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"Yeah, like Sue would just throw on a Halloween costume because we asked nice. The Mistress will understand."

"Hey, I was Malice..." Sue grumbled through her shock at the perverse sight.

"Shh!" Janet was looking up. So did Jen. And so did Sue.

There was a balcony she hadn't noticed, inlaid in the wall, what must've been the second story of the cavernous ballroom. The light being what it was, Sue couldn't make out many details, but she saw a figure poised at the railing, two slender white-gloved hands on the guard rail, the rest buried in a shock of white fur and ice-blonde hair. The pallor caught the light, while leaving the rest in shadow. Except for the eyes. Though she couldn't see them, Sue felt a pair of predatory eyes on her.

She felt unexpectedly flattered by the obvious scrutiny. From what little she could see of the other... patrons, they all seemed like models of physical perfection, maybe even superheroes like Captain Marvel (if they had been her), their tantalizing cloaks alone outdoing her understated good looks. And yet, those eyes seemed locked on her, repeatedly brushing over the blue dress that now seemed hopelessly quaint in this sea of flesh.

"Told you she'd understand," Jen said smugly, pounding Sue on the back.

"That's the Mistress?" Sue looked back at the balcony, the eye contact—if it had been that—having been broken by Jen's back-slapping. But all she caught was a whiff of cloth, like a cape. White, of course. It disappeared.

"C'mon," Janet said, now simply ignoring Sue's questions. "Let's see if we can get a booth."

Again, Janet took the white card out of her purse. She held it at her side. Sue saw it out of the corner of her eye. She was riveted by the scene on the stage. One of the bound woman's—torturers? Lovers? Co-stars?—had dropped the whip and was now peeling away a section of leather, revealing the flank of her thigh, pure creamy flesh with just the slightest trace of the whip. As Sue watched in stunned disbelief, he took out a knife and ran it gently over the exposed skin. An animalistic keening took over the club's soundtrack, amplified from the woman's need.

"Greetings, madams," came a delicately accented voice, startling Sue. When she turned to recognize the newcomer, her heartbeat picked up again and wouldn't slow down. She felt like she'd been falling asleep, lulled into senselessness by the sheer madness around her, and now her brain had transmitted a random sensation of falling to detonate her.

It was Psylocke. That sweet British voice belonged to Psylocke, Betsy Braddock, stalwart X-Man, former Captain Britain, and she was dressed in the same mask as the other club-goers, its intricate lace barely disguising her Asian features and uniquely English expression of polite sarcasm. Her midnight-blue stockings and gloves made it even more obvious who she was, but even the woman who'd openly tried to steal Scott Summers away from his wife wouldn't wear her current garments into battle.

Instead of the relatively modest leotard Psylocke usually wore, this... funhouse mirror reflection had on the sheerest net panties Sue had ever seen, riding low on her hips to mark the miles of distance from her taut underbelly to the bra that was more like a transparent film draped over her cleavage. The only thing that kept Sue from pinpointing the exact shade of purple in Betsy's pubic hair was that she didn't look hard enough.

"It would be my pleasure to serve you." Her smile was wicked and all-encompassing. "The three of you."

"We would of course want the house brand," Janet said smarmily, already eyeing Betsy's prodigious breasts, the biggest Sue had ever seen on an Asian woman. She'd heard the rumor that Betsy had gotten implants to replicate the D-cups she'd had in her original, Occidental body, but if it was true, then the work was far too good to be detected by sight alone.

"Of course," Betsy replied, her purple hair flashing in the dim light as she bowed with mock-respect. "Compliments of our hostess."

The Mistress, Sue thought, almost reverently. Who was she, this woman that had at least four superheroines Sueknewto be decent, respectable people... acting like Mardi Gras was being held on spring break?

Betsy turned to lead them away and Sue tried to keep herself from staring at her ass. It was even more exposed than usual, her panties just a strand of lace running between her cheeks to keep the rest together. And her ass was damn near perfect. The slender musculature that ran through Betsy's body sculpted her buttocks into pristine form. Sue had to force herself to look away.

Betsy walked them to the curtains along the wall. Pulling back a set, she revealed a small circular booth, eight feet in diameter with plush seating along the sides and a brief platform in the middle. It was obviously one of many, each practically invisible from the dance floor. Pulled along by Jen and Janet, Sue sat. She watched as Betsy closed the curtains behind them—God, her ass really was spectacular—and then as a stripper pole rose from the center of the platform.

"What's your name?" Janet asked Betsy. She glanced at Sue. "When you're on the job?"

"Slut."

"That's a very pretty name," Janet said seriously. "Dance for us, Slut."

So she did. With the same languid grace that Sue had always seen Psylocke possess in battle, Betsy reached behind her to grip the pole. She waved her body from right to left as she let herself descend, then turned around and rose back up, swaying against the pole. Sue watched breathlessly. This wasn't—for her, she wasn't wired this way. Why was she enjoying this? And yet, and yet, and yet... she was enjoying it as much as Janet and Jen were.

Betsy entwined herself with the pole and circled around it, now facing the party from behind the slick metal. She reached to her breast and her fingertips roved over her nipples, making first one, then the other pop through the sheer silk covering them. Smiling, as if she'd amused herself more than them, she ripped the silk away. Her breasts swayed and rolled from the violent motion, and they kept moving as Betsy circled the pole again, stimulating herself with the cold metal on her sensitive buds.

Again she turned her back on them, her body in continuous liquid motion. The amplified moaning coming out of the speakers and through the heavy curtains now sounded to Sue like exotic music in a sultan's court, spurring a dancing girl on to heights of ecstasy. With one sinuous roll of her body, Betsy shucked her panties. Though the sight of her ass was practically the same, now Sue felt an electric twist of arousal. Betsy was naked. Naked for her and her friends.

"Janet," Jen begged, and out of the corner of her eye, Sue could see that the savage She-Hulk had her hand under her skirt and was making it jump like the sea in a storm. "Jan, I can't do the fucking slow burn thing right now!"

"Christ, she's already naked, what more do you—" Janet groaned and rolled her eyes. Crankily she shoved her own hand down her pants. "Slut, fuck yourself! Give us something to take the edge off."

Sue literally could not breathe as Betsy twisted once more, now letting the side of her body—sleek thigh and the sweet curve of her left breast—face them. One leg was wrapped around the pole and so were both arms. As she faced them, she pressed herself up against the pole like it was a lover—and then began to roll her pussy against the metal. The smell of her new arousal saturated the air. Betsy eyed each of them in turn as she fucked the pole.

"Faster, Slut!" Jen cried, furiously jilling with the hand between her legs, the other inside her blouse and groping her breast.

Janet nodded, similarly enjoying herself.

Sue could only concentrate on keeping her hands tightly clenched on the seat cushion.

Betsy went faster, now driving her pussy against the pole with fast, physical slaps. She bent backward at the waist with each writhing thrust, her large breasts jiggling every time. Upside-down, her wide eyes and opened mouth made the face of a wanton whore. Her thighs, tangled around the pole, slipped against each other like they'd been oiled.

"Thank you!" Betsy said, now hanging onto the pole with one hand and frigging her clit with the other. "Thank you so much!"

"Come for us, Slut!" Jen ordered, and immediately her clothes ripped a little more from her muscles tensing in orgasm.

Sue didn't notice. She'd became entranced in how Betsy's long purple hair was flying wildly about her head, landing across her face in the most provocative way imaginable. A lock of it ran across Betsy's lips and into her mouth as the telepath came, squeezing the pole between her rounded thighs hard enough to make the metal squeak, a final shudder shockwaving through her body before she went still, hanging off the pole. Her breath shallowly stirred the frayed end of the hair as she let go with both hands and hung spread-eagled from her amazing legs, which slid down the pole.

"Fuck," Betsy said softly as her groin traveled from the warm, wet section of metal she'd fucked herself on to new, cooler pole. It sent aftershocks through her body, had her keening with tiny pleasures by the time she hit the ground. Her legs unwound and she laid supine before the three, her breasts rising and falling with the deep breaths she could now take.

"She is just the best," Jen said, sounding similarly exhausted as she took her damp fingers from her panties. "I swear, Sue, this is the best dancer we've ever had."

"Let's give her a tip," Janet said, out of breath. She'd had her own masturbatory finish while Sue was engrossed in Psylocke. Her fingers, damp as morning dew, traveled from her unhitched waistband to Betsy's parted lips. A tiny remnant of Sue thought to protest, but Betsy suckled on Janet's wetness as fast as a baby at a teat. When Jen offered her fingers as well, Betsy took both sets inside her gaping mouth and sucked so hard Sue could hear her slurping.

Sue didn't know how long she would've sat there, watching Betsy suck on two women's fingers—and God only knew what else, in time—but a new arrival brought here back to her senses.

"You ordered refreshments?" came a familiar voice... an American accent, but with the crispness of a foreign education and elevated self-opinion.

Emma Frost stood between the parted curtains, wearing what Sue recognized now as a modernly fashioned throwback to her Hellfire Club costume. Sue had seen the real thing on E! True Hollywood Story. That was scandalous.Thiswas downright taboo. The top was now a half-corset that left her shockingly flat stomach bare and almost entirely exposed her breasts, while the bottom had gone from something like shorts to white thong panties. Even her fur cloak had become obscene—the fur trim remained at the collar, but the rest was translucent silk fit for a harem girl. She was sex in high-heeled boots, and Sue nearly came just from the sensation of lust that fell off her.

All in all, it took her a moment to realize that Emma's hand was outstretched, three small vials in her white-gloved palm. Jen and Janet were equally taken aback, but they recovered quicker than Sue.

"Mistress," Jen said—more like stammered. "This is a great honor! Thank you so much for visiting us!"

"Mistress," Betsy repeated, with a bland smile still on her face.

Emma gave her both a look and, Sue assumed, a telepathic command. "Quiet, Slut," she said good-naturedly. "Ms. Van Dyne... Ms. Walters... your presence is always appreciated at my humble establishment. But a new guest... that is cause for celebration. Consider your party favors on the house."

"Thank you, Mistress," the two chimed. Each took one of the vials.

"And please," Emma said, gesturing extravagantly to Betsy, whose breathing quickened at being noticed. "Avail yourselves of the facilities."

Jen was first to act. With a wide grin, she popped the vial's tab and poured it out on Psylocke's body. A handful of white dust covered Betsy's breast, most of it scattering off the contour of her supple cleavage, but enough piling onto Betsy's areola for Jen to snort up hungrily. Betsy giggled at the sensation, and covered her crotch with her gloved hands. In modesty or excitement, Sue couldn't tell.

"Is that...?" Sue half-asked, but no one was paying attention to her.

Jen sat back, nose white with the substance, and then shook like electricity was going through her. Her mouth fell open, her eyes blinked rapidly, and as Sue watched in disbelief, a dark liquid stain appeared where her disheveled skirt exposed her panties.

"Oh my ever-lovingfuck, do I love coming on cocaine!" Jen enthused, and pulled Sue into a demanding kiss.

Sue gagged and pushed Jen away, but couldn't deny that twitchings of lust were appearing all through her body. She felt feverish—on the verge of explosion. Jen laughed and kissed Janet, who sunk into it quickly. It was only when Sue stopped watching them that she noticed Emma was sitting beside her.

"Quite the party, isn't it?" Emma said, as if she were just making polite small talk over tea.

"What is that shit?" Sue demanded, an obscenity she hadn't used in months falling from her lips unnoticed.

"Just another marvel of mutant scientific advancement," Emma answered smarmily, displaying a white smile under her blue lipstick. "It bears a resemblance to cocaine, but without some of the more inconvenient side effects. It also decreases the chance of a heart attack by twenty percent and does wonders for the urinary tract. Oh, and when it's taken in close proximity to a sexual climax—" Emma dropped the pretense of a quaint chat and just sucked on her lip suggestively.

"What, multiple orgasm in pill form?" Sue asked, the scientist's wife in her taking over for a moment.

"Well, we can't very well rely on men for it, now can we?"

Janet was pushing at Jen—didn't work—slapped her a few times—Jen didn't even fill it through her haze of bliss—so Janet finally delivered a stinger blast to Jen's backside. That shocked her enough for Janet to push her aside and loom over Betsy herself.

"Slut, I'm about to make your night," Janet said, and uncorked her own vial. Unlike the pile Jen had made, she poured it down in a line from Betsy's heart to the wiry purple hair of her crotch. Then she started.

At first, she 'woozily' miscalculated the distance, kissing around the first gram so that her lips landed on Betsy's full breasts and hardened nipples. But she lost patience with the game in a few seconds and, to Betsy's beaming approval, extravagantly tongued the cocaine between Psylocke's breasts.

The rush hit her while her face was resting against Betsy's sweat-slick skin. Her eyes went wide, her nostrils flared, hard breaths stirring some of the cocaine around. Her hands jumped to Betsy's body, one sinking fingers like claws into her breast, the other wrapping around Betsy's throat. Betsy crooned in delicious submission as Janet licked her way down the line of cocaine, stopping every few inches to kiss and suck on Betsy's supple skin.

When she reached the end, her hair was a mess, her eyes were dilated, and her face was smeared with white. She shook a moment—releasing Betsy to run her hands down her own quivering body. Janet ripped her blouse open, the tatters covering one breast but leaving the other bare—Janet didn't seem to care about either. Her hands kept going, down to the pants riding low on her hips. She cupped herself through the leather, barking and squealing in crazed pleasure, kissing either of Betsy's spread thighs before simply burying herself in Betsy's cunt.

Sue was enthralled in watching—how Betsy held onto the stripper pole, stretched between it and Janet's mouth like a prisoner on the rack, but with her eyes squeezed tightly shut in pleasure rather than pain, remnants of the mutant cocaine covering her like powdered sugar on some delicious dish. Sue watched Betsy go from sultry temptress to obscene nymphomaniac over the course of thirty seconds, until Emma dangled the last vial in front of her face.

"Last one's all yours," she said.

Sue felt herself go a little translucent at the thought of not just watching this—orgy—but of joining in. Emma smiled winningly at her nervousness.

"Who do you think I am, Susan?"

"You're... you're an X-Man, a member of the X-Men."

"No." Emma shook her head with a reprimanding sigh and palmed the vial. "I am the headmistress of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. In short, a teacher. I have a passion for education that defines my life. Superheroics are a... cathartic diversion. I can't very well educate if Galactus eats all my students, after all."

"What do you teach here?" Sue asked, her voice unexpectedly bitter.

Emma nodded as Betsy let loose a particularly loud moan. "I create an environment for individuals to teach themselves. To learn about what they like doing, what they like having done to them. Ms. 'Slut' here was once where you're sitting, but she soon learned she was much more satisfied where she is. It's a post-human society, Susan. The old ways are obsolete. Biologically, morally, technologically—already, you have defied conventional morality to take the law into your own hands, to do scientific research far beyond the bounds of peer review, to unseat Dr. Doom's legitimate government as private citizens. Why shouldn't your bold new world extend to the bedroom?" Betsy moaned again, her hands squeaking as they tightened on the pole. "Or wherever."

"You're saying everyone here is... some kind of superhero?"

"More than you'd expect," Emma confirmed. "Though of course, I don't discriminate too much. That would defeat the whole purpose. Here you'll find Avengers, X-Men, Defenders, New Warriors, Guardians of the Galaxy, rock stars, stage actors, politicians, athletes, even the odd blogger—anyone with an open mind and an attractive physique. Here, they can forget about last week's crisis, and next week's, to recharge their systems." Deftly, Emma reached out and took Janet by the short hair, gently pulling her away from Betsy. When the purple hair between her legs came into view, it was damp as a running faucet. Emma craned Janet's neck to face her. "I think she's had enough, dear. Mustn't be greedy."

Betsy caught her breath. Emma gave her a gracious smile.

"Bring us a bottle of wine, Slut. I think our guest needs something to whet her appetite. I'd also like to introduce her to Cyclops. Bring him as well. And Ms. Walters, why don't you come sit by us? We can make it a threesome."

Both moved obediently, Betsy stark naked through the curtains, Jen to sit on Emma's other side. She spread her legs knowing and, like she was petting a lap dog, Emma sunk her gloved fingers into Jen's incongruously pink cunt.

"Jesus," Sue swore, as Emma calmly regarded her, the moaning Jen almost entirely ignored behind her.

"I marked you as soon as you came through my door." Emma continued their conversation with the same tenor as before, moving with the speed and care of a bulldozer over all Sue's misgivings. "You're not as open as they are. But that just makes you more interesting. You have a dark side, Susan Storm. What exactly do you do with it?"

Sue remembered her time as Malice—dressed in a costume that put her body on display like supermarket meat, her words spat out like bullets from her brain instead of being carefully chosen, her powers used to destroy instead of defend. "I control it."

"Do you?" Emma tilted her head with that same vexing smile, low-key but undeniably amused. Like Sue was a dumb cat video on the internet. "Don't lie to a telepath, dearie. How many times have you threatened to put a force bubble in someone's brain? How many times have you actuallydone it?"

"You turned my friends into a Girls Gone Wild video." Sue clenched her teeth, realizing the tension flowing through her body was anger. "Don't tempt me."