X-Men Fan Fiction ❯ The Turnabout ❯ The Turnabout ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I have nothing to do with Marvel or the X-Men. All of these characters and various plot points belong to them. I’m only an insignificant wanna-be playing in their sandbox.

The Turnabout
by Yimmy

Newsweek printed an engrossing article about corporate advertising loopholes. It cited the disturbing ability of proprietary software to track and report costumer usage of certain products which would then be analyzed and sold to other companies to target an audience. Take Nullsoft’s Winamp for instance.

Behind every play list was a statistical breakdown of everything imaginable from times a listener’s favorite songs played to the amount of times the bass boost had been clicked. This anonymous information found its way to the AOL/Time Warner conglomerate which had a hush-hush pact with the Microsoft Corporation which put names, faces, addresses, and age groups to the so-called anonymous data. The information then funneled back into AOL/Time Warner to give to Vivendi Universal’s subsidiary, the Universal Music Group, the largest music store on the planet. Universal adjusted its advertising strategy before selling the data to bulk email groups.

AOL/Time Warner escaped blame because the data it disseminated technically wasn’t its own and therefore wasn’t breaching the End User License Agreement. Microsoft claimed to be benevolent programmers who used the data to create stable environments for music listeners everywhere. Vivendi defended its practices by saying its aggressive marketing campaign cut down on the illegal downloading of music.

Tingles ran up Emma Frost’s spine as she gasped in erotic pleasure.

She closed the magazine and flopped it on her desk. Her full lips glistened in the sunlight filtering from the window. Breathless, Emma gripped the armrests of her chair and tossed her head backwards, long blonde hair crashing about like a waterfall. Aroused nipples poked against the revealing white of her leather top and left nothing to the imagination.

“Yes,” she hissed, biting her lip, “Yes!”

Esme Stepford relentlessly attacked Emma’s slit. Her nimble tongue seemed to curl around the wet nub of nerves peeking from the White Queen’s fleshy folds. And yes, the White Queen was wet, so very, very wet. Whatever pretense of preoccupiedness Emma maintained disappeared when Esme got into the swing of things. Though her technique lacked, youthful enthusiasm, near-religious fanaticism, and the forbidden act excited Emma.

No, it was the forbidden act and its reason that excited Emma. She had young, nubile adolescents before, and while Esme didn’t fall on the bottom of the totem pole, she didn’t top it either. The girl didn’t use her hands and only focused on the clitoris, providing no contrast of sensations. Her tongue wasn’t particularly skilled, nor did she establish her other assets like her eyes or breasts. In other words, Esme was a passable fuck, but nothing special...

Until one realized why Emma was so wet and turned on.

Until one realized that she was Emma Frost’s student.

Until one realized the reason for this.

“Harder,” woman commanded, mercilessly grinding her hips against the Stepford sister’s face.

And the reason: Scott Summers. Ever since their psychic affair in Hong Kong, Emma obsessed over the man. He wasn’t an original or attentive lover. He wasn’t a poet or overwhelming good looking. He wasn’t imaginative or witty. He certainly wasn’t rich. He was, however, a prude and prudes were generally naïve. The naïve were also innocent, and by God, Emma loved corrupting the innocent.

Her body locked and built up a store of arousal for a split second. Then, she came and came hard. Obediently, Esme lapped away to preserve the orgasmic moment, but Emma’s mind was miles away thinking of Summer’s ample member penetrating her and-

She shuddered again and strained further into Esme’s active mouth. Her leather clung to her skin, stuck there by sweat pouring from her. She heaved deep breaths, her chest pushing against their confines as she listen to the slurping noises Esme enunciated.

“Stop that.”

The slurping continued.

Abruptly, Emma pulled Esme’s head away. “I said stop it. That’s my vagina, not a water fountain.”

The two made quite an image. Emma, face red and body slumped in her chair, lounged while her unzipped pants exposed her recently serviced sex. Esme, lips glossy and eyes defiant, kneeled on the ground like an unpaid whore.

“You wanted dirty,” Esme said, defending her actions, “Is that too dirty for you?”

“It’s disgusting and out of place. Contrary to the lesbian pornography you’ve been squirreling away on your computer, that noise only pulls the recipient out of her aroused state. You want to prolong the sensation, not ruin it by lapping her cunt like a bitch at a water dish.”

“What if she likes it that way?”

“We are talking about Jean Grey,” grinned Emma, “You have to be gentle with ones like her.”

At the very mention of “Jean Grey,” Esme’s entire demeanor softened. A dreaminess replaced the defiance, and Emma marveled yet again how one who boasted control of the Phoenix could miss something as transparent as a teenaged infatuation. Poor little Esme drooled over the red headed instructor to such an extreme that she couldn’t think straight, let alone be straight. Whenever Jean passed by, the girl let her gaze linger a bit too long on that posterior. Whenever Jean talked, she listened attentively, so attentively that Emma got suspicious.

That suspicion led to the conception of this operation: the break up of Scott and Jean.

Esme couldn’t fall asleep unless she rubbed herself silly over the images of Jean’s athletic body. Emma couldn’t stop salivating at having Scott’s odd, ever-present innocence. God, he was like... like... an eternal virgin, the kind who remained tight no matter how many times they got fucked. And while he wasn’t the greatest looking man of all time, he was easy on the eyes and proudly gifted downstairs.

How could the Phoenix miss two blondes circling her like hawks?

Well, she missed the signs, and Emma capitalized. She tutored Esme on the finer points of sex and seduction to increase her chances at success. Esme’s success meant Emma’s success, so the White Queen poured her heart and soul into these lessons and the subsequent plot.

Word in the mansion said that Jean and Scott’s marriage was on the rocks. They slept in separate rooms, taught separate classes, and there was a rumble that Jean would be joining Ororo’s Xtremely Xenophobic Xcessively X-themed team soon. Why, in the X-Men, joining different teams pretty amounted to a divorce, so behind that flimsy justification, Emma didn’t feel like she was being a home wrecker.

Since Emma didn’t feel like a home wrecker, then neither should Esme.

Ok, Jean and Scott--two still married though might as well be divorced people. To keep appearances up, they couldn’t have been getting any sexual gratification. No sexual gratification meant an opening to swoop in and claim the prizes. Slutty? Some people would call the tactic and reasoning slutty, but those same people, in Emma’s humble opinion, were also butt ugly pricks who couldn’t seduce their way out of a Viagra symposium.

They had to itching for release, and that’s where Esme and Emma came in. For a month now, Esme had been getting pointers from Emma about the intricacies of pleasing a woman with her own womanly assets. To get someone like straight-as-an-arrow Jean to even accept a female required the proper mix of finesse, allure, assertiveness, attractiveness, and opportunity.

And Emma knew the formula.

Esme’s sexual technique had to be perfect, her approach subtle, and her greatest asset--being forbidden fruit--had to be palatably packaged. So far, she’d been close, but close wasn’t close enough to flawless.

Sighing, Emma zipped up her hip hugging leather pants. “Tell me what you did wrong, Esme.”

“Nothing. Didn’t you come twice?”

Observant little thing. “No,” Emma smoothly lied, “I was humoring you. Now, tell me what you did wrong.”

“Nothing. You told me to use my tongue like-”

“You have hands,” interrupted Emma, “Even men know to use their hands--graze, caress, fondle, repeat. Your hands convey intimacy, and backing off routinely makes you seem less desperate.”

“But you were sitting down. How could I touch your breasts?”

“No one said anything about breasts, darling.” Emma ran her hands up the inside of her thighs. “This is all sensitive area, and with the right coaxing, can excite Jean more than touching her shapely mounds.”

Yes, going back to Jean always snuffed out the annoying know-it-all in Esme and refocused her. Such a predictable little girl--how nice it’d be to have her even as a part time snack, but alas, this Stepford had a job to do.

Emma continued her lecture on hands. “The sides, the midsection, these can also be excitable points, but be wary of the squeamish, ticklish types. You want her begging for your touch, not laughing like a maniac.

“Thus, your assignment, dear Esme, is to further analyze today’s performance and present at least five ways to improve. I fully expect you to research, practice, and experiment.”

With a flick of her hair, a cross of her legs, and a brief puckering of the lips, Emma preened, “Dismissed.”

*****************

Esme spent another two months on various “assignments.” Sometimes, she watched Emma have her way with expensive, experienced call girls. Sometimes, she had her way with Emma. Sometimes, Emma had her way with her. To test her skills, Emma made Esme seduce random women.

By now, little mannerisms became second nature. Things like swaying hips, jutting out the chest, and sweeping her eyes grew routine. Esme’s voice gained a husky edge, lowering just enough to be intriguing but no enough to be scandalous. She could snap from innocent student to domineering sadist in no time, reversing roles to keep the sex fresh.

“An about face surprises, and usually delights, most people. The sharp dissimilarity highlights their strength or weakness, and for a short while, it will overwhelm them.”

Emma’s sage words, and ones Esme used a whole lot. “Flipping the switch” Esme dubbed it, and used in the right situations (a trembling of fear while atop a submissive, a nasty bitch exploding from the guise of a virgin girl, etc...) had made more than one partner come in an instant.

She worked her way up. Up? Up where? Up the ladder of seduction, of course. First came Harry’s on Thursday night, single’s night. A leer here, a dance there, and after some deft touches, the twenty four year old, soon-to-be married brunette was screaming for more in the bathroom stall.

“No telepathy,” Emma reminded Esme, “Your target is Jean Grey. She will respect your privacy if you respect hers. You cannot give her a reason to delve into your mind, because if she does, you will have no chance.”

Next: the Hellfire Club. Everyone was ready and willing, so the challenge wasn’t seducing but rather pleasuring. Esme set her sights high by going after one of the mistresses, and when the girl had the leather vixen strapped to a rack and begging for the whip’s wrath, Emma smiled like a proud mother.

“I’ve never heard Evelyn whimper like that.”

Like all her classes, Emma had a difficult, nigh impossible final, one which made Esme do a double take when she heard it.

“You want me to do what?”

“I want you to seduce Danielle Moonstar.”

“Why?”

“Because Moonstar is the perfect target. Should you fail, either of us can mind wipe her. She generally keeps to herself and has a room in the quieter wing of the mansion. Except for Karma and Shadowcat, she would not readily turn to any others for help. Logan’s damnable nose is nowhere nearby, and after you’re done, we’ll clean her up and she’ll think she slept through the day.”

The encounter went smoother than either Esme or Emma anticipated. Knock, knock on Danielle’s office door went Esme, puffy eyes and pouty lips in tow. She made up some story about questioning her sexual orientation. The right words about vulnerability, fear, and unrequited love hooked Moonstar in. Through the mutually shed tears, Esme blurted that the unrequited love was indeed Moonstar herself. The X-Woman backpedaled, making sure to say any such relationship was inappropriate and illegal. She went on and on about this being a crush, which wasn’t wrong in and of itself, but that people, especially teachers, had to draw the line somewhere.

“Then forget that I’m a student. Love me like a woman.”

It took some more words, but somewhere between not wanting to hurt Esme and wanting to keep her at arm’s length, Danielle fell into the criminally innocent eyes and couldn’t get up. The plan was to go back to Danielle’s room, but things progressed so fast that her office floor became the setting for their passion.

Seeing enough, Emma waltzed in, erased Moonstar’s recollection of any heavy petting, and replaced the lost hours with the memory of an uplifting tête-à-tête about lesbianism and being comfortable in one’s own skin.

All the sex and seductions converged onto Jean Grey, the object of Esme’s affections. In the beginning of her lessons, Emma used to say, “Picture that woman as Jean” or “Picture me as Jean.” Later, these words went unsaid but not unused. Picture Jean. Every fuck, every mew, every thing, everyone was Jean, and now, Esme graduated to the real thing.

“Mrs. Summers?”

Jean looked up from the computer and smiled that heart stopping smile. “Esme, how are you today?”

“Great,” the blonde breathed, swaying over to a chair. “I need some advice about college and Dr. McCoy said you’d be the one to ask.”

“Never too early to think about the future, is it?”

“No ma’am.”

“Well,” Jean said as she turned her monitor around so both could see, “Do you have any ideas and should I print extra copies out for your sisters?”

“Umm, I was thinking about staying here and no, I’m just wondering for myself.”

“You’re always welcome at the Institute, Esme, but it’s still early. Perhaps you’d like to explore other options first?”

Laughing mirthlessly, Esme sadly replied, “Yeah, like they’d let mutant freaks into Harvard.”

“Now wait just a minute. No university in the United States requires you to submit to a genetic test before admission.”

“With my luck, they’ll probably pass a law two months before I graduate. Stupid flatscans...”

Jean the Cool Teacher moved aside for Jean the Counselor. “What’s wrong, Esme?” she asked, concern dripping from every inch of her lovely face as she enfolded the student’s hand.

“It's just... like... ahh, who am I kidding?” Esme stood up quickly and let her breasts jiggle just that noticeable bit. “Sorry for wasting your time, Mrs. Summers.”

Before she could bolt out the door, Jean (predictably) said, “Esme! Don’t go!”

“Why?” cried the blonde, back turned and shoulders shaking, “I can see the writing on the wall--the only future I have is here, where everyone else is a mutant. What chance do I have in the real world?”

“Hey, it’s ok to be worried. You’re at the age when more and more of your future is resting in your hands and it can be a bit much. I get it, I’ve been there. And actually, I’m glad you’re thinking and talking about this now because a lot of people don’t even consider it until it’s too late.”

The door closed with a soft telekinetic nudge. “Come on, Esme, you don’t have to be scared. Seems like there’s more than college that’s bothering you.”

“There is,” sniffed the blonde, “but you don’t want to hear it.”

“Tell me and I’ll judge for myself.” Strong, firm hands turned Esme around. “Do you need a hug?”

The blonde nodded, and soon enough, found herself pressed against those perfect breasts that she’d been fantasizing about for months. Then, in a shrewd, calculated move, Esme whispered, “I love you, Mrs. Summers.”

The tone behind the words could not be mistaken.

*****************

Emma glided into Scott’s darkened, Spartan room. She allowed herself a mental cackle for putting together and executing this plan so unbelievably well. At lunch, she slipped a tranquilizer in his drink and that sent him to his bed to sleep off the unyielding fatigue. Esme went about her task, and after four hours, no one had seen a sign of her or Jean. Being optimistic today, Emma assumed the best.

So long Summers marriage. You won’t be missed.

Grinning, Emma hovered over the comforter covered lump. At long last she found the foil for her wit, the purity to serve as a backdrop for her debauchery. Despite his faults and sins, Scott Summers maintained his indelible aura of righteousness. Despite her virtues and accomplishments, Emma Frost forever carried the label of villain and corrupter, not that it wasn’t correct. So here was Scott the Angel to Emma the Devil, the perfect compliment to everything Emma Grace Frost.

As their fling in Hong Kong showed, try as Emma might, she could not drag Summers down. He was her personality rival, and rivals always made the battle sweeter. Her time with the X-Men convinced her that Scott was the only man who could endure the iciness of the White Queen, and damn it, no way was she letting him go.

Hence the obsessing. Hence the plotting. Being with Scott excited her like a shot of heroine, and like the banned substance, provided a rush not found anywhere else.

“Hello, Scott,” drawled Emma, “Come to Auntie Em...”

She peeled off the covers, but instead of a muscular man, Esme Stepford’s wiry form greeted her.

“Esme?”

From behind, Jean sneered, “That’s right, Auntie Em.”

Emma twirled around in time to see the manifestation of the Phoenix chasing away the shadows and sinking its talons into her.

“You like manipulating others?” Jean growled, her hold on Emma’s psyche deepening, “You want to steal my husband? You want your student--YOUR STUDENT--to make me unfaithful?! You are despicable, and hell has a special place for creatures like you.”

Aspects of herself disappeared, burned away by the Phoenix’s fury. Emma tried to say something, anything, but the livid Jean wouldn’t listen. Changes to her very essence overrode what her mind accepted as the norm, and while her rigid discipline rejected the new impulses, a heaping of cleansing mental fires turned discipline to nothingness. A new, blank slate Emma Frost broke from the old one, and in cruel twist, fought its predecessor for supremacy.

With the Phoenix’s help, the battle wasn’t close. This new Emma reached out and crushed the old Emma like a tin can. In the physical world, Emma spasmed and choked on blood rising from the back of her throat. On the astral plane, the White Queen winked out of existence, leaving behind a glassy eyed statue waiting to be shaped.

Fiery wings engulfed the sole occupant, remaking, shaping, and reprogramming.

What remained of Emma’s residual psychic defenses did nothing to stem the tide of mental violation, violation so radical that she fell onto the bed and blacked out.

*****************

She awoke drenched in a cold sweat. The closed curtains kept the room in darkness, a darkness that felt strangely comforting. For some odd reason, Emma didn’t want to see light.

Light and fire. Bad.

A finger fluttered over her neck and descended down, brushing past her collarbone and between her breasts. The touch sucked Emma’s breath away, and the clamminess claiming her body warmed into an uncontrollable passion. Down, down, down the finger went, over her stomach and dangerously stalking her dampened sex. Everywhere the digit touched Emma’s complete consciousness followed and savored like the aftertaste of a finely aged cabernet sauvignon.

The touch. Addicted, she needed the touch. It made her whole, and without it... no, she couldn’t even fathom life without it.

“Please,” she gasped, “More...”

The finger disappeared. Emma tried to move, but a pair of tight handcuffs held her wrists together. Her legs, she moved her legs, but she found no purchase against the soft bed and silk sheets. A fear seized her heart and her brain immediately told her she did wrong.

Esme grabbed Emma’s jaw and forced the older woman to lay still. “Please who?”

A knife of arousal brought goosebumps all over her skin. “Please, Mistress.”

“Better. Now, spread your legs. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Mistress always treated her well, and if she was really good, she might even get to come tonight. Some people might’ve called Emma’s total submission sickening, but she didn’t mind. In fact, for so much of her life she sought control, and to give it up so completely in mind and body was a refreshing change of pace. Besides, Mistress Esme was a naturally dominant woman, one who demanded total control of Her slave and wouldn’t settle for anything less.

Emma used to be dominant too, but things changed, things like her sexual appetite. When her needs changed she didn’t remember, but upon further review, her mind shouted a weak protest, something about the need to be owned being unnatural.

A tweak of her nipples squelched the dissident cry. Breasts swelled against the pinches, thrust forth by arousal and an arching back. Heavenly agony lit her eyes and squeezed her every muscle; even the handcuff’s dull bite felt soothing under Mistress’ guidance. How could sensations so right ever be wrong?

Yes, tonight, Emma Frost writhed about on the bed as someone else’s slave. She loved it, loved it so damned much. The idea of being used melted her mind into an incomprehensible jumble, and... and...

She couldn’t think. In the pale moonlight, Mistress’ perfect features brought Emma’s being to a standstill. That thin body housed a world of confidence, strength, and dominance. The deceptively innocent face hid a steely disciplinarian, one who always lurked but didn’t always act. Those burrowing eyes and that lipless smile trembled Emma’s insides when they beset her. And Mistress’ sex, the well-kept jewel of her tapestry, that center of Her which acted as Emma’s center as well... no words did it justice.

Without warning, an inordinate number of fingers plunged themselves into Emma’s core. On instinct, she thrust her hips up to be closer to Mistress, for Mistress to reach further inside of her. It hurt, but in a good way.

Then Mistress’ alluring voice cut through the wall of pleasure. “Don’t come. Don’t even dare think about it. There’s still miles to go before you sleep.”

Don’t come. The command locked away the budding orgasm, and even if she wanted to disobey, which she didn’t, she couldn’t. Total submission... total control... Emma ceded everything to Mistress, and Mistress treated her well.

*****************

“That’s an A+,” groaned Sophie.

“No fair, Esme had to be cheating,” Mindee said, mulling over the big, fat C- on her term paper.

“Cheating?” Phoebe scoffed, “She has to be reading Ms. Frost’s mind.”

Celeste nodded. “Yeah, Ms. Frost never gave out an A+ in her life. She said so herself.”

Shrugging, Esme tucked the paper into her backpack. “If you were more attentive in class then you might get my same grade.”

“She’s cheating.”

“She’s using her telepathy.”

“She’s bribing Ms. Frost.”

“She’s probably sleeping with her too.”

Esme blinked at her sisters, threw on her backpack, and walked away, ignoring their inquisitive probes. Besides, “Ms. Frost” followed orders, and like any good slave, she deserved a reward when she pleased her mistress.

As the sisters disappeared around the corner, Scott pulled his head back into the teacher’s lounge and glanced at Jean. “Have you noticed anything strange about Emma recently?”

“Sure,” the redhead smiled.

“Like?”

“Well, for starters, she’s much nicer than normal. She’s less high strung and overall much more agreeable.”

“Never thought I’d hear ‘agreeable’ and ‘nicer’ when describing Emma.”

“People change, sometimes for the better.”

“Oh, and do you have the inside scoop on this latest development?”

“I might, but it’s going to cost you, Slim.”

“I’m a gamblin’ man, Red.” Putting down his coffee cup, Scott grabbed Jean’s hand and kissed it. “You know, I’m just glad we got all that drama of the last few months behind us. I wasn’t sure what I wanted and I was just so hollow. Now, sitting here, I know why I felt that way. You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Coyly, Jean giggled. “Is this your wager? A speech and kiss?”

“Said I was a gamblin’ man. Didn’t say how much I gambled.”

“Mind if I give this handsome stranger a little advice?”

“Go right on ahead.”

The smile on her face widened. “Always bet on red.”

*****************


- The End.