Corruption Is Just Another Change of Perspective

Jean Grey was a cum dumpster and she’d been in use since mid-morning. She didn’t remember who had fucked her first. She knew who was fucking her now, though it hardly mattered. Banshee had a tight grip on her head and was fucking her mouth, Jean sucking him greedily like she could stop him from pistoning in and out of her throat. Daredevil was fucking her ass, while Spider-Man slammed his dick into her pussy. She didn’t know if they were the real things. They could’ve just been men in costumes. She didn’t care. All she cared about was continuing to exert her power, keeping herself floating so the endless line of men could maneuver her as they saw fit, fuck her any way they wanted.

Banshee came, filling her mouth, and petted her hair before leaving. Colossus was next. Jean shook her head; she didn’t think she could swallow any more cum, and wanted to keep Banshee’s in her mouth. Instead, she offered her breasts. Colossus obligingly placed his prick between them, and Jean held her tits together for him as he fucked himself into her cleavage.

It went on and on. Whenever one was done with her, another would take his sloppy seconds, his thirds, his fourths. None of them wore condoms. None of them were allowed to pull out. Those were the only rules.

Jean moaned through a mouthful of cum as Daredevil finished in her ass, his seed filling her bowels. She forced herself to focus, closing herself up with her TK even as the overflow ran down between her legs. Then someone dressed as Cyclops—she didn’t care if it was or not—was behind her, spreading her cheeks, his cock large and ready. He was even bigger than the last man, and Jean winced as he forced himself into her.

The pain was enough to make her come once more.

Spider-Man finished. Logan was next. He’d already had her three times, but she’d never get tired of him. When he came inside her, it felt like a dam breaking.

She reached down to spread her labia for him. With every minute of being used, puppeted, she felt herself strain, tense harder, draw tauter. The weight of the cum inside her was growing heavier and hotter, each new drop of seed pulling her further. She was on the verge, she was suspended there, and even her many orgasms were no more than temporary reprieves from the all-encompassing tension she felt inside her. She knew any minute she could just implode.

Jean trusted Emma to know what her limit was. She no longer did.

***

Sometime in the afternoon, Emma called for a stop to it, sending in the A-force to handle the men who hadn’t gotten a shot at—or inside—Jean. Jean stood for the first time in hours, feeling cum slosh about in her belly, fill her sex like a pressing need to urinate, boil inside her asshole. She walked unsteadily up the stairs to Emma’s room, where Emma laid naked under a sunlamp. Emma looked at Jean’s own naked body with satisfaction. Not a drop of cum on her besides that which had trickled down her legs. She crooked her finger.

Obediently, Jean walked over Emma, standing above her on the massage table. She released her telekinesis, opened her mouth. Cum flowed down her chin, onto her breasts. It spilled from her ass and ran out her pussy, her body finally relaxing as it released what felt like gallons of what it’d been forced to carry. Emma giggled as the body-warm cum made her pale body paler. It sloshed out of Jean, fell from her like a geyser in reverse, and Jean felt herself come again—the feeling of relief magnified by Emma’s loving tampering in her mind.

“Ooooooooooh,” Jean whimpered, falling to her knees. Her tiredness and her pleasure were such that she almost lost consciousness, but Emma smiled at her and she knew what she had to do. Reaching down, she helped Emma spread the cum over her body. Enough for three coats, at least. Then Emma allowed Jean to rest, pulling her slave down next to her body and allowing Jean the use of her arm as a pillow.

“Such a good exfoliant, sperm,” Emma said. “Shame you can’t bottle the stuff. You have to get it straight from the source.”

Jean cooed sleepily into Emma’s wrist and Emma used the hand trapped by the weight of Jean’s head to stroke Jean’s face. She’d observed the footage in-between appointments. It wasn’t truly arousing; of necessity, all the participants but Jean had to be men, and Jean really was at her best with at least a few ladies in the mix. If she wanted cock, she could’ve just stayed with Scott, after all.

But Emma had enjoyed the professionalism of it. With a little mental magic, she’d had all the men believing they were fucking her. She thought Jean had definitely enjoyed walking a mile in her shoes—even on her back. She wondered if Jean ever could have imagined, back when she was all lovey-dovey with Scott, that there’d come a day when Emma would watch a succession of men fill her up like a water balloon.

Later, she’d given Jean the reward of eating her pussy. For now, she let Jean sleep, let the cum Jean had gathered work its magic on her literally creamy skin.

And Jean slept happily, finally unburdened by memories of the Dark Phoenix—dead planets, eaten stars, hurt friends. That intoxicating power was no longer a problem for her. All her power belonged to Emma, all of her belonged to Emma. She no longer had to worry if she was giving into temptation. Emma was all the darkness she would ever need.