Weekly Poll #2 - OC / Emma Frost (Marvel - X-Men) {Story 3 - Patreon Exlusive} (Patreon)

Weekly Poll #2 - OC / Emma Frost (Marvel - X-Men) {Story 3}

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The leather of the Headmistress’s chair was impossibly soft against Gatis Ilmārs’s skin, a luxury so profound it felt alien. He was a boy from Riga, more accustomed to the worn-out felt of a secondhand hockey jersey than the supple, cool embrace of Italian craftsmanship that now cradled his naked form. The office of Emma Frost, the White Queen of the Hellfire Club, the Headmistress of Xavier’s School for the Gifted, was a cathedral of pristine white and cold chrome. Sunlight, thick and golden, poured through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, making the polished surfaces gleam with an almost painful intensity. It was a room designed to intimidate, to overwhelm, to remind any visitor of the sheer, unassailable power of its occupant.

And Gatis was sitting in her chair.

His cock, thick and heavy with a youthful vigor he’d never really had cause to think about, lay against his thigh, a stark, living line of heat in the sterile room. The air smelled of expensive perfume, old paper, and the faint, clean scent of Emma Frost herself. It was the scent of control.

The control, however, was currently on her knees.

Emma Frost, a woman who could reduce world leaders to quivering messes with a thought, a diamond-hard telepath whose very presence was a declaration of power, was kneeling between his spread legs. Her iconic white suit jacket was discarded on the floor, her blouse unzipped just enough to reveal the tantalizing swell of her breasts, but for the most part, she was still the Headmistress. Still impeccably dressed, still radiating an aura of unshakeable authority.

That authority was currently being used to worship his cock.

Her lips, painted a shade of crimson that seemed to defy the room’s monochrome palette, were wrapped around the head of his shaft. It was a tentative, exploratory kiss at first, a soft press of warmth that sent a jolt straight up his spine. But then she looked up at him, her eyes, usually sharp and analytical, were hazy with a kind of reverent lust. This is it, she’d whispered aloud, her voice a husky tremor. The feedback loop.

Gatis still didn’t fully understand it. His power, the one that had gotten him into this mess in the first place, was a pathetic thing on paper. Goodwill. Mood. It was the power of being the guy everyone liked, the teammate whose pass you always wanted to receive, the friend whose bad jokes were always funny. Doing something nice for someone made them feel much better about it. Making a mistake? The sting was softened, forgotten almost instantly. It was the power of a golden retriever, not a mutant. Useless in a fight, useless for escaping a Latvian anti-mutant task force with their power-detecting scanners. He’d been captured because he’d tried to help his teammate, a boy with a much more obvious power, escape. The scanner hadn’t even pinged on the other kid; it had locked onto Gatis, the non-combatant, the “goodwill” mutant. The irony was bitter enough to choke on.

Or maybe that was just Emma.

She took him deeper then, her tongue a warm, wet velvet against his sensitive flesh. She wasn’t just sucking him; she was mapping him, memorizing every ridge and vein with an almost scientific thoroughness that was betrayed by the soft, needy whimpers escaping her throat. She nuzzled her cheek against his shaft, her cool skin a thrilling contrast to his own heat, before moving down to his balls. They were heavy, full, and she lavished them with the same attention, planting soft, worshipful kisses on the taut skin, her tongue darting out to taste the salt of his sweat. It was an act of utter devotion, and Gatis could feel his power thrumming in response.

It was a warmth in his chest, a gentle, pleasant hum he’d always associated with a good game or a successful group project. But now, with Emma’s mind pressed against his, it was a roaring inferno. He was doing something good for her, something that brought her pleasure, and his power was amplifying it, magnifying his own simple, passive enjoyment into a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated bliss for her. And her telepathy… her telepathy was acting like a catalyst, a super-charger. Every flick of her tongue, every time she moaned around his length, her mind was open to his, and the feedback loop was staggering. His pleasure became her pleasure, which was amplified by his power and fed back into him, which in turn made her pleasure even more intense. It was a perfect, self-sustaining circle of ecstasy.

More, her voice echoed directly in his skull, a sound that was both commanding and begging. I need to feel all of you.

She shifted, taking a deep breath, and then she was taking him deep. Her lips stretched around his girth, her throat relaxing as she swallowed him whole. The sight was obscene, a masterpiece of eroticism. The White Queen, her perfect makeup starting to smear slightly, her eyes watering, was choking on his cock. And she was loving it.

Her cunt burned with need, a molten ache that pulsed in time with every thick slide of him down her throat. Slick arousal leaked steadily from her swollen folds, dripping in slow, obscene rivulets along her inner thighs before pooling beneath her on the polished floor in a glistening, shameful little lake. Each time she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, another fresh gush of wetness escaped her, the wet sound of her own desperation barely audible beneath the slick gluck-gluck of her mouth working him.

The telepathic barrage was a constant stream of praise and filth.

So good for me, Gatis. You’re so perfect. Your cock is… divine. I can feel your power, your kindness, it’s like drinking sunlight. Let me worship you. Let me be yours.

Look at the mess you’re making of me, she sent back, voice trembling even in thought. My cunt is weeping for you. I’m dripping everywhere—can you feel how empty I am? How badly I need you to ruin me properly?

Her hips twitched helplessly, grinding against nothing, chasing friction that wasn’t there, the obscene puddle beneath her spreading wider with every involuntary clench of her neglected core.

The words, the feeling, the sight of her blonde hair spilling over his thighs, the tight, wet heat of her throat—it was too much. The hum in his chest exploded. He gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles white, as his orgasm tore through him. It wasn't just a release; it was an event. He came in huge, thick spurts, flooding her throat. He could feel her swallowing, working her muscles to milk him for every drop, her telepathic cries of pleasure harmonizing with his own guttural groan.

She pulled back, gasping, a thin string of cum connecting her swollen lips to the tip of his cock. She’d tried to swallow it all, but a few pearly drops had escaped, trickling down to coat the pale skin of her breasts. Without a moment’s hesitation, she scooped the errant fluid up with her fingers, her eyes locked on his, and deliberately licked them clean. The act was so possessive, so hungry, it made his spent cock twitch with renewed interest.

Now, she sent, her voice a purr of pure satisfaction in his mind. How do you want to take me? My body… my existence… is yours to use. Tell me what you want, Gatis. I want to give you everything.

He looked at her, still on her knees, disheveled and radiant. He looked at the chair, the symbol of her authority. An idea, bold and thrilling, sparked in the haze of his post-orgasmic bliss. “I want you to ride me,” he said, his voice rougher than he expected. “Right here. In your chair.”

A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. “As you wish.”

She rose with a fluid grace, shedding her blouse with a single, decisive motion. Her breasts were perfect, high and round, her nipples rosy and hard. She unzipped her skirt, letting it pool around her feet, revealing that she wore nothing underneath. Her body was a masterpiece, a testament to discipline and perfection, and it was now his for the taking. She straddled him, her knees sinking into the plush leather on either side of his hips, her hand guiding his still-hard cock to her entrance. She was soaking wet, and as she sank down onto him, enveloping him in her tight, incredible heat, they both gasped.

The feedback loop slammed back into place, stronger than before. This wasn't just a physical act; it was a psychic symphony. He could feel her pleasure, a cascading waterfall of pure sensation, and he knew she could feel his. He was doing this for her, giving her what she wanted, and his power was turning that simple act of giving into an overwhelming force. He was a god in her mind, and she was his devoted worshipper.

She began to move, her hips rolling in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Her hands braced on the back of the chair, her head thrown back, a silent scream of ecstasy on her lips. Gatis couldn't help himself. He brought his hand down on the firm curve of her ass, the sharp smack echoing in the quiet office. She cried out, her inner walls clenching around him. The telepathic praise was a constant, intoxicating roar. Yes! Again! Mark me! Make me yours!

He obliged, smacking her other cheek, watching the faint red bloom on her pale skin. He slid his hand around her hip, his fingers finding the hard, sensitive nub of her clit. As he began to circle it, matching the rhythm of her hips, her movements became frantic. Gatis! Oh, Gatis, yes! Right there! He could feel her orgasm building, a psychic storm gathering on the horizon, powered by his touch and his own burgeoning pleasure. He reached up with his other hand, grabbing a perfect breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling her nipple, tugging it just enough to make her gasp.

The combination was too much for her. Her orgasm crashed through her, a psychic and physical tidal wave that washed over him, dragging him along with her. Her body convulsed, her pussy gripping him like a velvet fist, milking his cock with a desperate, rhythmic pulse that pulled a guttural groan from deep in his chest. He wasn't just inside her; he was part of the storm. Her pleasure was a living thing, a wild, untamed current in his mind, and it was pulling him under. His own climax hit him like a physical blow, a hot, thick rush of release that flooded her depths. He came hard, his hips jerking upwards, driving himself as deep as he could as he emptied himself into her. For a long, breathless moment, the world narrowed to the feeling of her pulsing around him, the shared psychic echo of their release, and the scent of their sex filling the pristine office.

She collapsed against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her body trembling with the aftershocks. Her blonde hair was a damp tangle against his cheek, and he could feel her heart hammering against his ribs. The telepathic chatter had subsided into a soft, contented hum, a feeling of pure, unadulterated satisfaction that was so potent it was almost dizzying. He held her, his hands stroking her sweat-slicked back, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over him. This was the ultimate expression of his power, he realized. Not just making people like him, but giving them a moment of perfect, unadulterated bliss.

But the peace was fleeting. Emma stirred, lifting her head. Her eyes, though heavy with exhaustion, held a new, predatory glint. A slow, wicked smile curved her lips. That was just the appetizer, darling, she purred in his mind, her voice a silken promise of more to come. We’re not done yet. I want to feel you in every way possible.

Before he could process the thought, she was moving. She lifted herself off him with a reluctant sigh, his cum already beginning to trickle down the inside of her thigh. She stood before him, a vision of debauched divinity, and turned, placing her hands flat on the polished surface of her desk. The invitation was clear. She presented herself to him, her back arched, her perfect ass raised in the air, her glistening folds open and waiting.

Gatis didn’t need to be asked twice. He rose from the chair, his legs feeling like jelly but his cock already hardening again with a renewed, almost desperate need. He moved behind her, his hands gripping the soft flesh of her hips. He lined himself up and pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. The angle was different, deeper, and he heard her sharp intake of breath, a sound that was equal parts pain and pleasure.

He started to move, his thrusts slow and powerful at first, building a rhythm that made the heavy desk rock slightly with each impact. He watched himself disappear into her, watched the way her body yielded to him, and the sight was intoxicating. He could feel her mind open to his again, not just receiving his pleasure but actively drawing it in, stoking the flames of his own desire. Harder, she commanded, her voice a growl in his skull. Don’t hold back. Fuck me like you mean it. Use me.

Her words were a catalyst. The gentle, passive boy from Latvia was gone, replaced by a man possessed by a primal need to claim, to possess, to give this woman exactly what she was begging for. He tightened his grip on her hips and obliged, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming harder, more demanding. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room, a raw, primal beat that was the only music they needed. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit again, rubbing it in time with his punishing rhythm.

She was pushing back against him now, meeting him thrust for thrust, her body a perfect instrument of pleasure. The feedback loop was a raging inferno, a cyclone of sensation that was building to an impossible peak. He could feel her orgasm coiling in her mind, a tight, hot wire of energy waiting to snap. Now, Gatis! With me! she screamed telepathically, and he let go.

He drove into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, his release a second, violent eruption that seemed to drain every last ounce of strength from him. Her orgasm broke at the same time, a psychic shriek of ecstasy that was so powerful it made the lights in the office flicker. Her body went rigid, then collapsed, boneless, onto the desk.

He stayed inside her for a moment, panting, his body slick with sweat. He slowly pulled out, and as he did, a thick stream of his cum followed, dripping from her onto the polished floor and onto the pristine white surface of her desk.

Emma pushed herself up, her arms trembling. She looked at the mess they’d made—at the cum dripping from her, onto her desk, her floor—and a look of profound disappointment crossed her features. "What a waste," she breathed, her voice hoarse. And then, to Gatis’s utter astonishment, she scooped the cum from her thigh with her fingers, brought it to her lips, and licked it clean. She did the same with the drips on the desk, her movements deliberate, almost reverent, as if she were consuming a sacred sacrament. Finally, she knelt and, without a moment’s hesitation, licked the spilled seed from the floor, her tongue cleaning the polished wood until it was spotless.

It was the most depraved, and the most intensely erotic, thing Gatis had ever seen.

She rose, her eyes gleaming with a feral light, and turned her attention back to him. He was still standing, his cock slick with their combined juices. She pushed him gently, and he sank back into the Headmistress’s chair. She knelt once more, not with the worshipful reverence of before, but with a determined, possessive purpose. She took his softening cock into her mouth, not to arouse him, but to clean him. Her tongue was thorough, her lips gentle, as she removed every trace of their coupling.

When she was done, she didn't pull away. She simply rested her head against his thigh, her cheek nuzzling against his spent cock, and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. He could feel her contentment, a deep, animalistic satisfaction that was a balm to his own exhausted soul. She was nuzzling him, breathing in his musk, claiming his scent as her own. The White Queen, the most powerful telepath he had ever met, was curled up at his feet like a kitten, purring with contentment. And in that moment, Gatis Ilmārs, the boy with the useless power, felt more powerful, and more wanted, than he had ever felt in his entire life.