Though we cannot see them, all around us are the Mummudrai. As close to us as our choices and as far from us as our reflections. The Shi'ar say that each of us has our own Mummudrai - a psychic monster we defeat in the womb before we may be born. Each is our perfect copy in shape and form and capability.
They hate us then, from birth to death, the Mummudrai. They lust for the life that was denied them. We live in ignorance of them, but they watch us always from the gap between what is and what could have been. Clinging to a thin existence fed by the possibilities we reject or do not dare. Yearning to live our lives, to be us, but rancid and wrong.
* * *
Magik's long blonde hair streamed behind her in the powerful wind that her actions had summoned. Her smile was of pure pleasure, of exultation, at the power that had responded so quickly to her command.
"Be careful, my student, for this is power of a kind you have not experienced before."
Doctor Strange's astral projection blanched as he felt Illyana Rasputina press her foot harder against the accelerator of the red corvette she was driving. No, of his '66 Corvette Stingray. A car he had lent the X-Man rather than allowing her entreaties to experiment with the Eye of Agamotto. In hindsight...
"Remember your task," he glumly reminded the mutant.
His newest apprentice was an X-Man and had survived as both slave and ruler of Limbo, she could survive this. He recalled his projected self before he could learn the fate of either his student or his car as Magik aimed for a widening gap between a garbage truck and a slow-moving Prius.
"Da," Illyana stoically replied as she readjusted her wing mirror. A trash can lid dropped by a startled garbage man had bounced off it. She slammed on the breaks and with a screech of protesting tires ended a long skidding turn in a parking space right outside the shop she sought. One of the smaller but more useful enchantments Doctor Strange had placed on the car; a little extra luck in finding parking.
The magic shop was small and its windows almost bare except for a large set of paper letters taped to the windows. "Closing Down Sale." The balding proprietor peered out the door confused by the noise of high-octane antics as Illyana stepped impassively past him and surveyed the shop's interior.
Very little of occult value had ever been here, and most of what there had been was gone from the denuded shelved. But there were wards here, hidden in the wood and the mystic arrangement of objects. They should have made a pleasant background song of safety but, instead, they were discordant and disjointed. The wards had been broken. The collapsed charms set Magik's teeth on edge, as she turned to the shopkeeper peering at her through his thick glasses. Something of her feelings must have shown for he took a hasty step back.
"Doctor Strange sent me."
"Ah yes, er, about the grimoire? I didn't see the note. Not till after it was sold. He, I mean Mr. Hastings, God rest his soul, was a bit disorganised. I don't know how he kept track of all this nonsense, er, those items."
The only magic of note in the shop was on him. The decaying after-effects of a simple glamor the wards would have protected him against, if he had not damaged them so carelessly. Illyana let the man babble the rest of the details. A girl had bought the grimoire, doubtless her little spell had let her pay next to nothing for it. A pretty girl, returned from college and with ideas about magic and the moon.
* * *
"The word 'good' has many meanings. For example, if a man were to shoot his grandmother at a range of five hundred yards, I should call him a good shot, but not necessarily a good man. A quote from Chesterton, and a warning that we should always be careful about the words we use when discussing what is right and wrong. Consider--"
Emma Frost stood at the head of a classroom teaching ethics to young mutants. She wore an immaculately tailored white trouser suit with a conservative overbust corset. She took pride in teaching; the classroom was the one place where she allowed conventional prudish fashion rule so as not to distract her students. Of course some could not let go, most of the boys and many of the girls at times, imagining her in her full White Queen regalia or less.
"Mr. Keller. Hellion! Concentrate on your lessons or you can share your thoughts with the class. Or I can."
Emma Frost pushed easily into Hellion's mind, her student trusted her so. It was easy for her to take his sordid imaginings and give them overwhelming urgency. It was only a little harder to subvert her other students' senses. They would see nothing and Hellion would remember nothing.
He stood and Emma bent herself over the desk pulling her trousers down and presenting her ass. Hellion's telekinesis tore her thong off as the tip of his stiff cock probed against her pussy lips. She stroked his mind and mindlessly he thrust hard and fast into her wet fuckhole. She cried out in pleasure she denied his mind the ability to feel, making him thrust and twist in sole service to her pleasure over and over.
Emma Frost's pussy clenched and she came, her juices coating her student's cock. It wasn't enough.
She pulled herself off Hellion's dick and turned onto her back on the schooldesk. The Japanese girl Noriko, known as Surge, was masturbating in readiness. The blue-haired girl pushed her blue-fringed cunt into Emma's face but her hands went to the White Queen's tits. Electric sparks of pure pleasure stimulated Emma's nipples as she controlled Surge's body like a maestro of perversion. Hellion pushed his cock back into her ready cunt. She wouldn't let him come till she was finished with his hardness. Maybe she wouldn't let him come at all.
The Mummudrai watched Emma Frost and hungrily ate the unacknowledged and forbidden possibilities her lesson generated. Paths that would never be taken and would never satisfy its hungers. It watched and it lusted and it hated.
* * *
Jean Grey slept in the White Hot Room, slept in the embrace and power of the Phoenix. Jean Grey stared out of the window of the school library, stared out and wondered how a teenager was supposed to cope with being pulled decades into the future and all the things her other self had done.
The Mummudrai longed for the power of the Phoenix but it would be burned by the merest taste. Instead it supped at the steps that would bring Jean Grey to the Hellfire Club and the role of Black Queen. A long path but steps that it had trod once before. Power. Power was what it wanted, power to express its hate.
* * *
The house had been empty but Illyana's powers had let her teleport inside, changing into her uniform as she plunged though Limbo on her stepping discs. Her soulsword had allowed her to dispatch a more dangerous guardian than she had expected. She had ransacked the place quickly, found the clues that had led her to this warehouse and an office overlooking the empty delivery bay. She had anticipated trouble but this was worse than anything she had expected. She considered summoning aid from Doctor Strange, but this was a chance to prove herself and not one she was going to give up without a fight.
Below her a ritual was in progress. A figure in baggy sigil covered robes was chanting from a grimoire. In front of the figure were three summoning circles, in chalk and blood. The chanting voice was distorted beyond recognition as the repeated words tore at the fabric of the world.
It was too late to interrupt, the results would be unpredictable at best and catastrophic at worst.
As the voice rose to a crescendo, Illyana had time to realise her one stroke of luck. Only three Dark Crystals of Thra were present and if the magician had more there would surely have been more circles. Better, it would not be possible for her to use more for seventeen cycles of the moon. Magik knew that whatever was to be summoned would come from one of the nearer planes to Earth, such as Otherworld where the fae dwelled, rather than such dangerous realms as the homes of the Many-Angled Ones.
As Magik prepared her soulsword and her connection to Limbo, the ritual concluded with a blinding flash of light. Standing in the circles were three women familiar to Magik, women she had fought with as teammates, women who were X-Men.
Relief turned to fear as from her hiding place she examined the three more closely.
Emma Frost was famous, or infamous, for her sexy costume of thong and corset in white. But she was modestly dressed compared to her evil duplicate. The blonde's white underbust corset artfully supported the biggest breasts of the three women. Breasts which were bared except for the glittering diamond pasties that covered them. Each of the large multi-faceted diamonds at the tips were pink hued from the nipple concealed within. Her tiny thong was not the silk favoured by the true White Queen but a curtain of crystal with only refraction to preserve her modesty.
"Fuck! Flesh feels so much better than I imagined," Emma declared as her hands ran wantonly over her body.
Jean Grey's double was dressed in black and gold, a hybrid costume combining elements of her time as Black Queen and Dark Phoenix. On her chest was the golden phoenix emblem trapped in inky black. Hugging her every curve its wings spanned her breasts while its body sat above her navel. Her thigh-high black boots and matching opera gloves were moulded with decorative spikes. A golden sash was tied about her waist and beneath it was inverted black triangle of a thong licked by golden flames. It had no straps and Magik wondered how it or the phoenix emblem stayed in place until she realised that Jean's telekinesis was holding it in place. If Jean lost concentration or control the slutty simulacrum would expose herself completely.
"So many minds, so weak and ripe to be taught obedience." Jean sounded hungry as she lipped her ruby red lips.
Compared to the other twisted telepaths the doppelganger of Psylocke appeared almost normal. She wore a version of Betsy's swimsuit in purple with knee-high boots and elbow-length gloves in the same color. About her thighs and upper arms were set bands in a bloody red. The differences became more marked from there. Cutout from the front of the swimsuit was the shape of one of her psychic blades. It exposed underboobs and her navel and the point plunged so low that it was clear she had waxed away all pubic hair. More disturbing was Ilyana's realisation that the upper bands on her thighs were actually the lashes of whips coiled around her legs with the phallic-shaped handles the same purple as her costume and following the curve of the thighs against which they were holstered.
"Who are you?" Psylocke began, looking at the mage before them. And then before there was a chance of an answer a better question occured to her. One that asked not for permission but inquired of possibility. "Can I hurt you?"
"Kneel, and worship."
The three women in their circles made to laugh in mad delight, but instead to their evident consternation they fell to their knees. Jean Grey managed to stay on only one knee, but her strength of will made it only more obvious when her defiance failed. Magik could see the binding spell leap from the sigils that surrounded each woman and spiral in through their flesh and into their minds and souls.
"Mummudrai," Magik whispered in horror as spells which would have no effect on a mortal human rewrote their loyalties and purpose. The three would be the absolute slaves of the one who had summoned them, bound to her will utterly till the sorceress who had brought them here was slain.
"Yes, goddess, use me." "Fuck me." "Let me hunt for you."
Ilyana had heard and seen enough. Now was the time for action. If she cut off the head of this wicked witch those she had summoned would be immediately banished. Magik's powers gave her all but impenetrable psionic shields but it was not something she wished to test. Strike swiftly and destroy the threat. She summoned one of her stepping discs and appeared behind the robed magician.
Magik's soulsword struck out once, twice and a third time to be sure. She returned it to its scabbard on her back.
"What a mind, I could not have stopped you alone." "Perhaps not even two of us." "But three and we can see inside you."
Magik's uniform felt to the ground in tatters. Three clean cuts had shredded it. She wanted to cry out in alarm, but instead she spread her legs apart standing on her toes with her arms behind her back. She was not where she expected, instead of behind the magician she was in front of her. Exposing her breasts and genitals to her magical opponent's inspection, and her ass to the monsters the woman had summoned.
The telepaths were in her mind. Emma made her wet with pleasure from exposing herself to her mistress. Jean filled her with anticipation of the ecstacy of obedience. Psylocke made sure that she felt the humilation as further arousal.
"Our first gift to you, mistress. This is why you summoned us, isn't it?"
"Oh yes, my slaves."
Hands reached out to stroke Magik's breasts. No, they were tits now. Boobs.
Magik tried to resist the telepaths remaking her mind. Tried to keep some part of herself back as they taught her to love betrayal, to love fucking, to love hurting and most of all to love obedience. She tried to keep secret the knowledge that would ultimately save her.
"The book is a trap, mistress. Doctor Strange warned me."
The hands groping Magik's tits clenched. It hurt terribly. Magik loved it, Psylocke made her love it.
The telepaths forced more words from her mouth, till she was eager to tell them everything she knew.
"The spell is deliberately flawed, to catch and kill rivals of the one who wrote the grimoire. Before two dawns the spell will fail and the summoner and those summoned will be sent back together to the home of the Mummudrai. The delay, the apparent success, a trick in case one mage, like an apprentice, is is made cast the spell for another."
The hand slipped from her tits. Magik ached for it to return. Behind her the three telepaths cried out in horror, though Magik could not tell if it was for their mistress or themselves.
"Is there no way to beat the trap?"
The telepaths ransacked Magik's mind, filling it with half-remembered glimpses of Strange's books and artefacts. Forcing her memory past its normal bounds.
"Yes! Yes! If those summoned are in true bodies when the spell fails then the bindings will hold and none will be banished."
"True bodies?"
"Da, they must enter the bodies of their living mortal selves. They must enter through the Gates of Venus."
"So, my telepathic thralls have just under 24 hours to trick, seduce or fight their way into the pants of the White Queen, Marvel Girl and Psylocke. And fuck them out of their bodies? It's a good thing our first new slave can take them where they need to go in the blink of an eye."
Magik nodded eagerly as her new mistress and owner pushed a finger into her slit. Enslaving more heroes and heroines was what her mistress wanted, what she wanted. It felt so good to be fucked body and mind. Soon the X-Men and Avengers and more would understand.
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