When The Cat's Away

Emma stood nude in front of the long mirror, admiring her tall, lovely, perfectly formed body with its more-than-perfect breasts. A look at her tits like the one she gave her reflection would be wanted by magazines across the country; already any article about the X-Men tended to feature her front and center, in her low-cut costume.

Her long golden hair accentuated her slender neck and those plump breasts of hers were, like the rest of her, supplely tanned from sunning herself naked on the roof of the mansion’s tower. She quite liked lying up there, all of the other reindeer scurrying around while she improved on her already sublime beauty.

She ran her hands down to cup her full breasts, moving her fingers tantalizing over the nipples as they quickly stiffened, her body knowing that when she offered it pleasure, she always followed through. Next, though, she just had to sample the flatness of her stomach, then the high arches of her glutes, a veritable feast that really took two lovers at once to appreciate. She traced the just-visible bones of her pelvis within her waspish waist, then the bare pubic mound. She might as well wax herself, since it was about as much bother as dying her fluff the proper shade of blonde.

Emma forced her pleasured eyes open and took in her reflection. A voluptuous blonde in full bloom, naked and standing there in unresisting languor for any who saw her. The vision filled her mind with a luscious ache. She wished she could fuck herself; not just touch herself, but kiss and fondle and caress her own delicious body as others were so fortunate to do.

As Emma traced the slack muscles of her tawny limbs, she considered what to wear from her extensive wardrobe. She wanted to impress Jean, but not to incense her with a reminder of her own snobbery, making the redhead feel underdressed. But she wasn’t about to wear a simple white tee and jeans—Scott had that kind of basic bitch unpretentiousness sewn up.

Emma realized that she couldn’t have Jean to herself. Scott would have to be included. But she’d get Jean first, and savor her thoroughly. After that, Scott would fall in line. Once he saw the pleasure she could bring Jean, a wifeguy like him would appreciate that her sexual satisfaction was so looked after. A detail he could happily leave untended until his overworked mind was ready for it; no chance of Jean leaving him for another man when Emma gave her all the loving that she’d ever need.

The thought of having both of them, and having Scott watch her have Jean, sent a glow all through Emma. She had to smoke to contain her nervous excitement, supplementing the nicotine with a few martinis. She’d also prepared rum and cokes to ply Jean. Once Jean saw the implicit vulnerability of Emma getting buzzed with her, she’d join in, and drinking together was practically foreplay when you were as good at it as Emma was.

Emma toyed with the idea of wearing only a pair of panties and nothing else, to leave her breasts on display like an offering that her companion could take advantage of at any time, as she often did when luscious little Sage was over. But that would likely frighten Jean away, so Emma added a white top with flowers embellished on the lapels. Just the thing to make her look nonthreatening, while the body underneath still tempted as it always did. Then a pair of cigarette pants with a black belt to set off her decadent hips and then a pair of pumps, white with pink straps that matched her toenails.

***

Jean hesitated outside the door, doubtful and a little apprehensive. She knew she should try to get along with Emma—the prospect of actually doing so still made her itch. It wasn’t that she though Emma was a slut; just that Jean knew she was. And she hoped that her dressing demurely, in her usual Marvel Girl costume and petticoat over long sheer tights, didn’t give Emma the impression that she was trying to embarrass her. She knew Emma was beyond embarrassment, at least from anyone Jean might do or say.

“I’m so pleased you came,” Emma greeted, opening the door with a chilly but picturesque smile. As beautiful and as imposing as an iceberg. But Jean would probably be more intimidated by actual warmth from the woman.

In a look Emma took in all the appeal of Jean: the long crimson hair, the full young mouth, the firmly rising breasts upthrust against the green material of her dress above a slender waist and creamy thighs that her good-good-girl costume actually managed to show off.

“Are you warm?” she asked, noticing the little beads of perspiration littering Jean’s gorgeous face.

“Just a little oversunned,” Jean replied, entering, noting Emma’s long legs that her pants did nothing to obfuscate, her sensually outfitted bare feet, her tall figure and perfectly combed hair.

Emma walked ahead of her to the living room. Jean had to admire the grace of her strides and how the lush roundness of her ass showed through the skintight laving of her pants and panties—which might as well be one for how tightly they clung to her derriere. Emma could pass for a girl in her early twenties except for her top-model fashion sense and quality of poise. If she weren’t so sophisticated, she might convince as a teenager—her body was just that ripe.

“Come and sit. I’m sick of you looking so uncomfortable,” Emma said, leading Jean to a couch almost as plush and white as her.

As Jean sat, she looked up and noticed she could see right through Emma’s thin top, see the pinkness of her nipples through the field of white and the outline of their stiffness on the firm roundness of her bust. Underneath the stomach, Emma’s toned belly and navel were exposed. They led down to Emma’s cigarette pants, which were zipped up but unbuttoned, showing the elastic band that topped her white satin panties.

Seeming to relish Jean’s examination, Emma crooned: “I’ve just been trying on some clothes for the coming week. You know how it is—have to see what works for me and what doesn’t. Just imagine if I had a man here and I were parading around with the zip just a little undone. Not much effort on my part, but I do believe he’d find it quite impossible to think of anything other than ravishing me.”

“Is Scott here?” Jean asked abruptly.

“No, I think he’s gone for a run. The boy seems very fond of you, Jean dear, but if it’s a choice between letting you down and letting the X-Men down, I’m afraid… well… he’d rather train himself to be the perfect soldier than spend time trying to be the perfect husband.”

“Scott’s perfect enough for me,” Jean said.

“Yes. You are a lucky girl, despite it all. Scott would be perfect for a lot of women. But where are my manners? You must be thirsty on a day like that. I have a new recipe for rum and cola that’s to die for.”

“You shouldn’t go to any trouble,” Jean said, even as Emma got up to strut to the kitchen. “I’m not picky.”

“No? You should try it sometime. It can be very satisfying to get exactly what you want…”

Jean watched the other woman walk—her gorgeous ass swaying, perfectly round and yet without an ounce of fat on it. Jean wished she’d worn something like that. Emma was doing too good a job of showing off what she had. It made Jean feel like she was unarmed in some dangerous situation.

Emma was a social butterfly and Jean felt her charm working on her, making Jean like her as they did small talk and sipped their drinks. It was after Jean’d had finished her rum and coke and had a refill that she felt a sensuousness coming over her. She didn’t know what she was so excited about. Emma, eyes gleaming, pulled Jean to her feet before she could ask why and took her to the bedroom, to show her row after row of everything fashionable, from heels to dresses to lingerie.

“Do you want to keep castigating yourself for probably not looking as good as me?” Emma asked. “Or would you like to see how good you look when you wear something a little me instead of something so you?”

“I think I’ve been insulted,” Jean said.

“The real insult would be if I didn’t want to see you in a corset and panties. And I do, Jean. I very much do.”

“Okay, but you have to try on my costume. I want to see what you look like with… with…”

“Class?” Emma asked. “I have class, Jean. I just also have many men who want to fuck me. Now take those tights off, they’re much too warm to wear in weather like this.”