Chapter Text
Susan Storm stood before the holographic display in Reed's secondary lab, blonde hair swept back in an elegant ponytail. Blue eyes narrowed as data streams cascaded across the screen in luminescent ribbons. The navy tactical suit hugged her slender frame, fitted material clinging to the swell of her breasts and highlighting the graceful curve of her hips. Practical for investigation. Invisible when she needed to be.
The numbers didn't lie. They never did.
Global crime statistics painted an impossible picture: forty percent reduction in supervillain activity over the past four months. Concentrated around major metropolitan areas. New York, Los Angeles, London, Tokyo. The usual hotspots had gone cold. Doctor Doom hadn't launched a single scheme since March. The Sinister Six had scattered. Even minor threats, the ones that usually cropped up like weeds between the major crises, had dried up entirely.
Susan pulled up the financial tracking algorithms she'd built three years ago, back when Reed had been too absorbed in quantum field theory to notice their bank accounts were being targeted by Latverian hackers. The system had evolved since then. Grown teeth. Now it flagged anomalies across global economic networks, and right now it was screaming about Krakoa.
The mutant nation was spending three times what their known pharmaceutical exports could generate.
She cross-referenced the data, fingers moving across haptic controls. Timeline overlap. The crime reduction began precisely when Krakoa's mysterious income surge started. Four months ago. To the week.
Coincidence was a word for people who didn't understand pattern recognition.
Behind her, Reed's voice drifted from the main lab. Explaining something to someone on a call. His tone carried that particular flavor of enthusiasm he reserved for breakthrough moments.
"The dimensional mapping is finally progressing," he said. "Now that I have fewer interruptions, I can dedicate proper attention to the variance calculations."
Susan's jaw tightened.
Fewer interruptions.
That's what he called the absence of world-threatening emergencies. The peace that should have set off every alarm in his genius brain. She'd brought her findings to him twice already. Twice she'd laid out the data, the correlations, the impossible coincidence of Krakoa's sudden wealth and the world's sudden calm.
Twice he'd nodded, said "interesting," and returned to his equations.
Patted her head metaphorically and walked away.
The holographic display reflected in her eyes as she scrolled through more data. Ben was spending every free moment with Alicia, grateful for the quiet. Finally able to take her to museums without expecting an attack, to walk through Central Park without watching for Mole Man's emergence. Johnny had thrown himself into the celebrity lifestyle with renewed vigor, his social media feeds filled with yacht parties and movie premieres. No constant hero duty to interrupt his fun.
None of them cared.
Something fundamental had shifted in the world's power dynamics. Krakoa was somehow connected to global behavioral changes that defied every model she'd built over a decade of superhero work. And her family, her team, the people who should be asking the same questions she was asking, couldn't be bothered to look up from their respective distractions.
Susan saved her data to a private server. Encrypted. Isolated from the Baxter Building's main network. Old habits from the Skrull infiltration years ago, when trust had become a liability.
She made a decision.
Reed's voice continued in the background, something about hyperspatial variance and dimensional bleeding. The kind of work that had consumed him for months now. The kind of work that left their bed cold more nights than not, that reduced their conversations to logistical exchanges about calendar conflicts and grocery lists.
When had he last touched her? Really touched her, not just a distracted hand on her shoulder as he passed?
Susan couldn't remember.
She activated her invisible force field, the familiar sensation of contained energy wrapping around her form like a second skin. The display winked out as she stepped away, leaving the lab in darkness. Reed wouldn't notice. He never noticed when she left anymore, too absorbed in whatever breakthrough currently held his attention.
The Fantasti-Car waited in the private hangar, sleek and silent. Susan slipped into the pilot's seat, her invisibility maintaining as she keyed in the navigation coordinates. Krakoa's nearest gateway. Somewhere off the coast of Maine, if her intel was accurate.
The engine hummed to life. She didn't leave a note.
The Krakoan gateway materialized Susan onto a stretch of coastline that defied rational description.
She'd prepared for alien beauty. The intelligence reports mentioned bioluminescent flora, organic architecture, the unsettling sense that the island itself watched visitors with something approaching sentience. What she hadn't prepared for was the way the air tasted. Sweet, almost narcotic, carrying notes of jasmine and something uniquely botanical that made her thoughts slow and her muscles loosen despite her best efforts to maintain tactical alertness.
The force field trick had worked. Two weeks of calibration in her private lab, adjusting the energy signature to mimic the organic frequencies Krakoa's membrane recognized as friendly. Reed would have been impressed, if Reed had been paying attention to anything beyond his dimensional calculations. The thought sent a familiar spike of bitterness through her chest.
Susan pushed it down. Focus on the mission.
She maintained her invisibility as she moved inland, cataloguing everything her enhanced senses could process. The beach itself pulsed with soft light, flowers blooming in colors that didn't exist in any natural spectrum she recognized. The sand beneath her feet felt warm, almost responsive, as if the island registered her weight and chose to permit her passage. Living architecture rose in the distance, structures that seemed grown rather than built, their organic lines flowing together in ways that made her architect's appreciation war with her scientist's need for explanation.
Mutants passed her invisible form with casual ease. A woman with blue skin and scales sunned herself on a rock, reading something on a tablet that appeared to be growing from the stone beside her. Two men with matching silver hair walked hand in hand along the waterline, their conversation carrying the comfortable rhythm of long partnership. A child with wings sprouting from her shoulder blades chased what appeared to be a living ball of light through the flowering undergrowth.
No tension in their shoulders. No constant vigilance in their eyes. The kind of relaxation Susan had almost forgotten existed, from a time before cosmic rays had transformed her family into targets for every megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur.
She moved deeper into the island's interior, following the energy signatures her concealed scanner detected. Massive power consumption, concentrated in a structure roughly half a mile ahead. Server farms, if she had to guess. Data processing on a scale that would require significant infrastructure, significant cooling, significant everything. The kind of operation that generated billions in untraceable income.
The organic technology fascinated her despite her suspicion. Cables that grew from the earth like vines, pulsing with data transfer she could feel humming through her force field. Cooling systems that appeared to be living plants, their broad leaves absorbing heat and converting it to something the island could metabolize. Efficient. Elegant. Completely unlike anything Reed had ever designed.
Susan catalogued it all, her tactical mind building a map of vulnerabilities, access points, potential extraction routes. The scientist in her wanted to stop and study every impossible detail. The investigator kept her moving forward.
She was within fifty feet of what her scanner indicated was the primary data hub when the voice cut through her concentration like a blade.
"Mrs. Richards. Or do you prefer Ms. Storm these days?"
Susan spun, force field flaring instinctively into a defensive configuration. The foliage behind her rustled, and Emma Frost emerged like a vision from some fever dream of elegance and danger.
White. Everything about her was white, from the sharp platinum blonde bob that framed her aristocratic features to the corseted ensemble that left her shoulders bare and emphasized a figure that belonged on magazine covers rather than battlefields. Ice-blue eyes glittered with amusement above high cheekbones, full lips curved in a knowing smile that suggested Susan's careful infiltration had been entertainment rather than threat.
The telepath's statuesque form moved with predatory grace through the verdant surroundings, white heels somehow finding purchase on terrain that should have been treacherous. Her impressive cleavage swelled above the corset's structured edge with every breath, and Susan found herself momentarily distracted by the sheer audacity of the woman's presentation.
"Invisibility is charming," Emma continued, her cultured voice carrying that particular blend of British finishing school and American corporate shark that made her impossible to place. "Rather useless, however, against someone who can feel the shape of intruding thoughts. Your mental discipline is impressive, I'll grant you that. Most people broadcast like radio towers. You merely whisper."
Susan dropped her invisibility, standing tall despite being caught. Her navy tactical suit felt suddenly practical rather than professional, functional rather than powerful. Next to Emma Frost's calculated display of sensuality, she might as well have been wearing a paper bag.
"What is Krakoa hiding?" Susan demanded, forcing authority into her voice. "Billions in untraceable income. Global behavioral shifts that defy every predictive model I've built. The correlation is too precise to be coincidental."
Emma's smile widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Straight to business. I do appreciate efficiency in a woman. Though I confess I'm curious what brought the Fantastic Four's resident genius to our shores personally. Couldn't your husband spare a moment from his dimensional doodling to investigate?"
The barb landed precisely where Emma intended. Susan's jaw tightened.
"Reed is occupied with his research."
"Mmm." Emma's ice-blue eyes swept over Susan's form with an assessment that felt inappropriately intimate. "Research. How convenient for him. How lonely for you."
"I'm not here to discuss my marriage."
"No, you're here to uncover our terrible secrets." Emma gestured toward a path that wound deeper into the island's interior, her movement graceful and commanding. "Come with me, Susan. I'll show you exactly what the Fantastic Four's resident genius has been too distracted to notice."
Susan didn't move. "Why would you reveal anything to me? I could expose whatever operation you're running."
Emma laughed, the sound rich and genuine rather than mocking. "Expose what, precisely? An adult content platform staffed entirely by consenting participants who've earned Krakoa nearly two billion dollars in four months? We're not violating any laws. We're barely violating social norms, given what passes for entertainment these days."
The words took a moment to process. Susan's tactical mind, prepared for weapons trafficking or extortion schemes or some elaborate blackmail operation, stuttered against the mundane reality.
"Adult content," she repeated flatly.
"Premium streaming, darling. Mutants and select allies performing for an extremely wealthy and discretionary clientele. Encrypted, consensual, and devastatingly profitable." Emma's smile turned knowing. "The crime reduction you've noticed? Our viewers include some rather influential figures. They've become invested in maintaining global stability so nothing interrupts their entertainment."
Susan's force field flickered with her surprise. "You're telling me supervillains have stopped attacking because they're watching mutant pornography?"
"Among other factors. The situation is more complex than simple viewership, but the correlation you identified is real." Emma began walking, clearly expecting Susan to follow. "Come. I'll introduce you to the operation. Show you the financial records, the security protocols, the participant agreements. Everything above board, everything documented."
"And why would you do that?"
Emma paused, looking back over her bare shoulder. The afternoon light caught her platinum hair, made her pale skin glow against the verdant backdrop. "Because you're brilliant, Susan. Because you noticed what no one else bothered to investigate. And because I suspect you might find our operation more personally relevant than you expect."
The telepath's ice-blue eyes held something that might have been sympathy, or invitation, or both.
"Your husband hasn't touched you in months. Your teammates are too absorbed in their own distractions to notice you're drowning. You came here looking for answers about global economics and behavioral psychology." Emma's smile softened into something almost gentle. "Perhaps you'll find answers to questions you haven't allowed yourself to ask."
Susan stood frozen on the alien beach, force field humming around her, the scent of impossible flowers making her thoughts slow and strange. The rational part of her brain screamed warnings about telepathic manipulation, about walking into obvious traps, about the danger of following enemies into unknown territory.
But Emma wasn't lying. Susan could feel it in the way the telepath held herself, in the casual confidence of someone who had nothing to hide.
And beneath the warnings, beneath the tactical calculations and the scientific skepticism, something else stirred. Something that had been sleeping for a long time, starved of attention and affection and the simple human need to be seen.
Susan followed Emma through corridors that breathed.
The walls contracted and expanded in slow rhythm, organic tissue pulsing with bioluminescent veins that cast shifting shadows across the path. The air grew warmer as they descended, sweeter, carrying that narcotic floral scent Susan had noticed on the beach but concentrated now into something that made her pulse quicken despite her best efforts at clinical detachment.
"The island responds to emotional energy," Emma explained without looking back, her white heels clicking against floors that seemed to solidify beneath each step. "Strong feelings intensify its biological processes. You're experiencing what we call the Bower effect, though we're not actually in the Bower yet."
"Fascinating," Susan managed, though her voice came out slightly breathless. "The symbiotic relationship between Krakoa and its inhabitants extends to atmospheric manipulation?"
"Among other things." Emma paused at what appeared to be a solid wall of flowering vines. "The island provides. In return, we flourish. It's really quite elegant when you stop trying to apply human frameworks to alien biology."
The vines parted at Emma's approach, revealing a chamber that made Susan's architectural instincts sing with appreciation. Curved walls of living wood, polished to a warm sheen, cradled a space designed for intimate viewing. Organic seating grew from the floor in configurations that suggested comfort rather than functionality. And dominating the far wall, a screen that appeared to be woven from bioluminescent fibers, currently dark but clearly capable of displaying images at resolutions that would make Reed's best holographic projectors look primitive.
"Our private archive," Emma said, gesturing for Susan to take a seat. "Everything documented, catalogued, and secured behind encryption that would take your husband's best algorithms approximately three thousand years to crack. We've had Kitty Pryde handling our technical infrastructure."
Susan settled onto one of the organic seats, surprised by how perfectly it molded to her body. The material was warm, almost body temperature, and it shifted subtly to support her lower back in a way that suggested the furniture itself was alive and attentive.
"I have to admit," Susan said, "I expected weapons. Blackmail operations. Something that explained the financial anomalies through traditional criminal enterprise."
Emma laughed, settling onto an adjacent seat with the grace of someone who had long ago mastered the art of making every movement look deliberate. Her white ensemble caught the ambient bioluminescence, making her glow faintly in the chamber's soft light.
"Traditional criminal enterprise. How quaint." Emma's ice-blue eyes glittered with amusement. "The men of Krakoa tried traditional approaches. Diplomacy. Threats. Demonstrations of power. You've seen the results. Forty-three nations implementing embargoes. Assets frozen. Pharmaceutical exports banned. Children going hungry because Scott Summers couldn't resist tinkering with his visor during a UN assembly."
"I read about the incident. Seventeen civilians injured."
"Including a seven-year-old girl who will carry scars for the rest of her life." Emma's voice hardened. "Scott called it 'acceptable losses for technological advancement.' Magneto's response to international sanctions was to threaten crashing the global economy by magnetizing every bank vault on Earth. Charles attempted telepathic diplomacy that triggered worldwide outcry about 'mental sovereignty.'"
Susan winced. "I remember the protests."
"The men failed. Spectacularly, repeatedly, with the kind of ego-driven incompetence that would be comedic if children weren't starving as a result." Emma's smile returned, sharp and satisfied. "So the women found another way."
The screen flickered to life.
Susan's breath caught.
The image quality was extraordinary, capturing every detail with clarity that bordered on intrusive. A woman stood in what appeared to be the chamber Susan had glimpsed on her way in, the Bower Emma had mentioned. Bioluminescent flowers pulsed in sunset hues around her, creating an almost dreamlike backdrop.
Jean Grey.
Susan recognized her instantly. The vibrant red hair, the delicate features, the athletic figure that the X-Men's telepathic powerhouse usually concealed beneath practical uniforms. But Jean wasn't wearing a practical uniform. She was wearing a bikini version of her original Marvel Girl costume, green and yellow fabric barely containing curves that Susan had never realized the telepath possessed. The design was nostalgic, almost innocent, which made the context devastatingly provocative.
Jean wasn't alone.
A man moved behind her, his face carefully angled away from the camera but his body unmistakably enhanced. Broad shoulders. Defined musculature. The kind of physique that suggested superhuman capability rather than gym dedication. His hands settled on Jean's hips with casual possession, and Susan watched Jean's expression transform from nervous anticipation to something raw and hungry.
"The first filmed session," Emma narrated. "Jean had been carrying years of frustration. Scott's emotional distance. His obsession with tactical optimization over genuine connection. Did you know he times their intimate encounters? Three minutes, on average, followed by diagrams explaining how he could improve her experience through more efficient technique."
On screen, Jean dropped to her knees.
Susan should have looked away. Should have demanded Emma stop the footage, should have been formulating extraction protocols and damage assessment strategies. Instead, she found herself leaning forward, blue eyes widening as Jean performed oral sex with an enthusiasm that suggested genuine pleasure rather than performance. The man's cock was visible now, massive even from this angle, and Susan's scientific mind automatically catalogued the proportions while something far less scientific tightened in her belly.
"Her first orgasm triggered telekinetic outbursts across half the island," Emma continued. "Objects levitating, furniture shattering, the flowers in the Bower blooming so intensely they released pollen that enhanced sensitivity for everyone within a hundred meters. Jean's psychic overflow affected every telepath on Krakoa. Some of us experienced sympathetic pleasure. It was, I must admit, quite disorienting."
The footage shifted. Jean was on her back now, legs wrapped around the man's waist as he drove into her with force that should have been brutal but clearly wasn't. Her back arched off the flower bed, her mouth open in what could only be described as ecstasy, and Susan watched her squirt violently around his cock while the donation counter in the corner of the screen climbed past fifty million dollars.
"Sixty-five million from that single session," Emma said. "Jean found something she'd been missing for years. The viewers found entertainment worth paying premium prices to access. Krakoa found a revenue stream that no international sanction could touch."
The screen flickered again.
Storm.
The weather goddess stood on a beach that Susan recognized from the island's eastern coastline, though the tropical paradise surrounding her suggested significant environmental manipulation. White bikini barely containing dark brown skin that gleamed with oil. Silver-white hair flowing like a waterfall against her broad shoulders. Nearly six feet of statuesque beauty, thick thighs and generous curves that made Susan's breath catch for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely.
"Ororo wanted release from leadership responsibilities," Emma explained. "The weight of being everyone's goddess, everyone's perfect leader, everyone's symbol of mutant potential. She wanted to be taken rather than consulted. Dominated rather than deferred to."
On screen, Storm knelt before the same man, her regal bearing transformed into something worshipful as she took his cock between her full lips. The camera captured everything. The way her cheeks hollowed. The way her eyes rolled back. The way she used her impressive breasts to massage his shaft while her tongue worked the head.
Lightning crackled across her skin.
Susan pressed her thighs together, heat pooling in her belly despite every rational argument against what she was watching.
Storm's orgasm arrived with a literal thunderclap. The footage showed her squirting while electricity arced through the air, her weather powers responding to loss of control in ways that should have been terrifying but instead looked transcendent. The man had anal beads buried in her ass, and Susan watched him pull them free in rhythm with his thrusts, each sphere's removal triggering another convulsion, another spray of fluid, another crack of lightning across paradise.
"Seventy million," Emma said. "Her highest numbers came during the anal sequence. Apparently our viewers appreciate watching a goddess submit."
The screen shifted again.
Susan recognized Rogue immediately. The brown and white-streaked hair. The Southern features. But the expression on her face was something Susan had never seen before. Tears streaming down her cheeks, but not from pain. From overwhelming sensation. From the simple miracle of skin against skin.
"Twenty years," Emma said quietly, her voice losing its sardonic edge. "Twenty years without safe touch. Every lover risked death. Every embrace could kill. And then Peter arrived, and his healing factor proved strong enough to counteract her absorption."
On screen, Rogue floated several feet off the ground, her body convulsing around the man's cock while she wept with joy. Her hands clutched his shoulders with desperate strength, and Susan could see her nails leaving marks that healed almost instantly.
"She punched through a window during her strongest climax," Emma continued. "The physical damage was extensive. The emotional breakthrough was priceless."
Susan's throat felt tight. The clinical detachment she'd maintained through Jean's footage, through Storm's display, crumbled against the raw vulnerability in Rogue's face. This wasn't performance. This was healing. This was a woman experiencing something she'd believed impossible for most of her adult life.
"The financial signatures I tracked," Susan said, her voice rougher than she intended. "Premium streaming. Global subscriber base. Donation systems rivaling major platforms."
"Correct." Emma waved her hand, and the screen displayed spreadsheets, financial projections, security protocols. "Kitty built our technical infrastructure. Military-grade quantum encryption. Blockchain protocols that shift every few seconds. Facial scrambling for participants who want it, though most have chosen visibility. Our subscriber list includes heads of state, billionaire industrialists, and, we suspect, at least three cosmic entities who've developed a vested interest in maintaining global stability."
"The crime reduction."
"Partially explained by viewership demographics. When Doctor Doom is paying premium subscription fees, he's less inclined to launch schemes that might interrupt his entertainment. When various criminal organizations are invested in our continued operation, they discourage activities that might draw unwanted attention." Emma's smile turned knowing. "The rest is more complicated. We've detected evidence of omniversal observation. Something, or someone, is watching our streams from beyond conventional dimensional boundaries. And whatever it is, it's actively suppressing threats that might interfere."
Susan's scientific mind latched onto the implications even as her body continued responding to the footage still playing on the screen. Wanda Maximoff now, reality warping around her pleasure, impossible physics bending to accommodate sensations that shouldn't exist in normal spacetime.
"You're telling me that Earth's current period of relative peace is being maintained by a cosmic entity that enjoys watching mutant pornography."
"I'm telling you that the correlation exists." Emma's ice-blue eyes held Susan's gaze. "Whether causation follows is still being investigated. Wanda's chaos magic sessions generate dimensional interference that we're only beginning to understand. The energy signatures are unprecedented."
On screen, Wanda screamed as reality fractured around her orgasm, multiple versions of herself experiencing simultaneous pleasure across branching timelines that collapsed back into coherence as she came. The donation counter passed one hundred fifty million dollars.
Susan realized she was breathing hard.
Her tactical suit felt suddenly constrictive, the navy material clinging to skin that had grown flushed and sensitive. The chamber's warm air carried that sweet floral scent, and she couldn't tell anymore whether her accelerating pulse was reaction to environmental manipulation or genuine arousal.
Both, probably.
Emma's telepathic presence brushed against her mind. Not invasive. Just present. A gentle acknowledgment that Susan's thoughts were no longer entirely her own to hide.
"You haven't had satisfying intimacy in quite some time," Emma observed. "Reed's brilliant mind apparently doesn't extend to recognizing when his wife needs attention."
Susan wanted to argue. Wanted to defend her husband, her marriage, the partnership they'd built over years of cosmic adventures and world-saving heroics. The words wouldn't come.
"Eighteen months," she heard herself say instead. "Since he touched me with genuine desire rather than absent-minded obligation. Since he looked at me and actually saw me, rather than cataloguing my presence as another data point in his environmental awareness."
The admission hurt more than she expected.
"I've felt invisible in my own marriage for longer than I want to admit." Susan's voice cracked. "I can turn invisible at will, and somehow that feels less isolating than standing in the same room as my husband while he looks right through me."
Emma's expression softened into something that might have been genuine sympathy. "The brilliant ones are often the most oblivious. Charles spent decades building a dream of peaceful coexistence without noticing that his students were dying for ideals he couldn't be bothered to protect personally. Scott optimizes tactical scenarios while his wife starves for emotional connection. Reed maps the boundaries of reality while his partner fades into irrelevance beside him."
"I'm not irrelevant."
"No, you're not." Emma leaned forward, her ice-blue eyes holding Susan's with uncomfortable intensity. "You're brilliant. Observant. Capable of investigations that should have been conducted by multiple intelligence agencies. You noticed what no one else bothered to examine. You came here alone because you knew your teammates wouldn't take your concerns seriously."
The screen behind Emma continued playing. Laura Kinney now, the woman once called X-23, her healing factor working overtime as she experienced pleasure that looked almost like violence. Her claws extended and retracted with each orgasm, leaving marks on her partner's skin that healed almost as quickly as they appeared.
"You're also desperately lonely," Emma continued. "Starving for touch. For attention. For someone to see you as a woman rather than a teammate, a partner, a resource to be optimized."
Susan's force field flickered involuntarily.
"I came here for answers."
"And you've found them." Emma's smile returned, warmer now, almost welcoming. "The question is whether you're satisfied with economic explanations and behavioral correlations, or whether you'd like to explore the more personal implications of what you've witnessed."
The screen shifted one final time. Kitty Pryde, phasing involuntarily through dimensional boundaries as pleasure overwhelmed her ability to maintain corporeal coherence. The man with her held her with careful strength, grounding her in physical reality even as her powers tried to scatter her across multiple planes of existence.
Susan watched Kitty scream, watched her phase through the floor and ceiling simultaneously, watched her partner pull her back together with patient determination.
"Our primary performer," Emma said. "The reason this operation succeeds where traditional adult entertainment would fail. He's not just physically enhanced. He's genuinely invested in each participant's pleasure and wellbeing. He sees them. Attends to them. Makes them feel valued in ways their previous partners never managed."
"Who is he?"
Emma's smile turned knowing. "I suspect you might recognize him. He used to visit the Baxter Building quite frequently, back when your brother-in-law maintained friendships outside his celebrity circuit."
Susan's heart stuttered.
The footage on screen shifted angle, and she caught a glimpse of the man's profile. The jawline. The messy brown hair. The way he moved with casual confidence that suggested enhanced reflexes rather than trained grace.
"Peter," she breathed.
"Spider-Man," Emma confirmed. "An old friend. The one who used to bring pizza to your movie nights and make terrible jokes that somehow always landed. The one who noticed when you were upset before Reed did, who asked about your research when your husband forgot to inquire."
Susan remembered. God, she remembered. Peter had been a fixture at the Baxter Building for years, the kind of friend who showed up unannounced with exactly the right snack and somehow made even cosmic crises feel manageable. He'd disappeared gradually after his breakup with Mary Jane, stopped visiting, stopped calling. Susan had assumed he was processing the end of his relationship in private.
She hadn't known he was drowning in debt. Hadn't known he was desperate enough to accept Emma Frost's proposition.
Hadn't known he was capable of making the most powerful women on Earth scream with pleasure.
"We recruited him some time ago," Emma explained. "He was struggling. Medical debt from injuries sustained saving people who later sued him for property damage. His spider physiology makes him uniquely suited to our needs. Enhanced stamina, accelerated recovery, proportional strength that allows position variations impossible for baseline humans."
On screen, Peter was visible now, his face no longer hidden from the camera. Susan watched him hold Kitty through another phasing episode, his expression focused and tender, his hands steady on her waist even as her body flickered between dimensions.
"He averages seven orgasms per session," Emma continued. "Ninety-second refractory period. Seminal volume between forty and seventy milliliters per ejaculation. But the statistics don't capture what makes him valuable."
"What makes him valuable?"
"He cares." Emma's voice carried genuine warmth. "Every woman who's participated has found something she was missing. Jean reclaimed her sexuality from Scott's emotional neglect. Storm released the burden of constant leadership. Rogue experienced touch without fear for the first time in two decades. Peter treats each encounter as collaboration rather than conquest. He sees them. Attends to them. Makes them feel like the center of his universe for however long they're together."
Susan's throat felt tight.
"Would you like to meet him?" Emma asked. "He's on the island today. I could arrange an introduction. Nothing pressured, nothing expected. Just a conversation with an old friend who's found a rather unconventional path to purpose."
Susan should have said no.
Should have gathered her data, returned to the Baxter Building, filed her report, and moved on. The rational part of her brain was already composing the summary: Krakoan income derived from adult entertainment platform, no immediate threat to global security, operation appears consensual and legally compliant, recommend continued monitoring without direct intervention.
But the rational part of her brain hadn't been touched with genuine desire in eighteen months.
"Yes," she heard herself say. "I'd like that."
Emma's smile widened, satisfied and knowing.
"I thought you might."
The Bower's antechamber breathed around Susan as she stepped through the membrane that served as its entrance.
Warm bioluminescence painted the curved walls in sunset hues, flowers pulsing with slow rhythm that matched the island's heartbeat. The air was thicker here, sweeter, carrying that narcotic floral scent she'd noticed throughout Krakoa but concentrated now into something that made her skin tingle and her thoughts slow to honey.
Emma had insisted she change.
The white wrap was gossamer thin, practically transparent, clinging to Susan's body like morning mist. Her full breasts pressed against the sheer fabric, pink nipples visible through the material, hardening in the chamber's warm air. The wrap fell to mid-thigh, doing nothing to hide the curve of her hips or the shadow between her thighs. She felt exposed in a way that should have been uncomfortable but instead sent heat pooling low in her belly.
Her blonde hair was loose now, falling in silky waves past her shoulders. Blue eyes wide and uncertain, but darkened with arousal she couldn't deny anymore.
Susan Storm Richards, invisible woman, brilliant scientist, wife of the smartest man on Earth, stood in an alien sex chamber waiting to meet an old friend who had apparently become a professional lover.
The absurdity of it should have made her laugh.
Instead, she found herself pressing her thighs together against the ache building there.
Movement from the inner chamber drew her attention.
Peter emerged through a curtain of flowering vines, and Susan's breath left her entirely.
Gone was the gangly teenager who used to raid her refrigerator after study sessions with Johnny. Gone was the awkward young man who made terrible puns during movie nights and blushed whenever she caught him staring at her chest. In his place stood someone she almost didn't recognize.
Lean muscle defined beneath sun-kissed skin. Shoulders broader than she remembered, tapering to a narrow waist. The V of his hips led down to where loose linen pants hung dangerously low, and Susan's scientific mind catalogued what her body was already responding to: the outline of his considerable endowment pressed against the fabric, thick even at rest, the kind of size that her neglected imagination immediately started calculating.
His brown eyes met hers.
Warm with recognition. Heated with something beneath.
"Sue?"
His voice was deeper than she remembered. Rougher. The voice of a man who had lived through things the boy she'd known couldn't have imagined.
"Peter." She could barely speak. Her throat felt tight, her pulse hammering in her temples. "You've... grown."
Understatement of the century.
He crossed to her slowly, each step deliberate, giving her time to retreat. Susan found herself rooted in place, force field flickering unconsciously around her hands as every nerve ending in her body screamed awareness of his approach.
He stopped inches away.
Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Close enough to smell him: clean sweat and something masculine and that sweet Krakoan air that seemed to cling to everything on this impossible island.
His hand rose to cup her cheek.
Susan's eyes fluttered closed at the contact. Such a simple touch. Just his palm against her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone with careful gentleness. But it sent electricity through her neglected body, sparking along pathways that had gone dormant from disuse.
When had Reed last touched her like this?
When had anyone?
"You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever known," Peter said quietly. "Did you know I used to have the biggest crush on you? Used to dream about you. Lie awake in my crappy apartment imagining what it would be like to..."
He trailed off, but his eyes completed the sentence.
Susan laughed shakily. "The kid who couldn't look me in the eye when I wore a swimsuit?"
"The kid who was absolutely terrified you'd notice him staring." Peter's smile was rueful, self-deprecating in a way that felt achingly familiar. "I got over the terror eventually. Never got over the staring."
His thumb continued its slow path across her cheekbone. Susan leaned into the touch without meaning to, her body making decisions her mind hadn't approved yet.
"Is this where I sign up?" The question came out breathless, almost joking, but there was nothing funny about the heat building between her thighs.
Peter's expression softened. His other hand came up to frame her face, holding her gently, his brown eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her feel seen in a way she'd forgotten was possible.
"Only if you want to," he said. "Only if this is for you. Not revenge on Reed. Not proving something. Not because Emma talked you into it or because you're lonely or because you think you should."
Susan's throat tightened.
"I came here to investigate financial anomalies."
"And you found a lot more than spreadsheets." Peter's voice held no judgment. "That doesn't mean you have to do anything about it. You can walk out of here right now. Go back to the Baxter Building. File your report. Pretend this never happened."
"Could you pretend?" Susan asked. "If I left?"
"No." Simple honesty. "But that's my problem, not yours."
From the shadows at the edge of the chamber, Emma's voice drifted like silk over skin.
"The cameras are optional, darling. You can have this privately if you prefer. No audience. No documentation. Just two old friends reconnecting in a rather unconventional way."
Susan turned her head slightly, catching Emma's silhouette against the bioluminescent walls. The telepath had changed as well, white corset and flowing skirts that made her look like something from a Victorian fantasy. Ice-blue eyes glittered with knowing amusement.
"Private," Susan repeated. "Or documented."
"Your choice entirely." Emma's smile curved in the soft light. "Though I should mention that our viewers pay premium rates for new performers. First sessions generate particular interest. And there's something rather liberating about being watched, about knowing that thousands of people are seeing you at your most vulnerable and finding you beautiful."
Susan looked back at Peter.
His hands had dropped from her face, giving her space to think. He stood there, patient and present, making no demands. The outline of his cock had thickened against his pants, evidence that he wanted her, but he wasn't pushing.
He was waiting.
For her to decide.
Reed never waited. Reed assumed. Reed calculated optimal outcomes and implemented solutions without asking whether Susan agreed with his parameters. Reed treated their marriage like another equation to solve, their intimacy like a variable to optimize.
Peter was asking her what she wanted.
Susan reached up to the clasp at her shoulder.
The white wrap fell away, gossamer fabric pooling at her feet.
She stood naked before Peter, her full breasts bared and already flushed with arousal, her pink nipples tight and aching, the curve of her waist flowing down to hips that had rounded with age in ways she'd always been slightly self-conscious about. Her pussy glistened in the warm light, wetness she couldn't hide and didn't want to anymore.
"I want the cameras," Susan said.
Her voice came out stronger than she expected.
"I want the world to see what my husband's been too blind to appreciate. I want documentation. Evidence. Proof that I'm not invisible. That I'm not background noise in my own life."
Peter's breath caught.
His brown eyes swept down her body with open hunger, cataloguing every curve, every shadow, every inch of skin she was offering him. When his gaze returned to her face, something had shifted in his expression. The patient friend was still there, but beneath it lurked something predatory.
Something that made Susan's cunt clench around nothing.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
Peter's breath still caught at the sight of her.
Susan Storm naked was everything his teenage fantasies had promised and more. Those late nights in his cramped Queens apartment, lying awake imagining what lay beneath her uniform, hadn't prepared him for the reality standing before him in the Bower's warm light.
Her breasts were full and perfectly shaped, heavy enough to sway slightly with each breath, pink nipples peaked with arousal and begging to be touched. Her waist nipped in before flaring to feminine hips that curved with the kind of softness that came from maturity rather than gym obsession. Her pussy was bare and glistening, her arousal visible even from where he stood, and her legs stretched long and toned beneath her.
She was stunning. Ethereal. A goddess made flesh in the bioluminescent glow.
And she was looking at him like he was the answer to years of loneliness.
Peter dropped to his knees before her without hesitation.
His hands slid up her thighs, feeling the silk of her skin beneath his palms, the slight tremor that ran through her muscles at his touch. Susan gasped as his mouth found her center, the sound sharp and surprised, as if she hadn't expected him to start there.
As if no one had ever started there.
His tongue traced through her folds, tasting her arousal. Salt and musk and something uniquely her, a flavor he wanted to memorize. He circled her clit eagerly, learning her responses, cataloguing what made her breath hitch and what made her thighs clench around his ears.
Susan's hands flew to his hair, gripping tight enough to sting.
Her head fell back, a moan escaping that she barely seemed to recognize as her own voice. The sound was raw, unpracticed, the cry of a woman who had forgotten what pleasure felt like.
"Oh god." Her voice cracked. "Peter, I... Reed never..."
She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.
Peter understood. Eighteen years of marriage to the smartest man on Earth, and her husband had never worshipped her like this. Never made her pleasure the priority. Never knelt before her and devoted himself to her satisfaction with the single-minded focus she deserved.
His tongue pushed inside her, fucking her with slow deliberate strokes while his thumb found her clit.
Susan's knees buckled.
He caught her easily, enhanced strength cradling her weight like she was made of spun glass, lowering her to the soft moss floor without breaking contact. The organic surface cushioned her back, warm and yielding, and Peter spread her thighs wider as he settled between them.
He devoured her with genuine hunger.
Not performance. Not technique optimized for viewer engagement. Just the simple truth of wanting to make this woman feel good, wanting to erase years of neglect with every stroke of his tongue.
Susan writhed beneath him, her hips rolling against his mouth, her fingers tangled in his hair. Little sounds escaped her throat, whimpers and gasps and half-formed words that might have been his name or might have been prayers. Her force fields flickered around her hands, invisible energy crackling with her loss of control.
Movement at the edge of Peter's awareness.
Emma circled them slowly, shedding her own clothes. The white corset fell away, revealing breasts that made Susan's look modest by comparison, large and full with pink nipples already tight with arousal. Her narrow waist flared to hips that swayed with each step, and the curves of her body caught the bioluminescent light like she'd been sculpted specifically for this moment.
The telepath knelt beside Susan's head, pale skin glowing against the darker moss.
"May I share in this?" Emma's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Would you like to know what it feels like to be truly seen by more than one person at once?"
Susan's blue eyes were glazed with pleasure, her chest heaving, her nipples flushed dark pink against her fair skin. She looked up at Emma with an expression that held no hesitation.
She nodded desperately. Beyond words. Beyond the careful control she'd maintained for so long.
Emma leaned down and kissed her.
The telepath's lips were soft and skilled, moving against Susan's mouth with patient expertise. Her tongue traced the seam of Susan's lips, requesting entry, and Susan opened for her with a moan that Peter felt vibrate against his tongue.
He redoubled his efforts.
His lips sealed around Susan's clit, sucking gently while two fingers pushed inside her clenching heat. She was tight, impossibly tight, her walls gripping his fingers like she was trying to hold him there forever. The wetness coating his hand spoke to how desperately she'd needed this, how long she'd been starving for attention.
Emma's hand found Susan's breast, cupping the soft weight, rolling her nipple between elegant fingers.
Susan arched off the moss floor, trapped between two sources of pleasure, overwhelmed by sensation she'd forgotten existed. Her force fields flickered more intensely now, invisible energy making the air shimmer around all three of them, distorting the bioluminescent light into rainbow patterns.
Peter curled his fingers inside her, searching for the spot he knew would break her.
Found it.
Susan screamed into Emma's mouth.
Her pussy clenched around his probing tongue and fingers, rhythmic contractions that pulled him deeper. Her thighs clamped around his head, her back bowed off the floor, her hands grabbing at anything she could reach. One fist full of moss, one tangled in Emma's platinum hair.
Her force fields exploded outward.
The shimmer became a pulse, invisible energy expanding in a sphere that made the Bower's flowers bloom violently in response. Bioluminescence flared to blinding intensity before settling back to sunset hues. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the force of her release.
Susan came with eighteen months of neglect pouring out of her.
Came with the fury of a woman who had been invisible in her own marriage.
Came with Peter's mouth drinking every drop of her pleasure while Emma swallowed her screams.
When the waves finally subsided, Susan lay boneless on the moss floor, tears streaming from her eyes, her force fields still flickering weakly around her trembling hands.
"I forgot," she whispered. "I forgot what it felt like to be wanted."
Peter lifted his head, his chin glistening with her arousal, his brown eyes soft with understanding.
"Then let me remind you."
Peter rose over her trembling body.
His linen pants fell away, discarded with casual grace, and Susan's breath stopped entirely.
His cock stood proud between them, thick and impossibly hard, the swollen head flushed dark with arousal. Veins traced along the shaft, pulsing with his heartbeat. Susan's scientific mind catalogued the proportions automatically: length that would reach places she'd forgotten existed, girth that made her pussy clench with equal parts anticipation and trepidation.
Reed was perhaps half this size on his best day.
The thought arrived unbidden, cruel and honest. All those years of efficient three-minute encounters, of lying beneath her husband while he optimized his technique through minimal effort, of feeling vaguely disappointed without understanding why. Now she understood. Now she stared at what she'd been missing and felt something between hunger and genuine fear.
"Peter." Her voice came out strangled. "That's..."
"We'll go slow." He positioned himself at her entrance, the swollen head pressing against her slick folds with gentle pressure. Heat radiated from the contact, his cock twitching against her sensitive flesh. "We'll stop if you need to. This is about what you want, Sue."
His brown eyes found hers.
Warm. Patient. Seeing her with an intensity that made her chest ache.
"Is this what you want?"
Susan wrapped her legs around his waist.
Pulled him forward.
The first inch split her open with a stretch that bordered on pain. Susan's head fell back, a broken cry tearing from her throat as her pussy struggled to accommodate his girth. Her walls burned with the invasion, nerve endings screaming at the intrusion, her body fighting to accept what her mind desperately craved.
Peter held still, giving her time.
His jaw clenched with the effort of restraint, muscles in his shoulders standing taut, but he didn't move. Didn't push. Just waited there, barely inside her, letting her body adjust to what it had never experienced before.
"More." Susan's voice cracked. "Please. I need..."
He fed her another inch.
Then another.
Susan's force fields flickered wildly around her hands as he sank deeper, invisible energy crackling with her loss of control. The stretch was overwhelming, almost unbearable, her cunt straining around his thickness like it might tear her apart.
But the fullness.
God, the fullness.
This was everything she'd been missing. Every hollow night lying beside Reed, every perfunctory coupling that left her unsatisfied, every time she'd wondered if something was wrong with her for wanting more. Nothing had been wrong with her. She'd just never had a cock that could reach the places inside her that ached to be touched.
Peter bottomed out with a groan that vibrated through both of them.
Susan felt him everywhere. Felt him pressing against her cervix, felt him stretching walls that had never been stretched, felt him filling spaces inside her that had been empty for so long she'd forgotten they existed.
"You're so tight." Peter's voice was strained, his control clearly tested. "So fucking tight, Sue. You feel incredible."
He began to move.
Slow, deep strokes that dragged his cock along every sensitive nerve ending inside her. Susan's back arched off the moss floor as he pulled almost entirely out, leaving just the head inside, then thrust back in with deliberate force. The angle changed, and suddenly he was hitting a spot that made stars explode behind her eyes.
"There." She barely recognized her own voice. "Right there, don't stop, please don't..."
Peter adjusted his position, his hands bracing on either side of her head, his brown eyes watching her face with focused attention. Every response catalogued. Every gasp noted. Every flutter of her eyelids registered and responded to.
He hit that spot again.
Susan screamed.
Her breasts bounced with each thrust, full and heavy, her nipples dark pink and aching. The moss beneath her back shifted to cradle her more comfortably, the Bower itself responding to her pleasure with organic attentiveness. Bioluminescent flowers pulsed in rhythm with Peter's strokes, the chamber's light flickering between sunset hues and something brighter, more intense.
Movement at the edge of her awareness.
Emma.
The telepath crawled over Susan's prone body, pale skin glowing in the warm light, her large breasts swaying with each movement. Her platinum hair fell forward, curtaining her aristocratic features as she positioned herself over Susan's face.
"Open for me, darling." Emma's voice was silk and command. "Let me feel that clever mouth."
Emma lowered herself.
Her pussy glistened with arousal, pink folds swollen and slick, her clit prominent and begging for attention. Susan had never tasted another woman before. Had never considered it, never fantasized about it, never once in her carefully controlled life imagined herself in this position.
She licked into Emma without hesitation.
The taste was intoxicating. Salt and musk and something floral that might have been the Krakoan air or might have been uniquely Emma. Susan's tongue traced through velvet folds, exploring the unfamiliar territory with the same methodical curiosity she brought to every new challenge.
Emma moaned above her, hips rolling against Susan's mouth.
The position created a circuit of pleasure.
Susan eating Emma while Peter fucked her, all three connected, all three building toward something inevitable. Susan felt Emma's arousal dripping onto her chin, felt Peter's cock driving into her again and again, felt her own pleasure spiraling higher with each passing second.
Peter's pace increased.
His enhanced stamina allowed him to maintain a rhythm that had Susan seeing stars, his hips snapping forward with force that would have been bruising from anyone else but felt perfect from him. His cock hit her cervix with each thrust, the pressure building into something that bordered on too much.
Susan moaned against Emma's cunt.
The vibration made Emma cry out, her thighs clenching around Susan's head, her fingers tangling in blonde hair. Above her, Susan could hear the telepath's breathing grow ragged, could feel the tremble in Emma's thighs that spoke to approaching release.
Peter's hand found Susan's breast.
He squeezed the soft flesh, pinched her nipple between his fingers, rolled the sensitive peak until Susan's back bowed off the floor. The dual stimulation was overwhelming: his cock inside her, his hand on her breast, Emma's pussy on her mouth, pleasure coming from every direction at once.
"You're close." Peter's voice was rough. "I can feel you clenching. Let go, Sue. Let me feel you come on my cock."
Susan's tongue found Emma's clit.
She sucked the swollen nub into her mouth, flicking it with the tip of her tongue, and Emma's composure shattered entirely. The telepath screamed, her pussy clenching against Susan's mouth, her thighs trembling violently.
The psychic feedback hit Susan like a wave.
Emma's pleasure bleeding through whatever telepathic connection existed between them, amplifying Susan's own sensations until she couldn't tell where her body ended and the others began. She felt Peter's cock inside her and Emma's orgasm in her mind and her own release building to impossible heights.
Peter drove into her harder.
Faster.
His cock hitting that perfect spot with every stroke, his hand still working her breast, his eyes never leaving her face even as she writhed beneath him and Emma shook above her. Susan felt herself cresting, felt the wave building beyond her ability to contain.
She came with her tongue buried in Emma's pussy.
Her walls clenched so hard around Peter's cock that he groaned, his rhythm faltering for just a moment as her body tried to milk him. The orgasm ripped through her with devastating force, pleasure radiating from her core to her extremities, her toes curling and her fingers clawing at the moss beneath her.
Her force fields expanded outward.
Not flickering this time but pulsing, a visible wave of invisible energy that made the Bower's flowers bloom brighter. Bioluminescence flared to blinding intensity, the chamber itself responding to her release with organic enthusiasm. The air shimmered with the force of her power, distorting light and shadow into patterns that hurt to look at directly.
Susan came until she thought she might die from it.
Came until tears streamed down her cheeks and her voice went hoarse from screaming into Emma's cunt.
Came until she forgot her own name, forgot her husband, forgot everything except the cock still moving inside her and the woman still trembling above her and the pleasure that showed no signs of ending.
When the waves finally began to subside, she lay gasping on the moss floor, her chest heaving, her force fields still crackling weakly around her shaking hands.
Peter hadn't stopped moving.
His pace had slowed, gentled, but his cock remained hard inside her, still filling her, still stretching her open. His enhanced stamina meant he could continue long after any normal man would have finished.
Emma climbed off Susan's face with boneless grace, her thighs glistening with Susan's saliva and her own arousal. She collapsed beside them, one hand trailing lazily down Susan's arm, ice-blue eyes dark with satisfied pleasure.
"Beautiful," Emma murmured. "Absolutely beautiful."
Susan couldn't form words.
Her mind was still reassembling itself, still processing the fact that she'd just experienced more pleasure in the last few minutes than she had in the last year of her marriage. Her pussy throbbed around Peter's cock, oversensitive and still hungry for more.
Peter leaned down to kiss her.
She tasted Emma on his lips, realized he must have kissed the telepath while Susan was lost in her orgasm. The thought should have bothered her. Instead it sent another pulse of arousal through her exhausted body.
"Ready for more?" Peter asked against her mouth. "Or do you need a break?"
Susan's laugh came out broken, almost delirious.
"More." She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I want everything. I want you to fuck me until I can't remember his name."
Peter's brown eyes darkened.
"That," he said, "I can definitely do."
Peter's hands found Susan's hips.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made her whimper at the sudden emptiness, her pussy clenching around nothing. Before she could protest, he flipped her onto her stomach with casual strength that reminded her exactly what she was dealing with. Enhanced. Superhuman. Capable of things Reed's baseline physiology could never match.
"Up." His voice had dropped an octave, rough with desire. "Hands and knees."
Susan obeyed without thinking.
Her body moved before her mind caught up, rising onto trembling limbs, presenting herself like an offering. Back arched. Ass raised. Blonde hair spilling over her shoulders as she looked back at him with eyes gone dark with need.
The position felt obscene. Vulnerable. Exactly what she wanted.
Peter's gaze swept down her body, cataloguing the curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the glistening folds of her pussy still swollen from his cock. His hand traced down her back, a gentle touch that made her shiver, before settling on her hip with possessive weight.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "You have no idea how many times I imagined you like this."
Susan's laugh came out breathless, almost desperate. "Show me what you imagined."
He drove into her in one brutal stroke.
Susan screamed into the moss as he bottomed out, the new angle letting him sink even deeper than before. His cock pressed against places inside her that had never been touched, stretching her open around his thickness, filling her so completely that she felt him in her throat.
The pace he set was punishing.
No gentle buildup this time. No careful consideration of her limits. Just raw, animal fucking that had her arms giving out within seconds, her face pressing into the soft organic floor while her ass stayed raised for him to use.
His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise.
Susan felt the pressure of his fingers, knew she'd carry marks tomorrow, and the thought sent arousal spiking through her already overwhelmed system. Evidence. Proof that this had happened. Something Reed would see and wonder about.
Let him wonder.
Peter pulled her back onto his cock with each thrust, using her body for his pleasure while somehow still hitting that spot that made her see stars. The wet slap of flesh against flesh echoed through the chamber, obscene and rhythmic, punctuated by her broken moans and his low groans of satisfaction.
"Fuck." His voice was strained. "You're squeezing me so tight, Sue. Like you never want to let me go."
She didn't. God help her, she didn't.
Movement beneath her.
Emma slid into position on her back, platinum hair spread across the moss like a halo, ice-blue eyes glittering up at Susan with knowing amusement. The telepath's head was positioned perfectly between Susan's spread thighs, her mouth inches from where Peter's cock was splitting Susan open.
"Let me help," Emma purred.
Her tongue found Susan's clit.
The added sensation ripped a sound from Susan's throat that she didn't recognize as her own voice. Too high. Too desperate. Too far beyond the careful control she'd maintained for decades. Emma's tongue circled her swollen nub expertly, flicking and sucking in counterpoint to Peter's brutal thrusts.
Susan's arms gave out completely.
Her face pressed into Emma's stomach, her breath coming in ragged gasps against pale skin, her world narrowing to the two points of overwhelming pleasure: Peter's cock driving into her from behind and Emma's mouth working her clit.
The Bower's cameras captured everything.
Susan Storm, wife of Reed Richards, founding member of the Fantastic Four, being absolutely destroyed by Spider-Man's cock while the White Queen ate her pussy. Her full breasts swinging with each thrust, her face contorted with ecstasy, her force fields flickering around her in visible displays of lost control.
She didn't care.
For the first time in years, she felt visible. Desired. Alive.
Not a resource to be optimized or a partner to be managed or a variable in someone else's equation. Just a woman being fucked the way she deserved to be fucked, by someone who saw her and wanted her and made her feel like the center of his universe.
"You're perfect." Peter's voice cut through the haze of pleasure, rough and sincere. "So fucking perfect, Sue. So tight around me. I can feel you getting close again."
Susan tried to respond. Managed only a broken whimper against Emma's stomach.
"Tell me what you want." His pace increased, impossibly faster, his cock hammering into her with force that would have been painful if she weren't so wet, so ready, so desperate for everything he could give her. "Say it."
Emma's tongue pressed harder against her clit.
Susan felt the orgasm building like a wave, felt herself cresting toward something that might actually break her this time. Her pussy clenched around Peter's cock, her walls fluttering with approaching release, her entire body trembling with the effort of holding back just a little longer.
"Inside." The word tore from her throat, raw and shameless. "Please, Peter, I need... I need you to..."
"Need me to what?"
His hand tangled in her hair. Pulled her head back. The position arched her spine further, changed the angle of his thrusts, let him sink impossibly deeper.
"Say it, Sue. Tell me exactly what you want."
"Cum inside me." The words came out in a rush, any remaining shame burned away by eighteen months of neglect and the cock currently destroying her from the inside out. "Fill me up. Give me what Reed never bothered to provide. Please, Peter, I'm begging you, I need to feel you cum inside me, need to feel..."
She couldn't finish.
Emma's mouth sealed around her clit and sucked hard, and Susan's world went white.
The orgasm hit like a force field explosion. Her pussy clamped down on Peter's cock with crushing pressure, her walls milking him in rhythmic waves, her entire body convulsing with pleasure that bordered on pain. Her force fields erupted outward, invisible energy making the air shimmer and the flowers bloom brighter, the Bower itself responding to her release with organic enthusiasm.
Peter's rhythm stuttered.
His grip on her hips tightened to bruising force, his cock swelling inside her clenching heat. A groan tore from his chest, deep and primal, and then he was roaring his release.
Susan felt the first pulse of his cum flood her womb.
Hot. Thick. More than she'd ever felt before, more than Reed had ever managed, filling her with liquid heat that triggered a second wave of orgasm before the first had finished. His cock kept pulsing, kept pumping, jet after jet of cum painting her insides white while she wailed her pleasure into Emma's stomach.
The sensation was overwhelming.
Being filled so completely, so thoroughly, her pussy struggling to contain the sheer volume of his release. She felt it leaking around his cock, dripping down to where Emma's tongue still worked her clit, the telepath moaning at the taste.
Peter's last few thrusts were shallow, grinding, working his cum deeper inside her.
Susan's arms had long since failed. Her legs trembled violently, threatening to give out entirely. Only his hands on her hips kept her upright, kept her ass raised while he finished marking her as thoroughly as anyone had ever been marked.
When he finally pulled out, the flood of cum that followed made Susan moan.
She felt it pouring from her well-used pussy, thick and white, dripping onto Emma's waiting tongue. The telepath licked at her oversensitive folds, cleaning her gently, gathering Peter's release and swallowing with obvious pleasure.
Susan collapsed forward onto Emma's body.
The two women lay tangled together, Susan's blonde hair mixing with Emma's platinum strands, their breasts pressing together as they both fought to catch their breath. Peter settled beside them, one hand stroking down Susan's spine with gentle affection.
Three bodies breathing hard in the Bower's warm light.
Bioluminescent flowers pulsing in slow rhythm around them.
Peter's cum still leaking from Susan's well-used pussy.
Emma pressed a kiss to Susan's forehead, soft and surprisingly tender.
"Magnificent," she whispered against Susan's damp skin. "Absolutely magnificent, darling."
Susan lay sandwiched between warmth and warmth.
Peter's chest pressed against her back, solid and steady, his heartbeat a slow rhythm she could feel through her skin. Emma curved along her front, softer, the telepath's impressive breasts cushioned against Susan's own. The Bower's bioluminescence had shifted from sunset intensity to something gentler, calmer, pale blue and lavender hues that pulsed in time with the island's breath.
Three bodies tangled together on living moss that had molded itself to cradle them perfectly.
Peter's hand traced lazy patterns on Susan's stomach. Idle circles. Figure eights. The kind of absent, affectionate touch that spoke to comfort rather than intent. His fingers brushed the underside of her breast occasionally, sending little sparks through her oversensitive nerves, but he didn't push. Just touched her. Just held her.
Emma's elegant fingers played with Susan's blonde hair, separating strands, smoothing them back from her damp forehead. The telepath's ice-blue eyes had softened in the aftermath, losing their calculating edge in favor of something almost maternal.
Susan felt tears prick her eyes.
The sensation caught her off guard. She'd just experienced more pleasure than she'd thought her body capable of. Multiple orgasms that had left her wrung out and trembling, force fields flickering, voice hoarse from screaming. She should feel satisfied. Sated. Instead, this simple intimacy, this gentle aftermath of being touched with care, threatened to break something inside her chest.
When had Reed last held her like this?
When had anyone?
The tears spilled before she could stop them. Silent. Tracking down her cheeks to disappear into the moss beneath her. Her throat tightened, but she didn't sob. Didn't make a sound. Just lay there between two people who had given her more attention in the last hour than her husband had managed in eighteen months, and let the grief pour out of her.
Emma's telepathy brushed against her mind.
Gentle. Not invasive. A presence rather than an intrusion, offering connection without demanding access. Images flickered through Susan's consciousness: Jean Grey reclaiming her sexuality from Scott's emotional distance. Storm releasing the crushing weight of constant leadership. Rogue experiencing safe touch for the first time in twenty years. Laura discovering that intimacy could exist without violence.
The operation's purpose, laid bare in flashes of memory and emotion.
Women finding healing. Women finding agency. Women taking control of their bodies and their pleasure in ways their previous circumstances had denied them. And yes, funding Krakoa's survival in the process. Saving children from starvation while their male leadership continued to fail spectacularly at every diplomatic attempt.
Susan saw the financial projections. The subscriber demographics. The security protocols that protected every participant's identity unless they chose visibility. She saw the genuine care that went into every session, the emotional support structures, the way the women had built something that was part business and part family.
She saw Peter through Emma's eyes.
Not just a performer. A partner. Someone who saw each woman as a person rather than a conquest. Someone who prioritized their pleasure over his ego. Someone who had helped heal wounds that had festered for years, decades in some cases.
The images faded, leaving Susan with a deeper understanding than words could have provided.
"What happens now?" Her voice came out rough, cracked from screaming and crying. "With Reed. With my marriage. With everything."
Emma's fingers continued their gentle path through Susan's hair. "That's entirely your choice, darling. Many of the women here have complicated situations. Relationships that existed before they found us. Commitments they're not ready to abandon, even when those commitments have failed to serve them."
"Krakoa doesn't demand anything," Peter added quietly, his breath warm against the back of Susan's neck. "Except discretion about the methods. The operation stays secret. Beyond that, you decide what this means for your life."
Susan stared at the bioluminescent flowers pulsing softly around them. Her mind, usually so quick to calculate variables and project outcomes, felt sluggish. Satisfied. For once not racing ahead to the next crisis.
"Reed won't notice I'm gone," she said finally. "He barely notices when I'm there. I could disappear for a week and he'd just assume I was handling something that didn't require his attention."
The bitterness in her voice surprised her.
Or maybe it didn't. Maybe she'd been carrying this weight for so long that it had become background noise, a constant pressure she'd stopped acknowledging because acknowledging it would have meant admitting her marriage had become a formality rather than a partnership.
"The streams have helped Krakoa survive," she continued, working through her thoughts out loud. "When diplomacy failed. When the men's approaches made everything worse. You found another way."
"We did what was necessary." Emma's voice held no apology. "The Council would have let children starve rather than admit they'd failed. We chose differently."
Susan's hand found Peter's where it rested on her stomach. She laced their fingers together, feeling the strength in his grip, the calluses from years of web-slinging.
"I deserve this," she said quietly. "I deserve to feel this way. To be touched. To be wanted. To be seen as more than a supporting character in someone else's story."
The words felt like a declaration. Like something she'd been waiting to say for years without knowing she needed to say it.
"You do." Peter's lips brushed the curve of her shoulder. "You absolutely do, Sue."
"When can the next session be scheduled?"
Emma's smile was warm rather than predatory. Her ice-blue eyes held genuine welcome rather than calculated interest. "Whenever you'd like, darling. Though I should mention that your debut will generate considerable excitement. The Invisible Woman, finally seen. The marketing practically writes itself."
Susan laughed. The sound surprised her. Light and genuine, free of the careful control she maintained in her civilian life. "The irony isn't lost on me."
"It rarely is, with women of your intelligence." Emma pressed a kiss to Susan's forehead, soft and surprisingly tender. "You'll have a very prominent place in our lineup. Premium positioning. Maximum visibility. Everything your husband failed to provide."
The last words landed. Not cruel, exactly. Just honest. Emma Frost had built an empire on knowing exactly what people needed to hear.
Susan considered her options.
Return to the Baxter Building. File her report. Resume her role as Reed's partner, Johnny's sister-in-law, Ben's teammate. Continue being invisible in her own marriage while the world remained mysteriously peaceful and her husband remained mysteriously oblivious.
Or stay.
Not forever. Not abandoning her responsibilities or her family. But taking something for herself for the first time in longer than she could remember. Allowing herself to be wanted. To be pleasured. To be the center of someone's attention rather than a variable in someone else's equation.
The choice wasn't really a choice at all.
Susan reached down between her thighs.
Peter's cock had softened after his explosive release, but she could feel it stirring against her ass as the afterglow faded. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, feeling the heat of him, the weight, the way he responded to her touch with an immediate pulse of interest.
"I'm not ready to leave yet," she said.
Her voice came out stronger now. Steadier. The uncertainty of earlier burned away by the simple truth of what she wanted.
"I have eighteen months of neglect to make up for." She stroked him slowly, feeling him harden in her grip. "And the night is still young."
Peter's breath caught against her neck.
Emma's smile turned knowing, her ice-blue eyes glittering with anticipation. "Well then, darling. Let's not waste a moment of it."
Susan rolled onto her back, pulling Peter with her.
His cock was fully hard now, thick and ready, and she positioned him at her entrance with deliberate intent. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just a woman taking what she deserved, what she'd been denied, what she'd finally found in the most unlikely of places.
Peter sank into her with a groan.
The Bower's flowers pulsed brighter.
And Susan Storm, invisible for so long, finally let herself be seen.