Ultimate X: Orgy at Emma's

"Me?"

"The twins are interfacing with her. I need to do the talking. And besides, you have the most experience with cunnilingus."

"I—don't—"

"Raven didn't have any complaints."

Wanda looked at Valkyrie's writhing body, purring needfully. "She's not bad looking..."

"No. She isn't."

Wanda's lips were tingling... she undid Valkyrie's belt, pulled her trousers free—spread those sleek thighs, finding them damp with sweat or something else. She wore no underwear. Her pussy lips were almost sucking with lust. Wanda lowered her mouth, nostrils filled with a strong fragrance.

Scott went over their story again, calmly, as if Wanda's long pink tongue wasn't darting over Valkyrie's labia, lapping up all traces of her honey.

Valkyrie moaned softly, legs opening up as her eyes closed. She waited eagerly for the next trace of Wanda's tongue along her pulsing need.

***

Valkyrie nudged her cunt closer to the wet mouth sucking her off, gripping his long hair in her hands, raising her knees to plant her heels on his shoulders. She must've looked obscene, swollen tits bounding, cunt begging for Thor's mouth with every drip. Oh, why couldn't the paparazzi take a picture of her now, instead of when she'd been dating that loser Hank Pym?

"I will be disguised as Cyclops," Thor told her, kissing her thighs. "Everyone but you will see me as Cyclops, do you understand?"

"Yes!" Barbara whispered urgently. "Oh yes! Eat me!"

***

Wanda glanced back at Scott. His voice was as even as ever, but she could see the pounding hard-on in his jeans. He nodded approval, watching her dig her mouth into Valkyrie's squirming pussy.

"Oh Thor! Thor!" Valkyrie screamed softly. "UNNNNNNNN! Eat that pussy! Worship it with your tongue! Worship it like all those fucking Vikings used to worship you!"

Wanda barely heard her ranting, concentrating intently on the delicious sex clenching at her tongue, like it wanted to eat her as much as she was eating it. She relished the savory juices, rolling them around her tongue as she ate and ate and ate...

Until Scott put his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her back, away from that thrashing cunt and the wild orgasm she'd been about to give it.

"What did I just say?" he asked Barbara.

"Chitauri infiltrating the Ultimates—trust no one—going undercover as mutants—something like that?"

"Let's go over it one more time," Scott said, nudging Wanda's head back down between Valkyrie's tanned thighs. But, knowing the panting hero was on the edge already, Wanda moved her tongue past that clenched pussy, dipping it down to Valkyrie's asshole.

***

"Oh God! Oh Jesus!" Valkyrie gasped, hoping she wasn't offending Thor by bringing up other religions. Her tender asshole was electric with Thor's tongue deep and hard inside it, her sex seething with need, her whole body about to explode—but the new feeling was so obscenely good, Valkyrie just had to feel more of it. She held her orgasm back as she crushed her ass to Thor's face, sobbing happily with each stroke of his tongue.

She hadn't even imagined she could enjoy such a thing. Thor had eaten her pussy before, but it had never been like this—not so lewd, not so exciting, not teasing and nerve-racking and insanely fantastic passion. He just gobbled her up. Now, he devoured her like she was a feast.

As she came, Valkyrie thought of how she'd never realized before that her asshole could make her feel so good. She wondered what it'd be like to have a cock in it.

***

Peter jerked awake, like he'd been falling in his dream and finally hit bottom. He wouldn't know. He couldn't remember his dream.

Rising up, working a kink out of his back, he looked around. He was in a motel room, a lot like the one he'd confronted Fenson in. Just a lot less destroyed. The shower in the other room was running. He felt at his face. His mask was still on, his clothes were still on—he felt refreshed, clear. Less aches and pains than usual.

What'd happened? He remembered talking to Fenson, then—some sort of pain, loud noise. An explosion? It must've knocked him clean out. Then someone had brought him to another room. Had they taken his mask off? Christ, that was all he needed—Sable and Elektra had already seen his face. One Fisk's woman, the other just shady in general. Now maybe he had to deal with Fenson or that psycho Ana Kravinoff knowing who he was? Shit.

"Hello, Spider."

"Shit!" Peter nearly jumped out of the bed, but didn't quite nail the dismount. He pushed off the mattress, but his hands sunk into it too much to give him the right traction, so instead of flying up to the ceiling, he just took a header to the floor.

"That is not the reaction I had hoped for." Looking up from the carpet, Peter could see it was Ana who had spoken. She had gotten out of the shower. The nudity and the wetness were dead giveaways.

She was beautiful. He hadn't really noticed that before, hung up on the psychotic part. Young, as well. The kind of teenage girl that wouldn't be out of place on the CW Network, with a sunny-pretty face, slender curves—breasts pointed and perky. Fuck, she could get elected homecoming queen if she didn't hunt people for sport. Peter felt his cock give a spasm, like it was straining for those wetly shimmering, girlish curves.

"So you hate pants too, huh?" Peter shook his head. "Pants. Yeah. I don't really hate them, but they're just so overexposed. Especially if you're a man. You're a lady, at least you can wear a dress or something. Guys, we are locked in to pants. It's pants or nothing. Unless you're Hawkeye. I'm pretty sure he wore a miniskirt once." He laughed at his own joke, a bit too loud.

"You don't want to eat into your own reserves during a period of inactivity," Ana said.

"Hunh?"

"Adrenaline rush."

"What happened?"

Ana shrugged, going over to her clothes. Peter recognized some of the gossamer 'cobweb' residue of his melting webbing on them. Usually it took that stuff an hour to dissolve... Then again, he didn't remember webbing her.

"One of the cyborgs exploded. Fenson was destroyed. You were knocked out, I was damaged. I took you into another room and cleaned myself off. That was ten minutes ago."

Peter cracked his neck. For an explosion, he felt pretty good. Never mind. He didn't have time for Ana's craziness, he had Fenson's craziness to sort out. "The smartphone, Fenson said everything was on his smartphone."

Ana pulled her pants over a hard ass. Under the pile of clothes was the black smartphone. She tossed it to Peter, who tried the password Fenson had given him. It unlocked.

"Perfect."

"Thank you," Ana said, throwing her vest on. Apparently, she'd decided to go without the bra. If Peter regretted not ogling her too much, apparently he'd be getting more opportunities.

He didn't correct her assumption, going immediately to the phone's GPS. There was his address—then, an address in midtown Manhattan. That was the last one: Fenson had gone there, then come here or been taken here.

"I think I can handle it from here," Peter said. "Thanks for not peeking under my mask and please don't kill anyone, I'll just have to put you back in jail."

"I'm coming with you," Ana said, fully dressed now.

"Our deal's done. I still don't trust you not to kill me, but I needed you. Now—"

"I won't try to kill you. I want to help you." She was walking up to him now, her vest closing and falling open with her moving. He could see her nipples flash into view. "Let me help you."

What would Batman say? "I work alone." Yes, good, great.

"You want me to reform? Use my talents for good?"

"Well, yeah, but I—"

"Show me how to be good. Let me help you be good. We can be good together."

Christ, and he had just gotten out of this with Black Cat. Of course, Black Cat was an older woman—part of her charm. Ana was his age. There could be a thing there. Unless she was into older men.

"How do I know you won't try to kill me?"

"I can prove it to you. Prove my devotion—" She got down on her knees.

Peter quickly pulled her back to her feet. "Okay, I believe you." He didn't know what the home life was of someone who claimed to be from another dimension, but he doubted it was too great. Maybe—maybe she could benefit from him supporting her. Emotionally.

Maybe he could also find her a shirt...

***

He ended up not. As the sun set, another taxi took them to the address—a five-story office building off the beaten path. Together, they gave it a clandestine sweep. It would've been mostly abandoned at the best of times—with the city practically a ghost town, the place could've been stepped on during a Power Rangers fight with no one being the wiser. So why so many cars in the parking lots?

Ana checked each floor, not finding anything out of the ordinary. The businesses listed in the directory were all legitimate. They met back up at the roof of the building, Peter's gloves stretching from climbing the walls. He had to find a better material.

"Maybe he just met someone here?" Ana suggested.

Peter was going through Fenson's smartphone again, but the guy was smart enough not to keep much on it. Just some low-value SHIELD files, nothing out of the ordinary. "Not a very convenient place for a meet-up. He'd have to go hours out of his way; why not just go to a 7-11?"

"So what'd he come here for...?" Ana looked away. "Parking garage."

"Parking garage?"

She nodded downward. A limo was pulling in. Peter craned his head for a look at it, disappearing past the rising arm barrier. He felt Ana grip him from behind, arms wrapped around his chest, 'vest' tickling his back. "Hurry."

The smartphone cracked a little—like his hand was going rogue on him. Yeah, that's all I need, my life turning into a Sam Raimi movie. Peter quickly tucked it away and crawled down the face of the building, making a small leap to the parking garage and sticking to the outside wall. Ana hung onto him tight. Very tight.

"I'm going to be very disappointed if this is just the Sausage King of New Jersey," Peter said, poking his head up past the concrete parapet. The limo was parking in a reserved spot.

"Perfume's too expensive," Ana said, still on his back. He knew she could hold onto the ledge on her own...

A chauffeur slipped out of the driver's seat, went back to get the door, and out slunk a woman dressed in all white, her evening gown pearlescent, her fur stole dark mink. Peter's eyes widened a bit under the mask. She looked familiar; he wished she looked more familiar.

"Who is that?"

"Emma Frost. National adviser to the President on the mutant biz. She runs a school for mutants somewhere."

"The Xavier Institute?"

"No, another one. What's she doing here?"

"Does she excite you?"

"What?"

Ana patted his crotch. "Do you wish to possess her? She is a fine specimen, but she is no warrior."

"Feh! Would you lay off? There's a time and a place for that and it doesn't involve spandex."

With Emma and her chauffeur marching out of sight, Peter hauled himself inside the parking garage, Ana coming along for the ride. Ana was on the same page as him, creeping along stealthily after the mutant as she went to the joint's elevator. The chauffeur had a keycard out, which he waved in front of the call button. It turned black without being touched. Doors opened, they stepped inside, doors closed—

"C'mon!" Peter hissed, running for the doors, skidding to a stop in front of them. He forced them open, looking down the elevator shaft to see the car descending. And from what he could see of the shaft, it looked to go down a lot further than the parking garage. Either the place had one hell of a basement or—"Secret lair! I knew it! I love secret lairs!"

"I will hold to you again." Ana stepped toward him.

"Hold to the cable," Peter said, jumping onto it to get away from her. All he needed right now was a stalker, that was just what his dating life needed. He shimmied down as Ana followed him. One look up and he could see why she wasn't worried about panty lines.

They flitted down on top of the elevator car, not a sound, and hunkered down on it as it came to a stop. The doors chimed open and Peter gave it a second before opening up the roof access panel. Empty car—a dint of music far away. He poked his head down to see out of the car. Emma and her chauffeur were going through a closing door. It was like a vault. Peter just had time to shoot a webline through, maybe do something there, but he thought better of it. The door closed, cutting the music off, and Peter dropped down into the elevator car, walked out into the empty room. Ana followed closely by him.

The floor the elevator had arrived at was basically nothing. Just a room maybe twice the size that the elevator car had been, three walls cement, one wall pure chrome. Ana tapped at it, put her ear to it, licked it. "Solid steel, four feet thick, extends for a half-mile. Airtight, soundproof—"

Peter knocked on the wall. Nothing. "Worth a shot. So how'd Frost—"

Ana nodded to the room's only feature, a standing display that looked like a sex toy the Apple Store would sell. "Facial recognition, fingerprint analysis, biometrics, password and voice coding. Even Mystique couldn't get through that."

"Who?"

"She's a big deal where I'm from. She had sex with a mutant demon, Azazel, giving birth to Nightcrawler, who was conceived by Azazel so that he could be sacrificed to bring the demonic Neyaphem to Earth and destroy the Cheyarafim—"

"Uh-huh," Peter said. "Would you happen to be friends with a guy named Deadpool, by any chance?"

"No, why?"

"No reason. I don't know what your experience is, but in mine, people who go to this much trouble to hide their secrets have secrets to hide."

"I agree. The women that were taken from you must be inside." Ana looked at him suddenly. "Are they your stable?"

"My what?"

"Your broodmares. Will they carry your seed?"

"No, we're—just—friends."

"So you need someone to carry your seed?"

"You know what?" Peter poked a finger at her. "Let's table this whole seed discussion for another time, and right now, we can focus on getting through this wall."

"I'm not a demolitions expert, but it will take four hundred pounds of explosives to breach this wall. You have four hundred pounds of explosives lying around?"

"Better. I have a woman who is four hundred pounds of explosives." Peter took out Fenson's phone, searching through his SHIELD database for anything on 'Bombshell'. He was in luck. They were under house arrest. On Broadway.

Ana looked over his shoulder, catching a file photo of Lana Baumgartner. "She looks more like 110, tops. Have you bred her as well?"

Peter slammed the phone back into his pocket. "No! Well... it's complicated."

"You are magnificently virile, I have no doubt."

"Can we please stop talking about my shlong?"

"That is the first time I have heard this request from a man."

***

Carol rewarded herself with a Xanax. Things were finally going her way. Valkyrie had reported in, her communicator busted and as obtuse as ever, but she'd found one of Cyclops' boltholes and rescued the two missing agents. Fenson had a story about being controlled by a Brotherhood psychic. Carol half-believed it; she'd let SHIELD's psychiatrist sort it out while he and Tad were on administrative leave. And now, scanning the skyline for Spider-Man, their surveillance had found him in Manhattan. Carol herself had given the building the once-over, finding it to be owned entirely by shell companies for Shaw Industries. That was suspicious enough for a search; STRIKE was being readied now. God, Carol loved the Patriot Act.

"Agent Danvers?" one of the situation room peons called up. "I have a call on the line. It's Director Fury."

Carol stood. "Route it to the Bunker," she ordered, referring to the office in the back of the situation room meant for precisely this kind of privacy. Inside it, the windows darkened to opaqueness. She faced Nick Fury's hologram.

He spoke first: "Ease up, Danvers. I don't need a report, I know what you're doing. And this is gonna be one of those days you don't like your job: stand down."

"Sir? We've done scans of the building, there's unauthorized shielding underneath it, some kind of hide-out."

"I know that, Agent. I also know that if the Shaws are involved, whatever they're hiding has got to be Hellfire Club?"

"Sir?"

"Turn on a TV and see the President playing golf with someone—flip a coin and it comes up heads, that someone is Hellfire Club. Get what I'm saying?"

"Yes, sir. We're going to back off because the rich and influential—"

Fury cut her off. "Save the righteous indignation for someone who likes it better than you do. Hellfire Club colors between the lines, which makes them a tumor I don't feel the need to cut out just yet. What do you call it—benign."

"Benign," Danvers repeated. "Three women are missing, two agents were kidnapped, the Brotherhood is involved—"

"I understand the situation, Danvers. But if you go in there like the SWAT team, you'll be playing right into their hands. We're in their playbook, understand? You step to them, they'll have so many subpoenas up your ass, you don't need toilet paper for a year. So here's what you're going to do. Continue surveillance. Cut the circle down to just who you need. If it comes to it, I want you to be able to say you weren't watching at all. And you let Spider-Man and Scott Summers do what they're going to do. I have a feeling when all's said and done, Hellfire is going to get theirs."

"With all due respect, sir, if we need terrorists and vigilantes to do our job for us, then what is the point of us?"

"The point of us, Agent Danvers, is the ninety-five percent of the time when our hands aren't tied. But for now, when they are, we give people like Parker leeway because this is exactly the kind of situation where they'll need it. Yes, they're a pain in the ass. But they're about to be a bigger pain for Hellfire. So let's wait. Let's watch. And when the dust clears, let's see what we have that we can use."

"Yes, sir."

"See? I love hearing that. Next time, start with that."

The hologram became a blip and Carol leaned on her desk. Blackmailing Hellfire down the line. Well, that would make her feel a little better.

Outside in the situation room, Agent Tad had brought some coffee to Mary Reid, junior analyst. He glanced up at the Wall, the office building there. "What's with the real estate?"

"Spider-Man went there. I guess it has something to do with the missing girls."

"Really?" Tad said. At least, the projection of Tad did, while Regan Wyngarde tapped out a text message on her phone.

***

Dressed as they were, there was no chance of getting a cab at that time of night, so Ana held onto Spider-Man as he swung them to the Baumgartners. Peter didn't think she had to hold on with her legs as well as her arms, but he wasn't complaining. Well, not out loud.

"So who is this girl?" Ana asked, sounding a bit scornful. "Another superhero?"

"Not exactly—I caught her robbing a bank, you know how it is. But then when Magneto attacked, she helped out with the rescuing. So SHIELD swung her and her mother a place to stay until they figured out what to do with them. Give them a job on the good guys' side, or whatever."

"But they're criminals," Ana insisted. "Right?"

"Yeah—I don't know, it's not like they threw someone off a bridge, you know?"

They landed on top of the building—a nice Hilton hotel which SHIELD had a permanent hand in. Lana and her mother were on the sixth floor.