The Gifted: The Royal Bitch

"She's pouting again," Phoebe and Sophie said in unison, informing each other as much as they were thinking out loud.

A pout was the weapon of choice for the Frost sisters, knowing how good it made them look, even when they made anything look good. But Esme's pout wasn't so much a declaration of war at this point as it was a failed state.

First, she'd fallen for Lorna Dane, the madwoman of the Underground, who was only supposed to be the Frosts' puppet as they ruled the Hellfire Club through her. Esme had only been meant to seduce Lorna to her side, but either she'd taken that idea way too literally or Lorna had turned the tables on her, because Phoebe and Sophie had felt their sister not only develop feelings for their pawn, but let those feelings out. Slick and sickly sweet on their cunts as they felt what Esme felt when Lorna's tongue was in her pussy. But at least that was soft, loving, treating Esme like the princess she was (and, by extension, they all were). What Lorna wanted to do, if her pregnancy wasn't so far along, was disgusting, degrading. And Esme broke rank with her sisters by thinking of how she'd enjoy it.

Thankfully, Lorna's pregnancy had entered its last leg, confining her to bed with near-constant false starts and check-ups that had made a physical relationship with Esme all but impossible. Then there was the birth itself, and even if Lorna was no longer joined with her bouncing baby boy, she spent every waking moment nursing and changing diapers and cooing over the little rat. Esme ranked second in her heart, at best.

That was the perfect opportunity to get back to routine, but Esme was inconsolable, her thoughts a maddening vortex of memories of Lorna and imaginings of Lorna and fears about Lorna. The Frosts were self-obsessed, true, but they deserved to be obsessed over. To Phoebe and Sophie, it was hard to see anything special about Lorna besides the fact that her father had been Magneto. And, obviously, since they didn't care about some old guy, they were hardly going to care about his daughter.

"Maybe we should play with her a bit," Phoebe suggested, conjuring up a thought of Lorna in Sophie's mind by way of demonstration. The hallucinatory Lorna wore something more fitting for a servant—red lipstick, a micro-mini, and thigh-high patent leather boots over mesh stockings. "Just like when we used to play Angelina Jolie with each other."

Sophie frowned. "That'll just make her pout worse. She's in love."

"Gross."

"So gross."

"You'd think she'd be grateful she got fired from being the royal bitch before she actually took it up the ass."

"Lorna is crazy; no wonder she thought about that all the—"

A psychic bolt of frustration and raw anger shot into their brains, giving them both splitting headaches. "Don't call her crazy," Esme insisted, standing now. She'd been trying to ignore them—easy, when she had something as intoxicating, for good or ill, as Lorna on her mind—but hearing them go beyond gossiping about her girlfriend to actually slandering her...

"Can't believe you'd give us a shrieker—"

"Mother would be so cross—"

Esme went back to ignoring them, staring at the refrigerator where Lorna had left one last message for her in alphabetical refrigerator magnets: Miss you. What once had been reassuring and romantic now struck a chord of fear in her heart. Did Lorna miss her? Or was she so absorbed in the new baby that she was getting sucked back into her relationship with Marcos as well? With the self-awareness of any psychic, Esme well knew that Lorna had only started up with her to get her mind off her damn sperm donor. What if she'd decided the experiment was over and her little bundle of joy deserved a father?

Esme's thoughts prepared to plummet into an abyss when she noticed the refrigerator magnets moving, rearranging themselves from random clutter into a new sentence: Party at 8. You going to be there?

Esme reached out to drag three of the letters up into a new word. Y E H

The letters swirled into a new configuration. See you there. Then another arrangement. Wear something...

Lorna left the rest to Esme's wicked imagination, which was enough to make Esme herself blush. Her two sisters swore as they picked up Esme's thoughts as well.

***

It was a cool evening when Esme arrived at the party, not that diamonds cared about ice. She wore a dress that started in a choker wrapped around her neck, then hung on two spaghetti straps to cover her breasts on either side of a plunging neckline. The material draped in a faint black shroud down her body, stopping at her thighs. Slit at the hips, it hung in a sort of loincloth over groin and buttocks. While the folds of her neckline were substantial enough to hide her bare nipples, the dangling gossamer showed off the gap between her thighs and most especially the thong panties that caressed her voluptuous ass, as if framing her buttocks for Lorna's perusal.

Lorna hadn't bothered to dress up so fancily. To her mind, one of the perks of being the Queen was that there was no dress code. So, while she was too beautiful to ever be exactly butch, she wore a chrome-studded leather jacket with tight latex pants, a studded belt cinching it, big metal buckles on her boots, thick rings on her fingers, choker and headdress showcasing her pale face and green hair. With her mutant biology, the baby weight had melted off of her like snow in spring, leaving her as slender as a stiletto once again.

Like a shark with a whiff of blood, she got one look at Esme and pulled her aside, as if reserving the sight of her for Lorna Dane and Lorna Dane alone. She could barely keep her hands off Esme—her magnetism flittered at the metallic fibers in her sheer dress, the earrings she wore, and her nipple piercings. They all felt alive with energy that followed Lorna's eyes as she drank Esme in.

"I can't believe I stayed away from you for so long," Lorna breathed.

"I can't believe it either," Esme replied, putting up a strong front. She could feel Sophie and Phoebe's twinned bitterness reinforcing her own.

"I couldn't let anything happen to the baby. He's all I have left of..."

"You have me!" Esme insisted angrily.

"I... I know."

"Do you?" Esme asked. "Or do you think I'm just being a Frost—using my body—manipulating you?"

Lorna shook her head, but didn't say anything. Esme wondered. With her telepathy, she'd paradoxically never gotten very good at reading people's faces. A problem, when she didn't want to peek into Lorna's mind without permission. Lorna was too special for that.

"Maybe I want you too much to care whether you're manipulating me or not," Lorna said. "Listen. In a half-hour, go up to the guest bathroom, third floor. I'll meet you there."

"What for?" Esme asked.

Lorna managed a grin. "To give you what you wanted when you put on that dress."

Her pussy clenched, Esme waited the thirty minutes she had to spend engaged in the kind of vacuous politicking she and her sisters had hoped to use Lorna's status as figurehead to avoid. Then she excused herself, going up to the third-floor bathroom. She spent a few minutes touching up her make-up, getting impatient, when finally Lorna opened the door.

"You know you're the prettiest Frost, right Esme?" Lorna simpered as she strutted in, her power closing and locking the door behind her. "The sweetest too. And such a good bottom. Doing what I tell you. Dressing up so nice for your queen. You deserve a reward."

Esme couldn't help herself. She was wet. She could feel it in every inch of her panties.

Lorna grinned, seeing some submission in how her words hit Esme, and she took the blonde in her arms. Esme shook like a leaf with excitement and pressed herself against Lorna, so happy to feel her embrace again that she couldn't even think of the sexual—not until she felt Lorna run her hands down her back and over the swell of her buttocks that she'd taken such trouble to show off.

"How's your cunt been without me?" Lorna whispered in her ear.

Esme quivered. "Cold... God, Lorna, what are we doing? We'll get caught..."

"Fuck that," Lorna snarled cockily. "I'm the Queen. Queens get what they want, when they want it. And if you didn't want me to want that ass, you shouldn't have ever fucking turned around."

Esme could've melted. There was something about how wild Lorna was, uncontrollable—not crazy, just not caring for all the manners and grooming that Esme had grown up inundated with. It was refreshing as hell.

Lorna smiled wickedly, seeing how Esme was giving into her. "You like it, don't you? You like when I can't take my eyes off your tight little ass. Remember those fucking pleated skirts you wore, baby, that goddamn schoolgirl look that made me want to play teacher and smack your ass with a ruler? Not that you'd ever give me the chance."

Esme was about to protest her innocence, that she would be a good royal bitch and let Lorna do whatever she wanted to her ass, when she saw how Lorna was smirking and shaking her head. Lorna liked to play games as much as any Frost, but she played harder than anyone short of mommy dearest.

"Oh no—little Esme is never naughty," Lorna said, mock-serious. "She's a good girl who's always on her very best behavior for her queen. Aren't you?"

Esme nodded.

"Yeah," Lorna drawled. Her hands roved over Esme, the cold metal of the rings and finger cuffs burning into Esme's skin through the scant covering of her dress. "So since I can't punish my wonderful girl, I'll just give her a treat." Her fluttering fingers trickled all the way over Esme's supplely muscled arm to interlock with her fingers, bringing them to Lorna's body, down between her legs. "Feel it, sweetie. Feel what I've got for you!"

Esme felt a bulge in Lorna's crotch, hard and huge, the kind of firmness she'd felt in her cunt a few blessed times. Lorna had been too pregnant to actually wear one by the time their relationship progressed to that level, but when she bought a dildo with a metal core, she could use them on Esme from across the room. But that wasn't good enough for her. She'd insisted that when she took Esme's ass, it would be with her cock. Strapped to her waist, fed personally into Esme's cunt.

Phoebe: You can't seriously tell me you're going to let her bang your ass in a bathroom! What if someone wants to take a piss?

Sophie: Suppose they wait outside. When you and Lorna leave together, it's going to be plain as day what you did. Do you really want everyone to know you're that butch's butt bitch?

Esme smirked. She kinda did. She remembered Lorna whispering in her ear as they laid together, the queen holding her tightly while the dildos she commanded did their work like witch's familiars. You can call yourself whatever you want, baby. White Queen, Black Bishop, White Rook—but to me, you'll always be the Royal Bitch. Mine and mine alone; the only person I even see and the only one who gets to touch me.

Pulling aside the front of her skirt, Esme returned the favor, pulling Lorna's hand between her legs. Lorna squeezed her cunt through her pantyhose and thong. The layers of abstraction made her grit her teeth.

"Fucking pantyhose," she fumed. "Why do women wear these things? Don't you want me to get at your pussy?"

"I want you to work at it," Esme retorted. "Isn't my royal pussy worth the effort?" She giggled, pulling the zipper down on Lorna's fly and fishing out her strap-on. It was so thick and long that she had a hard time getting it out of Lorna's tight pants. "I know this is. Fuck, baby, did you want me to know what it's like to give birth too?"

"Right idea, wrong orifice," Lorna told her. "In fact, I think that's the one hole I'm not going to bother with." She pushed Esme down onto the closed toilet seat. "I want to see how those gorgeous lips look when they're wrapped around a nice fat cock. If it's as pretty as I think it will be, maybe I'll have one of your sisters clean my strap off. I'm sure you Frost girls love the taste of your own brand."

"It's not as good as yours, my queen."

Lorna almost mewled, reaching under her strap-on to run her fingertip through the green pubic hair that drew there. "Such a good girl. Even eats her greens. But right now it's time to suck big, black, cock."

Esme lapped her tongue over the tip of the dildo and down its length, getting the strap-on wet before she hungrily sucked it into her mouth.

"Oh yeah!" Lorna groaned, enjoying Esme's performance so much that the phallus she was going down on might as well have been real. "Look at you take that cock, being such a good girl and sucking it all, swallowing it all. You're perfect, Esme. You're flawless. It doesn't matter if I put it down your throat or up your ass or in your cunt, you love it, you just love being fucked! You love being your queen's royal bitch and I'm going to make you my slut all over again, baby, I'm going to fucking ream you out and sodomize you and fuck your tight little throat until you never forget you're mine, Esme, my royal bitch, my perfect little whore, because you're the prettiest and you're the best and no one else in this bullshit world is fit for a queen, lover, nobody!"

Grabbing onto Esme's head with all its lovingly braided hair as fine as gold, Lorna fucked her face, pistoning the strap-on in and out of her succulent lips. Esme held herself still for her queen, eyes closed, attention focused only on keeping her throat loose so that Lorna could fuck it as hard as she wanted to. She didn't care if it was submission, she didn't care if she was a cocksucker, she wanted Lorna to do every degrading, depraved thing she could imagine to her, just so she could prove that she was every bit the good little slut that Lorna called her. Damn right she was the Royal Bitch.

With a flick of her fingers, Lorna made Esme's nipple studs twist—not enough to harm her in any way, but just as she would do if she were fondling the blonde's perky breasts, showing her appreciation for how Esme was taking being facefucked. "I want you to get your clit pierced, baby. I wanna be able to give you a little tingle whenever I want. Doesn't matter if we're on a plane or the subway or watching a movie, you'll feel me on your clit and know I wanna fuck you, know you're always my bottom bitch, the royal bitch, and it's only a matter of time before your queen fucks you like you deserve."

Esme moaned around the invader in her throat, the interplay of Lorna's energy with her sensitive nipples making her feel like they were being sucked by a pair of cold mouths. And with the way Lorna described using her power on a clit piercing, Esme felt like she was coming already. If she weren't being Lorna's royal bitch, she would've run out to get her clit pierced right that second.

"Mmmm," Lorna moaned, getting into it, dragged her pussy against the base of the strap-on as she used Esme's throat. Even if she wasn't endowed with that particular anatomy, Esme was still her cocksleeve. It was her right as queen not to have any of her royal bitch's holes unfucked. "Or I could put some metal beads up your ass. How about that, Esme? Spending all day with a part of me inside you. Vibrating. Stroking. Who knows when I'd make you come and when I'd make you go without? Yeah... you're such a good girl all the time, Esme, such a good bitch, that you'd really have to earn me making you come. Could you do that, Esme? Could you get down on all fours and kiss my boot? Maybe you could get on your hands and knees in front of the throne so I could use you as a footrest? And the longer you're a good bitch and keep my feet nice and high, the more I'll fuck your ass? Would you like that, Esme Frost? Answer your queen!"

Esme could help herself no longer. As much as a good submissive as she was, she was also a desperate slut when it came to Lorna, and her queen had pushed her to the breaking point. She wrapped her arms around Lorna's slender hips and crushed herself against Lorna's body, impaling her throat on the strap-on, gagging and gurgling as it went so deep in her gullet that she had no choice but to drool around it, her warm saliva falling onto her uncovered cleavage as she looked up at Lorna with big, devoted eyes, saying louder than her telepathy ever could that she would do anything for her lover, that she was Lorna's royal bitch body and soul.

"You really need to be fucked, don't you?" Lorna chuckled, shaking her head in fond disbelief of how depraved Esme could be with the right encouragement. "Lift your dress up. Bend over the sink. It's time I reward you for being such a good slut. My royal bitch never goes without an orgasm for long."

Of course, Esme did as she was told. Her knees were shaking, but not with fear. She anticipated finally fulfilling this perverted desire of her queen's, being everything Lorna wanted or needed, making all her beloved's dreams come true. She rolled her dress up around her waist, rested her elbows on the sink, and stuck her ass out with legs spread.

"Fuck, baby," Lorna drawled, gripping her strap-on to force the pressure of its base against her slit. "Read my mind, lover. You've gotta see how good you look."

Esme did, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but nonetheless Lorna's unique mind felt like touching a livewire. She was a boiling cauldron of lust and dominance and love at its most intense—she considered herself Esme's owner in the least derogatory way imaginable, more like she was the custodian of some priceless artifact, and in the background was a simmering rage against Sentinel Services, the Friends of Humanity, the Purifiers, anyone who meant harm to mutants, because Esme was the whole of mutantkind to Lorna, and even the slightest threat to her was cause for all-out war.

With autoerotic zeal, Esme felt Lorna's desire for her own body as her queen peeled pantyhose and panties out of the way. Lorna ran her hand over Esme's pristinely manicured womanhood, as utterly smooth as the surface of a diamond, and sopping wet with a similarly perfect amount of passion. All of her cunt was swollen and throbbing for Lorna.

"Fit for a queen," Lorna breathed, leaning in to kiss Esme's ass—and, sharing her thoughts, Esme could see her lover was perfectly aware of the meaningfulness of the gesture. The Queen of the Hellfire Club didn't bend the knee to anyone, but unasked, unprompted, Lorna willingly knelt down and left a green-lipsticked memento of how lovelorn she herself was on Esme's intimate flesh. "I want your ass, baby, but that's not why I'm doing this. I want to reward you for being so damn beautiful and such a—you're such a good person, Esme. I know you think you're some evil bitch, but you're not. You fucking saved me and I'm going to give you everything you ever wanted for that. I'm gonna make you come so hard that your sisters are going to cream their panties too."

As Lorna said it—and as she probed two fingers into Esme's more-than-accepting cunt, testing if she was truly ready to be cocked like Lorna planned to—Esme realized how strong a possibility that actually was. She could block out her sisters' surface thoughts, but this went beyond thinking, this was instinct, soul. She had no idea how her telepathic broadcasting wasn't giving Phoebe and Sophie a waking wet dream right now. But at that moment—feeling the tip of Lorna's strap-on replacing her fingers—she hardly cared. She was the royal bitch. Sophie and Phoebe would just have to strap in and enjoy the ride.

A soft moan escaped her lips as Lorna thrust forward to bring the entire length of the girthy strap-on inside of Esme—and as she did, Esme thought she heard two shrill cries shooting up into the night.