Well, I've gotta say it's a little thin on the detail and character motivation that ardent comic fans (myself included) should reasonably expect from a story like this. But I'm anxious to get a draft out there, and see what people think. This is the first in a series that will probably have about 5 parts (I've got specific characters and scenarios in mind which I'll continue to work on). Feedback is appreciated, as this will be a work in progress.
(Oh, and some of the tickling action might feel a bit abbreviated. To be honest, that's always the part that I strain to write: you can only describe it so many ways before it gets tedious or cliche, and with four more parts in mind I'm trying to save on the verbage. Just expand the scenes in your imagination.)
Aaaaaaaaaaanyway,
Invisible to human perception, Regan Wyngarde casually stepped through the front doors of the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Students with an uncontainable smile. Better known in mutant circles as Lady Mastermind, daughter of longtime X-Men nemesis Jason Wyngarde, the original Mastermind, Regan was both more talented than her father and more devious. Her mutant gift allowed her to project images into the minds of her victims, illusions so vivid and complete the subject could not distinguish them from reality: all five senses were convinced of whatever Regan wished.
She strode into the foyer intending to make good use of those powers, for (as usual) purely selfish purposes. For too long she had wanted to see several of her enemies not just defeated, but used for her own amusement. It was both fortunate and a shame, Regan thought, that so many gorgeous young women should be members of the superhero team that so dutifully opposed her villainy.
She had a very thorough plan, and had been itching to try it out for some time. But the presences of Charles Xavier, Professor X, and Jean Grey, Phoenix, made it impossible. They were the two most powerful minds on the planet; individually, either one of them could have seen through even her most skillful illusions.
But now Xavier and Grey were out of the picture: she deceased (again), he tens of thousands of miles away in Genosha. That left Emma Frost as the big brain at the academy. Surely she was already aware of an intruder’s presence. Regan sought her first anyway. She’d have to take Emma out before anything else could work.
“Take me out?”
Regan felt the words float into her mind, but her ears perceived them as though the speaker was right behind her. Sure enough, when she spun around she was face to face with none other than the White Queen herself – or more accurately, an astral projection of her. As lifelike as the real thing, save for the faint psychic glow around her that only another trained telepath could detect. Tall and statuesque, platinum blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders, clad entirely in white – where she was clad at all, that is. She glided towards Lady Mastermind with her arms folded and her eyebrow cocked.
“I’m curious, young Regan,” she intoned. “What gives you the foolish audacity to think you can actually take me out?”
Mastermind countered with her own astral projection into Emma’s mind, greeting her where she sat in the school headmaster’s office. The two women stared each other down from completely separate rooms.
“Ah, Emma. You don’t think I would have come here if I didn’t have a few new tricks up my sleeve, do you?”
“I certainly hope you’re not listing one of them as the element of surprise,” Emma retorted. “I picked up on your intentions before you made it out of Queens. You have to be awfully brazen – or else outright idiotic – to think that you can put one over on the –“
Emma stopped short at the instant her surroundings vanished, and she was transported from her headmaster’s office to an entirely different seat of power: the Manhattan headquarters of the notorious Hellfire Club.
The icing on the cake: her clothing had been replaced by the lavish garb of –
“….the White Queen,” Emma finished, breathless, taking in her sudden situation.
Emma gazed around the penthouse, which always looked to spacious to be truly indoors. She was alone, or seemed to be. Lady Mastermind was bound to make an appearance sooner or later.
Emma seethed, even as she forced herself not to panic. Two things had happened which Emma Frost did NOT stand for. Bad enough she had been somehow caught off guard; now she was being made to feel afraid. Even thinking that word made her furious. Fear was not a part of Emma Frost’s existence. Yet she could not deny the chill that ran down her spine when Lady Mastermind appeared as if stepping out of an invisible mist.
“Welcome home, Your Majesty,” she said. With a snap of Mastermind’s fingers, two hooded men dashed forward out of the same ether, rushing Emma before she had time to react. They grabbed her arms, and though she struggled, Emma could not seem to shift into her more powerful diamond form. Mastermind’s henchmen overpowered her, shackling her wrists together and chaining them over her head so high she thought her shoulders might separate.
Regan approached her slowly. “You see, you may possess the second most powerful psychic mind on the planet – third most when the indomitable Phoenix certainly returns again.
Another shot of anger at that remark; Emma could only fire back a glare.
“But even your shell can be cracked. Fortified as your shields might be to my illusions, a few emotionally fragile areas of the psyche still remain to be exploited.”
“Don’t be daft!” Emma snapped. “I have no emotional fragility.”
“It would appear otherwise,” Regan replied. “Just look around you. Some residual guilt from your dealings with the Hellfire Club, perhaps? Suspicion that your comrades might never fully accept you as an X-Man, let alone as their leader? Or maybe fear that someday someone might come back for you, like they did for their beloved Tessa?”
“Her name is Sage,” Emma growled, refusing to display a shred of “emotional fragility,” either outwardly or psychically.
“Oh, struck a nerve have I? It appears that the White Queen isn’t quite as hard as diamond everywhere, after all.”
Mastermind was right alongside her now, mere inches apart. And though the young blonde was nothing more than a psychically projected illusion, she was a damn good one. Emma could smell the shampoo in her hair, and she could feel it acutely as Regan’s fingers began to worm their way into Emma’s ribcage.
“In fact, she even has a soft spot or two, doesn’t she?”
“Emma threw her head back in a violent gasp, and that was the last breath she would draw for nearly two full minutes. As Mastermind viciously tickled her torso, Emma’s first instinct was to diamond up, become impervious. But she couldn’t – this was Lady Mastermind’s reality, and she was making the rules.
Instead the hapless beauty was left to thrash around as much as the chains would allow, twisting her body in weak circles like a six-foot-tall tetherball. She squeezed her eyes shut, not laughing, not breathing, not succumbing to this nightmare. Surprised, fearful AND vulnerable? This was, as Jubilee would have said, SOOOO NOT Emma Fucking Frost!
She knew she had to break free of Mastermind’s illusion world in order to have a fighting chance, but as long as she was trapped like this she couldn’t gather the mental wherewithal to do so. Blocking out her ticklishness – or trying to – required too much concentration to get a grip on the illusion and peel it away from reality. It was quite the catch-22, she noted humorlessly.
Emma managed to stave off the rib-tickling just enough so that she could resume breathing through pursed lips without it immediately turning to laughter. She figured if she could gradually regain composure for even a moment, it would give her enough opportunity to psychically bitch-slap Lady Mastermind, break free of her illusory control and diamond up.
But as soon as she tried to muster the strength to exert her plan, Regan threw her another curve. Emma felt the floor give out beneath her, replaced by a bed of feathers which pierced the soles of her boots and enveloped the soles of her feet within. Emma strained to hold out, as her face turned red and sweat rolled down her brow.
But the final straw was the feathers that materialized over the nape of her neck and under her arms, thousands of tiny bristles lightly brushing along Emma’s creamy, porcelain skin. The more she twisted her body in response, the faster the feathers on which she was so precariously balanced swept across her soles.
“Ngggh!!” Emma moaned, needing every drop of strength not to laugh. No longer could she focus on planning an escape; she was just hoping fate would grant her an opportunity to seize upon, as it had done so many times in her life.
Instead, it was Lady Mastermind who seized upon Emma Frost’s last remaining weaknesses.
Emma’s eyes had remained tightly shut; she hoped that not looking at Mastermind’s vivid illusions could help her begin to erase them. But when her eyes slipped open for just a second, she was greeted by a brand new illusion. It was no longer Regan Wyngarde tickling her exposed midriff.
It was Jean Grey.
“You!” Emma blurted, half a second before rational thought intervened and a full second before she finally exploded into a torrent of deep, throaty laughter.
“HHHHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!!”
“That’s my girl,” Regan/Jean said triumphantly, as she slowly lowered to her knees while scraping her nails over Emma’s stomach and inner thighs.
“Get aaahahahahaaway from hahahaha there you b-bitch!!” Emma howled as she watched a swirling mane of fiery red hair disappear underneath her ultra-short skirt.
As Mastermind had suspected, the White Queen wore no panties.
As she had further suspected, Emma was dripping wet.
The pseudo-Jean licked her lips…then began to lick Emma’s.
* * *
The real Regan Wyngarde merely watched all this in delight and arousal. Watched in her mind as the events she dictated unfolded, and watched in person as Emma Frost’s body writhed and moaned and spasmed laughter. Trapped in a psychic nightmare, ravaged by a fiery succubus with the face of her greatest rival.
Lady Mastermind smirked. The White Queen was out of the picture. The others would be totally defenseless.
NEXT: ROGUE
(Oh, and some of the tickling action might feel a bit abbreviated. To be honest, that's always the part that I strain to write: you can only describe it so many ways before it gets tedious or cliche, and with four more parts in mind I'm trying to save on the verbage. Just expand the scenes in your imagination.)
Aaaaaaaaaaanyway,
Invisible to human perception, Regan Wyngarde casually stepped through the front doors of the Charles Xavier School for Gifted Students with an uncontainable smile. Better known in mutant circles as Lady Mastermind, daughter of longtime X-Men nemesis Jason Wyngarde, the original Mastermind, Regan was both more talented than her father and more devious. Her mutant gift allowed her to project images into the minds of her victims, illusions so vivid and complete the subject could not distinguish them from reality: all five senses were convinced of whatever Regan wished.
She strode into the foyer intending to make good use of those powers, for (as usual) purely selfish purposes. For too long she had wanted to see several of her enemies not just defeated, but used for her own amusement. It was both fortunate and a shame, Regan thought, that so many gorgeous young women should be members of the superhero team that so dutifully opposed her villainy.
She had a very thorough plan, and had been itching to try it out for some time. But the presences of Charles Xavier, Professor X, and Jean Grey, Phoenix, made it impossible. They were the two most powerful minds on the planet; individually, either one of them could have seen through even her most skillful illusions.
But now Xavier and Grey were out of the picture: she deceased (again), he tens of thousands of miles away in Genosha. That left Emma Frost as the big brain at the academy. Surely she was already aware of an intruder’s presence. Regan sought her first anyway. She’d have to take Emma out before anything else could work.
“Take me out?”
Regan felt the words float into her mind, but her ears perceived them as though the speaker was right behind her. Sure enough, when she spun around she was face to face with none other than the White Queen herself – or more accurately, an astral projection of her. As lifelike as the real thing, save for the faint psychic glow around her that only another trained telepath could detect. Tall and statuesque, platinum blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders, clad entirely in white – where she was clad at all, that is. She glided towards Lady Mastermind with her arms folded and her eyebrow cocked.
“I’m curious, young Regan,” she intoned. “What gives you the foolish audacity to think you can actually take me out?”
Mastermind countered with her own astral projection into Emma’s mind, greeting her where she sat in the school headmaster’s office. The two women stared each other down from completely separate rooms.
“Ah, Emma. You don’t think I would have come here if I didn’t have a few new tricks up my sleeve, do you?”
“I certainly hope you’re not listing one of them as the element of surprise,” Emma retorted. “I picked up on your intentions before you made it out of Queens. You have to be awfully brazen – or else outright idiotic – to think that you can put one over on the –“
Emma stopped short at the instant her surroundings vanished, and she was transported from her headmaster’s office to an entirely different seat of power: the Manhattan headquarters of the notorious Hellfire Club.
The icing on the cake: her clothing had been replaced by the lavish garb of –
“….the White Queen,” Emma finished, breathless, taking in her sudden situation.
Emma gazed around the penthouse, which always looked to spacious to be truly indoors. She was alone, or seemed to be. Lady Mastermind was bound to make an appearance sooner or later.
Emma seethed, even as she forced herself not to panic. Two things had happened which Emma Frost did NOT stand for. Bad enough she had been somehow caught off guard; now she was being made to feel afraid. Even thinking that word made her furious. Fear was not a part of Emma Frost’s existence. Yet she could not deny the chill that ran down her spine when Lady Mastermind appeared as if stepping out of an invisible mist.
“Welcome home, Your Majesty,” she said. With a snap of Mastermind’s fingers, two hooded men dashed forward out of the same ether, rushing Emma before she had time to react. They grabbed her arms, and though she struggled, Emma could not seem to shift into her more powerful diamond form. Mastermind’s henchmen overpowered her, shackling her wrists together and chaining them over her head so high she thought her shoulders might separate.
Regan approached her slowly. “You see, you may possess the second most powerful psychic mind on the planet – third most when the indomitable Phoenix certainly returns again.
Another shot of anger at that remark; Emma could only fire back a glare.
“But even your shell can be cracked. Fortified as your shields might be to my illusions, a few emotionally fragile areas of the psyche still remain to be exploited.”
“Don’t be daft!” Emma snapped. “I have no emotional fragility.”
“It would appear otherwise,” Regan replied. “Just look around you. Some residual guilt from your dealings with the Hellfire Club, perhaps? Suspicion that your comrades might never fully accept you as an X-Man, let alone as their leader? Or maybe fear that someday someone might come back for you, like they did for their beloved Tessa?”
“Her name is Sage,” Emma growled, refusing to display a shred of “emotional fragility,” either outwardly or psychically.
“Oh, struck a nerve have I? It appears that the White Queen isn’t quite as hard as diamond everywhere, after all.”
Mastermind was right alongside her now, mere inches apart. And though the young blonde was nothing more than a psychically projected illusion, she was a damn good one. Emma could smell the shampoo in her hair, and she could feel it acutely as Regan’s fingers began to worm their way into Emma’s ribcage.
“In fact, she even has a soft spot or two, doesn’t she?”
“Emma threw her head back in a violent gasp, and that was the last breath she would draw for nearly two full minutes. As Mastermind viciously tickled her torso, Emma’s first instinct was to diamond up, become impervious. But she couldn’t – this was Lady Mastermind’s reality, and she was making the rules.
Instead the hapless beauty was left to thrash around as much as the chains would allow, twisting her body in weak circles like a six-foot-tall tetherball. She squeezed her eyes shut, not laughing, not breathing, not succumbing to this nightmare. Surprised, fearful AND vulnerable? This was, as Jubilee would have said, SOOOO NOT Emma Fucking Frost!
She knew she had to break free of Mastermind’s illusion world in order to have a fighting chance, but as long as she was trapped like this she couldn’t gather the mental wherewithal to do so. Blocking out her ticklishness – or trying to – required too much concentration to get a grip on the illusion and peel it away from reality. It was quite the catch-22, she noted humorlessly.
Emma managed to stave off the rib-tickling just enough so that she could resume breathing through pursed lips without it immediately turning to laughter. She figured if she could gradually regain composure for even a moment, it would give her enough opportunity to psychically bitch-slap Lady Mastermind, break free of her illusory control and diamond up.
But as soon as she tried to muster the strength to exert her plan, Regan threw her another curve. Emma felt the floor give out beneath her, replaced by a bed of feathers which pierced the soles of her boots and enveloped the soles of her feet within. Emma strained to hold out, as her face turned red and sweat rolled down her brow.
But the final straw was the feathers that materialized over the nape of her neck and under her arms, thousands of tiny bristles lightly brushing along Emma’s creamy, porcelain skin. The more she twisted her body in response, the faster the feathers on which she was so precariously balanced swept across her soles.
“Ngggh!!” Emma moaned, needing every drop of strength not to laugh. No longer could she focus on planning an escape; she was just hoping fate would grant her an opportunity to seize upon, as it had done so many times in her life.
Instead, it was Lady Mastermind who seized upon Emma Frost’s last remaining weaknesses.
Emma’s eyes had remained tightly shut; she hoped that not looking at Mastermind’s vivid illusions could help her begin to erase them. But when her eyes slipped open for just a second, she was greeted by a brand new illusion. It was no longer Regan Wyngarde tickling her exposed midriff.
It was Jean Grey.
“You!” Emma blurted, half a second before rational thought intervened and a full second before she finally exploded into a torrent of deep, throaty laughter.
“HHHHAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!!”
“That’s my girl,” Regan/Jean said triumphantly, as she slowly lowered to her knees while scraping her nails over Emma’s stomach and inner thighs.
“Get aaahahahahaaway from hahahaha there you b-bitch!!” Emma howled as she watched a swirling mane of fiery red hair disappear underneath her ultra-short skirt.
As Mastermind had suspected, the White Queen wore no panties.
As she had further suspected, Emma was dripping wet.
The pseudo-Jean licked her lips…then began to lick Emma’s.
* * *
The real Regan Wyngarde merely watched all this in delight and arousal. Watched in her mind as the events she dictated unfolded, and watched in person as Emma Frost’s body writhed and moaned and spasmed laughter. Trapped in a psychic nightmare, ravaged by a fiery succubus with the face of her greatest rival.
Lady Mastermind smirked. The White Queen was out of the picture. The others would be totally defenseless.
NEXT: ROGUE
