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"'Night, Jean," Jubilee blew a kiss and added a wink with the words, "Don't stay up studying later than I would!"
Jean Grey waved goodbye to the yawning Jubilee and headed into her room. It was late, but then they'd been trying out Beast's new astronomy club. Jean stiffled a yawn of her own. She'd conscientiously done all her homework before heading out to watch the stars
and now it was time for her to sleep. She could feel the comfortable quiet of sleeping minds all around her.
In her long skirt, stiff blouse and soft cardigan she leaned against the closed door and surveyed the dorm room she'd been assigned. Everything was clean, tidy and fastidiously in the right place. Her room looked like it had come from an old-fashioned brochure.
Jean had read the stray surface thoughts of a few of the X-Men from this time. They thought she and the room matched, both 'preppy' and 'repressed'
Jean was a teenager decades adrift from her own time, she could accept she'd seem old-fashioned. But she absolutely had be repressed.
Flung forward in time from the past she had seen in the minds of dozens of X-Men what had happened to her. How she had grown in psychic power and become a valued member of the team, and how it had gone terribly wrong as she'd become first the evil Black Queen
of the Hellfire Club and then host to the all-powerful and nearly as destructive Phoenix Force. Jean had to be perfect, she had to be flawless, or that past she had never experienced might still become her future.
Today would have been her 18th birthday. She had promised herself in the unexpectedly distant past that she'd ask Scott out if he hadn't asked by now. But because of her new knowledge Jean suppressed any and all thoughts of boys. She'd never even known girls
could be attracted to girls till she'd met Karma and Bling, and then she'd tried not to let her eyes pop out when they discussed it like it was perfectly normal. She tried not to think about that either.
Jean took a deep breath and straightened, unconsciously smoothing the lines of her clothes. Someone had left a large parcel wrapped in brown paper on her precisely turned out bed. It had some weight to it the way it creased the tightly tucked bedclothes.
Jean sat primly beside the parcel and pulled the card on front away. Unsurprisingly it was addressed to her but the return address was for a company called Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzburg & Holliway in New York. Jean didn't recognise the firm, but they sounded like
lawyers. Other than that there were no details or clues as to what might be inside. Jean shrugged and began to carefully remove the brown paper. Whatever it was Henry McCoy's machines would have thoroughly scanned it to ensure it wasn't dangerous.
Revealed within was a plain box and inside that beneath a layer of black crepe paper Jean pulled out a pair of knee-high and very high-heeled black leather boots. The boots had been polished till they almost shone. They rested on a heavy cape, crimson on the
inside and on the outside just as black as the boots. With mounting horror and a shaking hand Jean tipped the box over and out fell a black bustier corset and a tiny black thong.
Jean scrambled to her feet, her hands brushing against the black thong as she flung herself from the bed. She shook her fingers as if she had received a static shock.
Was this some kind of sick joke?
Jean scanned the immediate surroundings to see if she could feel a mind watching or laughing at her. No, just the sleeping dreaming minds she'd felt before. But opening her mind, straining to make it as sensitive as possible with every trick the Professor had
taught her she could feel... something. Not a mind, not thoughts, but something like an echo? It was impossible to place.
Jean picked up the sleazy costume from where it had fallen beside her bed. She ran her fingers over the smooth black leather and latex as force of habit made her put it neatly away in its box. The workmanship was exquisite. Each piece felt wonderfully expensive
and comfortable and even sort of familiar. She shook her head as the memories she had scanned from other minds of what she had looked like dressed in those clothes rose into her mind.
As she brushed her teeth at the sink she tried to think about something else. Who could she ask for help with that strange pyschic impression? The Professor would be be far too alarmed. She just couldn't talk with Rachel Grey - it was already too weird to have
a daughter older than she was who she'd never carried or met. To talk about tight corsets and tiny thongs? Much too weird!
Psylocke had come back from the dead almost as recently as Jean. Jean had seen photos of Betsy in her old costume. A woman who could wear that tight revealing swimsuit into combat and not be ashamed to show off her beautiful tits and ass wouldn't be embarrassed
to talk about the Black Queen's costume. But in every other way Betsy was so fierce and scary.
The Stepford Cuckoos would never keep it secret. At least not from Miss Frost. Miss Frost? Jean didn't like Emma Frost, and the feeling seemed to be mutual, but she did know a lot about the woman who'd worn that costume. Hadn't she helped create the hot bitch
in the first place? Hell, Emma often flaunted that fuckable body in a white version of the same sexy costume.
Jean washed the toothpaste out of her mouth and looked at her slightly puzzled expression in the mirror. It was a sensible plan but some of those thoughts seemed a little off. She laid out her pyjamas neatly by the box on the bed as she imagined Psylocke and
Rachel dressed in the costume. Or maybe in a red version. Mmm, yes, that was nice. Or maybe Black, White and Red Queens with a Cuckoo each.
Jean had stripped down to just her plain boring white panties. She picked up her pyjamas and then put them down. It wouldn't do any harm to try on just the boots. She'd probably look comical tottering about in such high heels if she could even walk in them.
She sat down and slid the black latex on.
They felt good. Really good. She stood and found it wasn't at all hard. She was perfectly balanced. She took a few experimental strides. The heels were at least five inches high, far higher than any she worn before, and yet it was easy to stride around in them.
Like she'd been wearing boots like these for months. There was a full-length mirror on the other side of the bed. She strode toward it, one foot placed before the other at each stride, hips swaying. She looked so confident and powerful as she approached it.
Her nipples were hard and her... her womanhood was aroused.
Jean leaned over the bed and tugged the box over. She had to try the rest of the costume on. She wrapped the corset around her torso and found it fastened easily. She pulled at the laces, tying them as if this was something she did every day. She wanted it
tight. Tight was good. Tight till it hurt a little. Because even the pain felt good. Though not as good as every movement of the stiff material against her sensitive nipples.
Jean had always thought her breasts were small. But pushed up and together by the corset they looked huge, her cleavage a tempting depth. She preened and turned at the mirror as she admired her tits. Emma's tits were better, as were a few other of the X-Women.
She didn't feel jealous. She wanted them, wanted to fill her hands and mouths with boobs they lovingly offered up.
The cape fitted around her neck and shoulders and stretched almost to the floor. It made her feel even more powerful.
Jean almost tore off her white panties. They revolted her. So boring and prosaic. So childish. She slipped the thong on, slowly, drawing out the pleasure. She had no doubts now that it belonged on her. She'd never worn anything so small and sexual. It sat low
on her hips and disappeared between her buttocks.
Jean looked at herself admiringly in the mirror. Her costume was complete. She could feel the psychic presence all around her. But that wasn't a surprise. She recognised it now. It was herself. Imprinted, embedded, hidden in the costume. But there was no need
to hide now. A tiny part of her was afraid but fear was a flavour she enjoyed in women. Almost as much as submission.
"You're a hot slut. I'm going to enjoy fucking you," she told her reflection as she felt her slit through the latex of the black thong. Then she slid it down her long legs and over her boots. She'd only worn it fully for seconds but it had completed her. Beneath
wild red pubic she was ready. Jean Grey giggled at her evident arousal in the mirror.
She laughed in full-throated pleasure and triumph as she collapsed back on to her bed and slid fingers into herself.
Womanhood? She sneered at the naive simpleton she had been. She pushed into her hot
pussy. Finger fucking her wet cunt.
Jean writhed on the bed and masturbated without contraint. Weeks of repression released in moments. A second set of fingers found her clit and stroked and circled it till she had her first orgasm of the night.
Sensations other than sex filled her mind as the other Jean entered her. Jean opened her legs wide as she imagined the Black Queen's corruption pouring in through her slut cunt and riding the nerves to her sex-starved mind.
Jean remembered things she'd never experienced. She hung from a metal X, each limb bound to a separate part of the cross. She tried to resist the White Queen's mental domination but her body couldn't resist the heat of Emma's mouth on her neck and breasts.
Emma waited till Jean begged before she slid a finger slowly into her captive's wet pussy. The White Queen corrupting her with physical pleasure and psychic perversion. Fuck, Jean wanted to pay her back and thank her in equal measure.
Another memory. She sat bored in a drawing room of the Hellfire Club watching servants clear away champagne glasses. Dressed in a variety of fetish gear one woman in a sexy French maid outfit caught her eye. She entered the woman's mind and poured lust into
it. Jean stood; the as the woman worshipped Jean's cunt. Other servants sucked at her nipples and another buried her face in Jean's ass to tongue her anus. The bitches' desires, wishes and sexualities were irrelevant. The Black Queen was in their minds and
now they existed only to serve her.
The X-Men had told Jean how wicked the Black Queen had been, but not how good it had felt. But she understood. She was so strong, and others were so weak. She deserved to rule them. To use them. To fuck them.
As she lay on the bed playing with her cunt and tits, she looked in the mirror again. The Black Queen looked back out of the mirror at her as Jean Grey willingly destroyed herself with sexual corruption and soaked in the black soul she had never been but would
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