Showing Initiative Chapter 4

“You fucked up,” Norman Osborn said.

It was no surprise that Norman enjoyed flouting his invulnerability. He could walk into the X-Mansion without Scott being able to say anything, or even being aware of it. And now here he was, at Scott’s desk, in Scott’s chair, just as Scott was coming in with his coffee and papers.

Scott set the papers aside and sat in one of the satellite chairs any principal’s office had, knowing Norman had to enjoy the symbolism. “I’m sure you’re right, but I haven’t thrown any blondes from high altitudes, so I think I’m good.”

Norman took the slight in stride. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the memory. “Sleeping with one of your students. That must be the forbidden fruit of the educational system.”

Scott’s lips twitched at the slightly repulsive analogy. “Raven’s old enough to make her own choices.”

“Shapeshifting into other women? Acting like them while you pretend you’re raping them? Maybe not illegal, but the press would have a field day. And you’re the ‘good mutant’, remember. If even you’re a pervert, well…”

Scott took Norman’s indolent shrug as the goad that it was. “What do you want, Norman? If it would amuse you to go to the press, you would’ve already.”

“As I said,” Norman purred, “you are the good mutant. I’m sure Storm—the real one, not the one you porked—mentioned it would be useful for you to join the team.”

“I’m not a joiner. More of a leader.”

“I’m looking for a leader. A new Captain America, in fact.”

Scott chuckled. “You must be joking.”

“I never joke about my work,” Norman said firmly. “You’re all about tactics and repression—most of the time, at least. My team could use someone with that kind of… control. In all respects.”

“Your ‘Dark Avengers’ are a collection of murderers, criminals, and mercenaries.”

“And your X-Men have had more terrorists on the roster than I can count! You should be used to the company,” Norman hissed. “We even have a blonde psychologist. You can take Raven with you. We think the public will like the blue skin thing.”

“And who runs the school if I leave?” Scott asked.

Norman waved his hand dismissively. “Details, details. Someone will be found.”

“I want Emma Frost.”

Norman chuckled. “So do I. Something about that fake British accent…”

“She gets clemency. She runs the school. And I’ll be your Captain America.”

Norman grinded his teeth. “I’ll pay her a visit and make an offer. If she takes it, she takes it. But you people put this stubborn streak of good in her. She used to be such a survivor…” Norman stood so abruptly that Scott almost winced back. “I must be going. By the way, I burned your costume. You have a new one now.”

***

Scott looked at himself in the mirror. The new costume. The new him.

Norman had done a good job on it. Flouting his sophistication now. The cowl and bodysuit felt familiar, even the blue close to the old shade. The star on his chest and the stripes on his midsection would take some getting used to. Mostly the absurdity of it all.

After being hated and feared and tolerated by this country, now the roulette wheel had landed on him being celebrated. He was officially a hero. A mascot, even. But only in the sick, twisted way of being brought on to co-sign the depravities of Osborn’s team. That seemed like the way for mutants. Always two steps forward, one step back. 

Then he saw something else in the mirror. Jean. Her eyes flashing yellow before returning to their green luster. But the clothes were so unlike her. They’d once been black, but that was all he could say for sure. They’d almost entirely been ripped away. A black collar remained at her neck, a jeweled chestpiece hanging from it, and that chestpiece connecting to straps of fabric that ran over her breasts and connected behind her back, forming a vague brassiere. At her hips, all that was left was a waistband and a scrap of fabric over her groin. Behind her, what had once been a red cape was now tatters. Black gloves and boots, elbow-length and thigh-high, respectively, had also been rent, frayed leather curling at the ends. They showed off almost the entirety of her naked body, with only a tantalizing few inches held back. And Jean’s body was near-perfect to begin with, but now it was coupled with a willful bearing, a lustful gaze that reminded him of Emma Frost at her worst.

Raven was playing Madelyne Pryor.

“You weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye, were you?” Raven asked. Each step she took toward him made her breasts nearly jiggle free of the shredded cloth that held them in an almost joking modesty, while the loincloth swayed almost fully away from her clearly bare pubis. “Abandoning me while you go on to bigger and better things?”

It was a cheap shot, using Madelyne as a way to rake him over the coals for the perceived slight of leaving her at the Initiative. And it pissed Scott off enough that he decided to play this out instead of simply telling Raven he’d be bringing her with him—his own personal Bucky.

Raven was cute when she embarrassed herself.

“I haven’t abandoned you yet,” Scott said. “So what’s the problem?”

“This outfit is making my titties cold. You should do something about that.” Standing in front of him, Raven thrust out her chest so that her breasts pressed into his own body. 

“I’m busy,” Scott said, hefting the shield he’d been gifted. It amused him a little to have his own adamantium after so long being antagonized by Wolverine. “Figuring all the angles.”

He gave the shield a toss, sending it ricocheting off the walls in the pattern he’d desired. He’d already become a master of spatial dynamics in learning to use his optic blast—the shield just took a little practice to get its weight down.

Raven was scowling at him, unimpressed, when the shield returned, flying right by her—so closely that it jostled one of her oversized breasts. As Scott caught the shield, her tit fell right out of its binding.

Scott stared at the big, beautiful teat. Raven’s skin might’ve had a golden tan in this form, but her breast was a snowy white, with a scattering of freckles over its roundness and a blunt pink nipple at the tip.

Raven covered her breast with one hand, using the other to pull at the empty side of her top, and she was about to put it back into place when Scott grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

The next moment he was sucking hard at her large nipple. Her breast had filled with hot blood the moment he turned his gaze on it. Now that Scott was sucking on it, Raven felt herself at the point of coming. She leapt up into Scott’s arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Leave the costume on,” she said, her voice hot in his ear, as warm as her flesh. “Wifey wants an American fucking.”

The next thing Scott knew, he was lying in bed with her, his body molding with hers in a sensuous embrace. He left her costume on too—only moving aside a few bits of fabric to get at what he wanted to touch. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, running his hands over the rich contours of her body. From her shoulders to her hips to her thighs—everywhere he could reach—she was made for sin. “I want to fuck every part of you. Every last…” He grabbed hold of the choker that remained of her clothing, pulling on it tightly, making Raven gasp as her air was cut off. “Inch.”

Raven vibrated with desire herself, running her hands over his skintight costume, the thin material proving no impediment to her feeling his body, his arousal. “Get on your back,” she gritted out as he choked her. “Stretch out your arms and legs.”

Scott did as she asked; she gave him a push that told him it was no request. Then she got up, walking to his closet. Scott watched her move. Through her torn cape, he could see that her loincloth offered no coverage in the back. There was just her bare ass, shown off in glimpses that gave it an enticing air of the forbidden. Scott told himself he’d get that ass. He’d find out if it was as tight and delicious as the rest of her.

Raven, perhaps sensing how keen he was on appreciating her from behind, kept her back turned to him as she went through his closet—coming back with four neckties.

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” Scott commented.

“Quiet, darling,” Raven said. “You have to let me say goodbye before you go…”

She knelt at the foot of the bed, grabbing his left leg and pulling it next to the bedpost in the nearest corner. She tied his foot to it with the necktie, pulling it into a strong knot that made her breasts shake with the heavy motion. She did the same with another tie and his other foot, spreading Scott’s legs into an V. 

“Now for your hands,” Raven said, repeating the action with his left hand. 

Scott chuckled. Soon he’d be an X.

With Scott bound hand and foot, Raven crawled onto the bed, traipsing over him, not touching him except for the shreds of her cape. She prostrated herself between his legs, lowering her upper body supplely to the mattress. Scott could see down her cleavage until her breasts were pressed into the covers, her hair and hair hiding them, then he see her ass rising as Raven brought it high in the air, the ribbons that were left of her cape falling away until only a few remained between her sweetly rounded buttocks. 

Scott bit his lip. There was nothing else like her ass, the crescents of flesh exploding out from her trim waist, offering such voluptuousness that they begged to be felt, squeezed, even bitten. Raven was even shaking it for him, twitching her hips from side to side, leaving her buttocks with a subtle jiggle as they swayed. And she evidently approved of the reaction Scott was having. Undoing his belt and unzipping his fly, she worked his stiff, thick cock out into the open air, where it stood straight up.

“Florida,” Raven whispered, her eyes gleaming with first anticipation, then need.

“Suck it,” Scott ordered, his body quivering with the closeness of her, the sheer sight of all her naked flesh going untouched.

“I suppose I could,” Raven said, arching an eyebrow. “I really could…”

She moved her face forward slowly, feasting her gaze on his cockhead as it quivered with hard, throbbing potency.

“Mmmmm,” she moaned, flickering her tongue out, wetly drawing it up the underside of his shaft.

Scott shook with the beginnings of pleasure as she touched her little pink tongue to his enormous erection, occasionally closing in to kiss the swollen vein that throbbed all throughout his length.

“Now, suck it!” Scott said, his demand less potent, more needing. “Please!”

“Not yet,” Raven said, sing-song, as she sank her teeth into his foreskin and pulled it down his knob, Scott quivering all the while.

With his cockhead bared, Raven ran her tongue under its glans, tasting the precum that was leaking copiously from Scott’s tip. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled him, savoring the heady smell of his arousal, and she gave her hips a noticeable wiggle as her pussy throbbed and clenched like a fist squeezing and opening. 

She wanted nothing more than to straddle that cock and let Scott find out how tight she’d made her pussy today, but she remembered the mission, the reason she was wearing this form. Scott had to be punished. And taught why he needed her, needed her as much as she needed that delicious cock in her cunt…

She cupped his burgeoning scrotum, squeezing the oversized balls as she pulled them up against her face, rolling them against her cheeks—wondering how Scott liked the look of his ex-wife rubbing his sweaty balls all over her pretty face. However he was feeling, Scott pulled against his bonds, his every muscle straining, standing out against the tight costume that showed them off with aplomb. It was useless, though. Raven had tied them tightly. He wouldn’t get out unless he begged.

“I can’t take this!” Scott groaned. “My balls are about to explode! Come on, Raven, you know you want it!”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Raven teased, sing-song again. “Maybe if you don’t want me, I don’t want you. Or maybe I’ll show you what you’ll be missing…”