forcing her fully awake. Paige was no stranger to this, to exploring and touching herself experimentally in the confines of her bedroom. She was free to do as she pleased here and worried not about mutants that could see through walls or the likes. When she allowed herself to play her fingers up and down against her satiny flesh, she didn't need to worry about anyone else—just her own reactions and the thoughts which drove her.

Teasingly her nails scratched against the inside of her thigh, demanding her sex pay attention and it did, mildly. Something awoke in her lower belly. It sparked and she felt a sudden rush that travelled the hormone express from the surface of her skin to the unfolding heat between her legs.

Her other hand, once still at her side had found its way devilishly beneath the white T-shirt she wore, touching her warm, soft skin. Absently she traced her firm abdomen her skin alighting to her touch. It was a small comfort from the slow, almost languid scratch of her nails against her inner thigh—it offered only a little release as her mind wandered further alongside her hands.

Her palm snaked flat up against her belly, over the gentle ridges of her ribcage and across toward the confining, controlling material that made up one of her sports bras. Unpleasant to look at (in her humble opinion) but necessary. Yet as she traced the material beneath the swell of her breast, she found herself wondering what his hands would feel like, touching her there. Would they be slow, patient hands? Stimulating the gentle rise and sensitive, supple undersides? Or would he be impatient and rough, shredding the material between his fingertips.

Paige herself was impatient. In the back of her mind, the possibility of someone walking in lurked, heaving her to gently touch the rise of her breast before sliding up toward the warming skin of her collarbone, where the skin grew dead and snakelike as her mutation took over. She shed it, feeling the skin grow dry and brittle in her fingertips, tearing apart the dead flesh from her torso, the material of the bra crumbling and coming away easily. This little trick was something she had been practising, and not during lessons. It let her shed her bra but left her t-shirt unscathed. The brief stimulation had the soft pink of her nipples standing erect, pushing up against white fabric of her t-shirt, Paige finally allowed her eyes to lull shut as curious, impatient fingertips of a girl still on the brink of her teenage years, found her pleasure.

Tentatively she touched the soft , flattened flesh of her Areola. She pushed her thumb across the rise of her nipple, feeling flashes of electricity that it sent straight to her groin. She twisted upon the bed, the hand that scratched so near to her underwear dropped down, palm warm and flat against an intense heat that consumed her sex. She applied a little pressure as fingertips grasped the puckered, pinkish nipple and gave it a gentle twist. The reaction sent moisture flowing between her legs and her fingertips twisting with a little extra brutality.

The sensitive nubs screamed out in protest and heat rushed out to meet her flattened palm as it pressed firmly, soothingly to the valley between her thighs. With a gentle arch of her back, she sank her teeth against her lip, rotating her palm gently.

Paige regularly caught herself doing this, touching her body in ways she wished someone else would do, exploring the athletic flesh and gradually becoming an expert on what made her tick. She wasn't one for toys and other such 'helping hands' but she had considered. She even went out with the intent of buying something, yet the moment she got within fifty feet of an Ann Summers, she turned and bolted, ashamed by admitting that she had needs that extended beyond the whole 'relationship', ordeal.

So instead she settled for the deft work of her hands, knowing her body as she did, she followed a familiar routine. Grasp the soft flesh of her breast beneath the shirt, knead the heel of her palm against the ever dampening patch between her legs, teasing herself and drawing it out and putting off the inevitable. The longer it lasted, the longer she could feel good about it.

She spread her fingertips from the smooth, silky flesh of her bosom, touching a fine line of moisture in the dip between them, trailing clammy fingertips down the central line toward her navel. Sweeping her fingertip in slow, teasing circles around it, as her kneading between her thighs became less, her muscles twitched in anticipation as her brain engaged and her body was aware of what she was going to do before she was. Inching her hand back, she abandoned the blossoming warmth and instead tugged aptly at the elasticated waist of her shorts.

Paige was grateful, she was always grateful for this easy access route, never wearing button and zipped shorts after a work out for this precise reason. There was nothing better than exploring and pleasuring her own body after putting it cruelly through its paces. After a harsh workout it deserved some reward and the ache and exertion of her body made it all the more sensitive and aware…She found it more explosive this way, her body bending to her every whim, rejoicing in the delicate yet determined touches of her eager hands.

She edged her hand teasingly down beneath her shorts, tracing the twitching, zealous flesh above the conventional white underwear. French-cut undergarments draped over her damp, anxious snatch. She touched it through the crotch of her underwear and was stunned to realise just how wet she was. There was no time to stop and savour the moment, instead, she pressed her fingertip firmly over the white material, her fingertip sliding easily down the centre, feeling the material push down between unfolding flesh, allowing her entry for the briefest of moments before she pulled away.

Her fingertip was slick and potent with moisture born of her inner sanctum. She felt her body give a tremble in anticipation and she arched her hips unconsciously. Her free hand easing off her shorts for far better access, she didn't fancy ruining them in the heat of the moment. Instead, swiftly she kicked off the work out shorts and listened as the fabric crumpled to the floor. The freedom was surprising and the sudden cold that contrasted the heat from within was comfortable. Her hands spreading back up toward her chest, she gripped the material of her shirt, hurriedly tugging it away from her torso so's to not lose her excitement that always seemed to ebb so quickly.

Sinking her head back against the pillow, a new urgency possessed her that surpassed any concerns she had about being walked in on. No, this new need was to finish the job she had started, to give in to the want of her body and indulge in an act that nobody thought Paige Guthrie was capable of. Thus, when her hand grasped her pelvis, digging her nails in, she gave a little yelp as a momentary, unexpected pain tore through her, shedding the underwear in a matter of seconds, it, along with the flesh that lined her loins. The immediate moisture vanished with the shedding but the wetness and warmth still rushed out to meet her. She satisfied her needs delicately as her fingertips poised, touching just barely the dull throb of those outer folds that she knew so very well.

In no time at all, her fingertips glistened with her own fluids, flesh puckering and easing cautiously open with every touch and curious graze of her fingers. She wondered what his hands would feel like down there, how different it might be coming from Jono. She wondered if he was a man who liked to explore as she did, or if he knew his way around the female form well enough to dive in feet first. She could see him, crouched over her, legs easing open in anticipation, his, thick dark hair tickling her thighs, his warm fingers upon her flesh, teasing it, taunting her. He'd wait. Her fingers paused. He'd look at her with a predatory gaze and slide his fingers deep inside.

She parted her folds, touching down upon slippery flesh, feeling her body scream in delight as she dared to trace within experimentally. Her legs pulled further apart, the smooth, hairless flesh draping in either direction easily, leaving her body free to move and arch as she drew herself close to the hardened little nub that graced the pink, feminine tissue. Closer she eased, her other hand trailing lines along her protruding hip bone, deriving little shivers with every tickle of those inquisitive digits of hers.

Easing her 'trigger finger' higher, she twisted her head to the side, eyes lidded, soft lips moistened by her tongue and parted, her tongue pressing firmly against the back of her teeth as she dared cleared those few millimetres between herself and what she ached for. She could see his face behind closed eyes, wondered what it had been like before he had manifested. A strong jawline, a shadow of stubble...the not knowing only made it better. She could feel his hands pulling her leg up, bending it at the knee and pushing it back against her body. He'd push in another finger and Paige wouldn't be able to stand it.

The warm pad of her fingertip touched the thin, fleshy hood of that tiny nerve. Her body jumped, and she hesitated as she drew a picture in her head, imagining his calloused musicians fingers touching her there, sampling her reaction. Paige knew her reaction inside and out. Delicately she touched the exposed nerve, just barely able to feel that tiny indent. Yet her exploration didn't go unrewarded, for with each touch and graze of her fingertips, she could feel that intensity building within her. With each touch, no matter how delicate it might be, sent darts of pleasure through her entire lower belly like bolts of electricity.

Twisting upon the bed, her hips pushed upward as the intricate movements of her hand intensified, finding her buttons and pushing them as her head pressed back delightedly into the soft pillow. Her eyes squeezed shut as her lips parted, tongue dragging across her bottom lip in one simple, sensual motion as she pushed down and forth upon her aching clitoris.

Panting, she sought out a satisfying rhythm—it changed depending on the day and the fantasy of her choice. Today, with the vivid mental image of Jono crouching at her hips, her tempo was quick and ruthless. It left her squirming and writhing on the bed, twisting the sheets in a knot of ecstasy beneath her as her thighs pleaded to clamp shut. The wave built up beneath her fingertips, her other hand shooting back toward her swelling breasts as she felt her body writhe and push toward a rapid crescendo.

The hardened little nub that was assaulted with firm, unrelenting circles as she pushed herself toward a limit that was inevitable. She knew how it would go even before it did, feeling the warm rush that spread throughout her body, a breakout in a fine film of sweat that caused her body to rise and curl against the mattress that lay cosily beneath her. Her breath quickened and her muscles began to contort, tightening and curling inward to the point of shooting pains down her thigh, yet she pursued diligently without sway as she concentrated on the task at hand.

It became excruciating as pain seized her and squeezed her every muscle to the point where it became too much to bare. With her eyes squeezed shut, still she worked persistently upon her clit, feeling the pulsing increase at a blinding rate, pause and then…

Something snapped inside her, the sinews that held her in place so firmly collapsed, leaving heat and moisture to come charging out to meet her thighs, painting them crudely in a clear liquid, marking her as spent even as she pressed her palm firmly over her screaming mound to guide her descent. The sensitive protrusion didn't dare linger out of doors after that, retreating with unspeakable cowardice back into its hood to recover from the probing it had suffered from agile fingertips that pushed a sharp, panting breath from her.

Never did she scream or cry out—she was quiet, whimpering as her body trembled uncontrollably, flooding her with a short lived but vehement pleasure that racked her entire physique. Her head of blonde hair, tangled and spread out across her pillow twisted from side to side with a violence as her body rolled upon its side, finally caving as her hand lay still upon her mound, not daring to touch if any further.

It was there she lay as the effects wore off, her heart rate returning to normal as she stretched out, rolling over onto her hip, her hair falling in wispy strands across her face, cheeks flushed from the fruits of her labour. It would be a good ten minutes before she would attempt to move, shedding an entire layer of flesh to rid the sweat, sticky moisture and other such tell tale signs of her secretive release. She would dress in fresh underwear, jeans that sat on her hips and a a t-shirt. There would be on her feet and her hair would be plaited neatly away from her face.

It would be as if she hadn't done a thing. The only tell tale sign that she had done anything at all, was the pile of shed skin she left casually on the floor next to her bed.