Fic: the world has got no shame, ch. 3
Title: the world has got no shame, ch. 3
Summary: Raven thought she really had it figured out this time, how to beat the system. Emma is going to prove her wrong.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 4018
Rating/Contents: NC-17, noncon, fisting, totally gratuitous bathtub scene
Pairing: Emma/Raven
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Best thing about writing Emma Frost, hands down: sexy lingerie. I never get to write that. All my characters just want to get nekkid as fast as they can. Also, jesus goddamn, but this got long. This story, idk, all the chapters want to be ENORMOUS despite the fact that there is, really and truly, nothing going on.
Emma has business to attend to in the evening, and she leaves before dinner; thank god Raven doesn't have to deal with that today. It's not at all strange for personals to sit at their owners' feet during meals, maybe even get hand-fed, and that would just be too much right now. Instead, Janos collects her, showing her around the house. The upper floors are split fairly sharply, Lehnsherr's rooms on one side and Emma's rooms on the other. All Emma's rooms are decorated similarly, variations on the red and gold theme. He takes her in as far as her boudoir, but doesn't actually show her the bedroom; Raven's completely fine with that.
On the other side of the house, Janos only shows her Lehnsherr's sitting room, the only place that she's likely to visit with any frequency. It's nothing like Emma's at all, wooden panelling and comfortable furniture, looking like you could actually sit in it and not just be received. No one's in there while they look, and Raven can't decide if that's good or bad; she needs to see Charles again, needs to know that he's actually here and not just some dream her overtaxed brain came up with to deal with this situation. On the other hand, she's not particularly keen on seeing Lehnsherr again, not until things are settled, until she knows what she's doing.
Downstairs everything is merged, one staff for the whole house, which is the least ridiculous thing she's heard all day. The staff is quite small, no more than a handful, all slaves except for Janos and the head cook. It doesn't escape her notice that more than one of them have visible mutations, and the boy who's doing laundry when she passes isn't bothering to hide the fact that he's levitating it. Raven can't quite work that one out- is that progressive, preventing mutants from possibly falling into the hands of human owners who'll abuse them, or is that just elitist, refusing to allow humans to contaminate the house even if it means exploiting other mutants?
They pass the hallway to the quarters, but he doesn't take her there; it's not a good sign.
She takes stock of the strategic advantages and disadvantages of the downstairs. The windows don't have bars, but she's not sure yet where they come out or how bad the drop is. She'll have to make a point to check the next time she's unattended. There's only one proper exit, a door in the kitchen; Raven tries to discern whether it's locked, but she's not sure- she doesn't even know if they need to lock it, not when Emma is around to keep tabs on everyone.
Finally, Janos turns her over to the cook. She sets a bowl of stew down in front of Raven, looking at her like she's waiting for Raven to complain about getting coarse food, like she's already decided Raven thinks she's better than everyone else just because she's a personal and a novelty. Raven finds it almost impossible to give a damn, because she's too busy devouring it; it's the first good meal she's had in a very long time, and honestly, in terms of getting her through, putting her in the right position to go without food afterwards, it's worth ten plates of anything she'll get to eat if she's living upstairs.
Once she's satisfied- and the cook has moved on from looking affronted to just looking suspicious- she's passed off to yet another of the staff. She's starting to feel like this is Hot Potato, when she'd much rather be in a game of Keep Away.
The next person to tote her around is one of the house workers, Lourdes. "If you'll come with me," she says, her accent twisting up the words, and Raven tries to memorize it immediately; she could do everyone else by this point- Janos, Emma, Charles obviously, the cook, Lehnsherr if she didn't open her mouth- but Lourdes's voice interests her. She looks at Raven without contempt, though she doesn't look particularly sad for her, either. She's someone for Raven to work on, a possible ally; Janos and the cook, they're free servants and thus can't be trusted, but Lourdes- maybe.
She ushers Raven upstairs and into what must be Emma's private bathroom. The red wallpaper here is a little lighter than in the other rooms, a little easier on the eyes. Raven wants to protest that she's already bathed today, that she's not even a form that's gotten dirty; Lourdes must know what her mutation is by now, Janos and Charles know, the whole house probably knew about three hours ago. It's not that the bathtub doesn't look really alluring- it looks like there might be scented oils, bubbles do not seem to be out of the question- it's just that this seems like the first step, the beginning of the end.
But she keeps standing there and Lourdes keeps standing there, and they could very well just stand there all night until Emma eventually puts her in the tub. "Fuck it," Raven mutters, when she's had more than enough of it, and Lourdes seems to relax; maybe she's the one who'd put Raven in the tub and she just didn't want to go through all that.
Raven thinks about undressing, but it'd just be for show at this point, so she lets her clothes melt away. Lourdes stares at her, but she doesn't say anything; yeah, everybody knows. She opens the taps and climbs in, looking at the assortment of soaps and things in the basket that hangs over the lip of the tub.
"The oil in the green bottle is supposed to smell nice," Lourdes says, in that offhanded voice that's common among slaves and servants, the you-didn't-hear-that-from-me tone that comes along with statements that express more knowledge than one is meant to have, knowledge that might, for example, have come from sneaking in when one's owner is out to make use of the opulent bathtub- yeah, Lourdes is definitely an ally to be cultivated.
Raven drips some of the oil into the bathtub; it's nice, lemongrass and ginger, and Raven sinks into the water, breathing it in, letting it soothe her, draw her thoughts away. She picks up the soap, sliding it over her arms, lathering it against her skin. She draws her leg up out of the water, leaning forward to rub the soap over it, flexing her foot to get some of the stiffness out of her calves before repeating the process on her other leg.
She runs the soap up over her stomach next; she takes a little more time than is strictly necessary to wash her breasts, lathering them up thoroughly, but she really can't be blamed for that, not when it feels so nice. She's really starting to relax, the water doing its job admirably, but then she goes to wash her neck and runs straight into the collar.
She's never seen one like it, which she's one hundred percent sure was Emma's intention. Personals almost always have ornate collars, usually metal, but this one is more than a little excessive; it doesn't just mark ownership, it very distinctly marks Emma's ownership, because Raven's already pretty sure there's nobody quite like Emma.
Something occurs to her, though, and she looks at Lourdes, who's looking away, distracted by something. It just confirms Raven's suspicions- everyone in the house has metal collars, and Raven isn't sure what that means yet.
The party is over, the mood busted; she cups her hands, scooping up water and rinsing off the suds. She pulls the plug, and Lourdes helps her out, offering her a towel. Raven doesn't actually need it, could make the water just disappear, but it's a nice big fluffy towel, and it seems like a shame to turn it down. She does make the water in her hair go away herself, a trick that's endlessly useful. She doesn't know if she's going to be offered something to wear, a suggestion of what to change into, but all Lourdes gives her is a bathrobe.
So, she thinks, it's going to be like that, then. Out of sheer contrariness, she make herself some slippers, little blue ones, because the bathroom floor is cold and no one is there to stop her.
Lourdes leads her out, walking her towards the doors to Emma's bedroom, and Raven has no idea what to expect inside, but she knows it's going to be ridiculous. Lourdes doesn't make the same kind of grandiose gesture of opening the doors as Janos, which tells her right off that no one is inside. Instead, she cracks one of the doors open, pulling it open far enough to let Raven in.
Emma has, for the third or fourth time in their very short acquaintance, outdone herself. The entire place is spectacularly white, ceiling to floor. The carpet is thick, almost shaggy; there's a mirror along one wall, making it seem bigger than it already is. The bed is enormous and inviting, white sheets turned back, but Raven wonders how anybody can ever get any sleep in here, when the room itself is so bright.
Lourdes gives her a nod and a look of pity- somewhat subtle pity, but definitely there. Raven is at a loss, completely unsure of what to do. Now that she's alone, the terror of this situation is starting to come back, the reality of it closing in on her. Any moment now, Emma is going to come in, and she'll make Raven do whatever she wants- Raven would beat her in a fair fight, but there's no such thing as a fair fight with a telepath.
She sits down in the armchair, huddling up a little; her skin is still warm from the bathtub and she's wrapped up in this robe, but she's still getting cold, a trick of the room, the iciness of it. She doesn't know how long she waits, ten, fifteen minutes, waiting for the door to open, maybe a mental warning, but Raven gets nothing until her body starts moving without her, standing up. She lets her robe slip off her shoulders, the material pooling around her feet; after a pause, she slides out of the slippers, too.
She walks over to the bed, and it feels like it always did when Charles did it, when they were just playing around, divorced from her body but still there- but this isn't the time to think about Charles, not at all. Emma makes her climb onto the mattress and arrange herself to Emma's liking; she's sitting back up against the pillows, knees bent, feet planted on the bed. From this position, Emma can see absolutely everything when she walks in; Emma draws her knees together, making it a tiny bit more demure, but it is definitely not nearly enough to even pretend.
It's yet more time before Emma actually arrives; Raven hears her approaching, hears her talking to someone- that's just perfect, exactly what she needs, someone else to join in on this catastrophe. The doors swing open, and Emma walks in, as cool as you please, completely not bothered or entranced by the sight of a naked woman in her bed.
"Thank you, Janos," she says, looking over her shoulder; Raven knows she's just saying it just for Raven to hear, so that there's no denying that someone else has seen her like this, as if there was any possible way that Raven would miss something like that. To his credit, Janos is very pointedly not looking at her, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing; it might even work in the opposite direction a little. This is all about power, about Emma's ability over Raven's, but Janos has just made it about shame.
The doors shut again, and then they're all alone; Raven swallows down the lump of fear in her throat. Emma is still walking towards her, and it is completely unsurprising that Emma dresses up for sex, not down.
The teddy she's wearing is a little wisp of a thing; the cups are opaque, beaded lace, pushing her cleavage up until it just looks unreal, but the fabric that hangs down from them is sheer, flounced at the bottom, more of a formality than anything else. The matching panties cover just enough to be tasteful, riding the line between alluring and cheap; she's wearing long white gloves that come up all the way past her elbows; when Raven looks closer, they're shiny- latex, maybe?- matching the thigh-high boots she's still wearing. Honestly, the whole thing doesn't seem any more revealing than what she was wearing earlier- it's maybe four more square inches of skin.
A voice in the back of her head says not to be ungrateful; if she's got to serve, she gets to serve a beautiful woman, which is probably the best possible outcome- on paper, anyway. Unfortunately, the difference is a little like having her neck broken versus bleeding out; the result is the same.
Emma sits down on the edge of the bed, turned to look at her. "You've never done anything with a woman," she says, skipping all the prologue, the back and forth, the numerous ways Raven could tell her to go fuck herself, and it's kind of a relief. Raven is just about to speak, to let out a defensive, you-don't-know-me response, but then she remembers, oh wait, telepath, kind of a waste of time. "Unfortunately, I can't expect you to jump right in." Now that is a goddamned lie, because that is what Emma has been expecting from her pretty much since the moment they met. "So I decided to find out what you can do."
Raven honestly has no idea what she means by that, but she already knows she doesn't really want to find out. There's a bottle on the nightstand- Raven didn't even see it, because it is, of course, white- and Emma picks it up, climbing up in front of Raven. Raven's knees part, exposing her fully to Emma's gaze, and Emma smirks; Raven has been trying very hard not to blush, not to give her the satisfaction, but she can't help it right then.
Emma seats herself between Raven's legs, taking Raven in, her eyes sweeping up and down her. It's hard not to squirm under that kind of analysis, but luckily, Raven finds she can't, not with Emma holding her still. All she can do is lay there and try to anticipate Emma's next move, plot out the advantages she might have, ways to make it better, to make it stop.
"You think too much," Emma tells her. "Impressive, but kind of exhausting." She uncaps the bottle, pouring whatever it is, some kind of lubricant, onto her gloved fingers; she makes a show of it, rubbing it between her fingers and thumb like she's testing it out. Raven wants to tell her to get the hell on with it, but at the same time, she tries not to even think that, very mindful of the fact that the repercussions could be very bad. At least Emma has long, thin fingers, delicate hands; this could be much worse. She's not expecting soft, but this could be a lot rougher, if for no reason but simple biology.
"Just relax, honey," Emma says, and Raven only just stops herself from rolling her eyes. Emma strokes a hand down Raven's thigh, fingers dragging along the sensitive skin there, and that's one of the things Raven hates the most in these situations, the part where they pretend to be nice.
"Sometimes it's very filthy, being nice," Emma tells her, and just then she slides two fingers into her, pressing them slowly. It's not as bad as it could be; the lube helps a lot. It also makes Raven very suspicious. If Emma's just going to finger-fuck her, then why is all this prep work going into it?
Emma gives her a smile. "That's the problem, isn't it? I could tell you what's coming and you could get ready, but then you'd have to dread it until I do it." She's moving her fingers in and out now, pushing them all the way in on every stroke. "Or I could wait, but then you wouldn't have time to prepare. But now that I think about it, I think you'd sweat-" she shoves in, making Raven gasp- "either way."
Raven doesn't say anything, just bites her lip, and Emma gives her another finger; she's still moving slowly, too slowly, like she's got all night. That is, unfortunately, completely accurate, and there's not a single thing Raven can do about it.
Emma pushes in one more finger, all four inside of her, and it doesn't exactly feel good. She hasn't even been female in a couple of weeks, and she's never been stretched like this before. It's not like taking a cock, round and hard but ultimately predictable; the gloves make Emma's fingers nice and smooth, but that's where the similarity ends- their shape is irregular, capable of expanding and contracting, moving independently as they fuck her.
It hurts when Emma moves her hand, enough that Raven cringes. "This won't do," Emma says, frowning, and suddenly something happens to Raven's body. It's like she opens up, suddenly looser around Emma's fingers; she was barely turned on before, but now she's soaking wet, feeling like she's dripping. The disconnect is absolutely bizarre, her mind hating it and her body begging for it, but before she can even get used to it, she realizes exactly what's about to happen.
"I want to see what you can take," Emma tells her. "You've taken plenty of cock before. I can see that for myself." A memory shoots through Raven's mind- on her back, legs wrapped around someone whose name she barely remembers. "But you belong to me now, and I want to see how much of a slut you are already. I'm not going to waste my time retreading old ground."
Emma folds her hand up, tucking her thumb into the middle of it, and Raven tries to bolt, to keep her from what she's about to do. It's a bad move; one, the motion of it jars Emma's hand in a way that's really kind of awful, and two, Emma just slams her down, a hand on her thigh for show but the whole force of her mind behind it.
"Don't," Raven says, but her voice turns into a whine as Emma presses in deeper; Raven lets out a choked gasp when Emma pushes her hand in all the way past her knuckles. It actually doesn't hurt that much, but only because Raven's horrible, treacherous body is accepting it, embracing Emma's hand.
Emma doesn't stop, her fingers curling inside Raven's body, and then there it is, Emma's entire fist inside of her, Raven's cunt swallowing her all the way up to her wrist. And Raven absolutely loses it; it's been a hell of a day, one of the worst she's had in a long time, even as bad as it's been lately. This woman didn't even own her, hadn't even met her this morning, and now Raven's already her private whore. And apparently there's a pretty steep learning curve around here for whores, because this is possibly the most degenerate thing that anyone's ever done to her.
And none of that would be so bad if Emma's hand didn't feel good, pressing on every sweet spot at once, completely overloading her circuits. It doesn't mean she wants it- god she doesn't want it- but Emma's completely taken away the option of not enjoying it, any semblance of control she has over her body.
Emma leans over her, stroking her hand down the side of Raven's face. "It's fine," she says, kissing her; Raven tries to shut her mouth, but she can't, Emma forcing her to respond. Emma smiles when she pulls away, trailing her finger along one clear tear-track, licking the tear from her fingertip when she reaches the end. Raven can only stare at her through her tears; she knew Emma was crazy, but she hadn't really counted on Emma being this sick.
Emma leans back, and she very slowly starts rocking her hand. "Come for me, sweetheart," Emma says, and Raven holds out for about ten more seconds before she loses it entirely, clenching down hard around Emma's fist and sobbing. She's never felt anything remotely similar, anything that could even be used as a starting point for comparison. She comes so hard that it hurts, and it seems to go on and on.
But finally it's over; she's still crying brokenly, but at least it's finished, at least Emma will take her hand out of her and she can- she doesn't know how that's going to feel, but it'll be better than this.
"Don't get comfortable," Emma says, and this time she twists her hand- ever so slightly, but when she's got her entire fist in Raven's pussy, even slight is enormous. "You're not done yet."
"No," Raven says, tossing her head back and forth, which is apparently the only part of her she can even move, because nothing else cooperates when she tries to fight back. "Please don't- hurts- I can't-"
"Can and will," Emma tells her, moving her fist carefully in and out. "Don't start thinking you have a choice."
Raven is past that point right now; tomorrow, tomorrow she starts regrouping, planning, but no one could possibly expect it of her tonight, not with the kind of hell she's been through. Right now she just wants to curl up and cry.
Emma's only allowing her the crying part right now; she's moving her hand a little faster, and she twists it just so, and Raven screams this time when she comes. She really can't take any more now, certainly can't come again, as easy and as violent as the first two were, because now it just hurts. For a long moment, she thinks Emma is going to do it again, but she relents at the last moment; Raven sighs in relief.
She's got this sneaking suspicion that this is one of the very few times she will see Emma show any hesitation at all.
It's worse going out than it was going in, but Emma, surprisingly, shows some mercy, withdrawing slowly. When Emma's hand is all the way out of her, Raven feels hollow, hollowed out, wet and loose; that's the part she can handle, that part she can focus on, because what's going on in her body is no match for what's going on in her head.
Emma holds up her hand, looking at it curiously. "You are a slut, then," she says. "Looks like I got my money's worth." She reaches up; Raven tries to get away, but she can't, not before Emma slips two fingers into her mouth. "Suck," she says, as if she's going to give Raven another choice. She slides them in and out as Raven sucks them clean, and Raven's face is burning, but there's nothing at all to be done. They taste a little like latex, the lubricant a vague, almost medicinal note, but the taste of her own cunt overwhelms the rest of it. Raven shuts her eyes, tears leaking from the corners of them, and wishes she was somewhere else.
Emma takes her hand away, wiping it on Raven's thigh. "Take a nap," she says, kissing her on the forehead, her voice soft and sweet, like she's still set on pretending to be nice. "We can't continue until you pull yourself back together, and we're certainly not done here, honey."
She saunters out, and Raven curls up in the soft sheets and cries.
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Summary: Raven thought she really had it figured out this time, how to beat the system. Emma is going to prove her wrong.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 4018
Rating/Contents: NC-17, noncon, fisting, totally gratuitous bathtub scene
Pairing: Emma/Raven
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Best thing about writing Emma Frost, hands down: sexy lingerie. I never get to write that. All my characters just want to get nekkid as fast as they can. Also, jesus goddamn, but this got long. This story, idk, all the chapters want to be ENORMOUS despite the fact that there is, really and truly, nothing going on.
Emma has business to attend to in the evening, and she leaves before dinner; thank god Raven doesn't have to deal with that today. It's not at all strange for personals to sit at their owners' feet during meals, maybe even get hand-fed, and that would just be too much right now. Instead, Janos collects her, showing her around the house. The upper floors are split fairly sharply, Lehnsherr's rooms on one side and Emma's rooms on the other. All Emma's rooms are decorated similarly, variations on the red and gold theme. He takes her in as far as her boudoir, but doesn't actually show her the bedroom; Raven's completely fine with that.
On the other side of the house, Janos only shows her Lehnsherr's sitting room, the only place that she's likely to visit with any frequency. It's nothing like Emma's at all, wooden panelling and comfortable furniture, looking like you could actually sit in it and not just be received. No one's in there while they look, and Raven can't decide if that's good or bad; she needs to see Charles again, needs to know that he's actually here and not just some dream her overtaxed brain came up with to deal with this situation. On the other hand, she's not particularly keen on seeing Lehnsherr again, not until things are settled, until she knows what she's doing.
Downstairs everything is merged, one staff for the whole house, which is the least ridiculous thing she's heard all day. The staff is quite small, no more than a handful, all slaves except for Janos and the head cook. It doesn't escape her notice that more than one of them have visible mutations, and the boy who's doing laundry when she passes isn't bothering to hide the fact that he's levitating it. Raven can't quite work that one out- is that progressive, preventing mutants from possibly falling into the hands of human owners who'll abuse them, or is that just elitist, refusing to allow humans to contaminate the house even if it means exploiting other mutants?
They pass the hallway to the quarters, but he doesn't take her there; it's not a good sign.
She takes stock of the strategic advantages and disadvantages of the downstairs. The windows don't have bars, but she's not sure yet where they come out or how bad the drop is. She'll have to make a point to check the next time she's unattended. There's only one proper exit, a door in the kitchen; Raven tries to discern whether it's locked, but she's not sure- she doesn't even know if they need to lock it, not when Emma is around to keep tabs on everyone.
Finally, Janos turns her over to the cook. She sets a bowl of stew down in front of Raven, looking at her like she's waiting for Raven to complain about getting coarse food, like she's already decided Raven thinks she's better than everyone else just because she's a personal and a novelty. Raven finds it almost impossible to give a damn, because she's too busy devouring it; it's the first good meal she's had in a very long time, and honestly, in terms of getting her through, putting her in the right position to go without food afterwards, it's worth ten plates of anything she'll get to eat if she's living upstairs.
Once she's satisfied- and the cook has moved on from looking affronted to just looking suspicious- she's passed off to yet another of the staff. She's starting to feel like this is Hot Potato, when she'd much rather be in a game of Keep Away.
The next person to tote her around is one of the house workers, Lourdes. "If you'll come with me," she says, her accent twisting up the words, and Raven tries to memorize it immediately; she could do everyone else by this point- Janos, Emma, Charles obviously, the cook, Lehnsherr if she didn't open her mouth- but Lourdes's voice interests her. She looks at Raven without contempt, though she doesn't look particularly sad for her, either. She's someone for Raven to work on, a possible ally; Janos and the cook, they're free servants and thus can't be trusted, but Lourdes- maybe.
She ushers Raven upstairs and into what must be Emma's private bathroom. The red wallpaper here is a little lighter than in the other rooms, a little easier on the eyes. Raven wants to protest that she's already bathed today, that she's not even a form that's gotten dirty; Lourdes must know what her mutation is by now, Janos and Charles know, the whole house probably knew about three hours ago. It's not that the bathtub doesn't look really alluring- it looks like there might be scented oils, bubbles do not seem to be out of the question- it's just that this seems like the first step, the beginning of the end.
But she keeps standing there and Lourdes keeps standing there, and they could very well just stand there all night until Emma eventually puts her in the tub. "Fuck it," Raven mutters, when she's had more than enough of it, and Lourdes seems to relax; maybe she's the one who'd put Raven in the tub and she just didn't want to go through all that.
Raven thinks about undressing, but it'd just be for show at this point, so she lets her clothes melt away. Lourdes stares at her, but she doesn't say anything; yeah, everybody knows. She opens the taps and climbs in, looking at the assortment of soaps and things in the basket that hangs over the lip of the tub.
"The oil in the green bottle is supposed to smell nice," Lourdes says, in that offhanded voice that's common among slaves and servants, the you-didn't-hear-that-from-me tone that comes along with statements that express more knowledge than one is meant to have, knowledge that might, for example, have come from sneaking in when one's owner is out to make use of the opulent bathtub- yeah, Lourdes is definitely an ally to be cultivated.
Raven drips some of the oil into the bathtub; it's nice, lemongrass and ginger, and Raven sinks into the water, breathing it in, letting it soothe her, draw her thoughts away. She picks up the soap, sliding it over her arms, lathering it against her skin. She draws her leg up out of the water, leaning forward to rub the soap over it, flexing her foot to get some of the stiffness out of her calves before repeating the process on her other leg.
She runs the soap up over her stomach next; she takes a little more time than is strictly necessary to wash her breasts, lathering them up thoroughly, but she really can't be blamed for that, not when it feels so nice. She's really starting to relax, the water doing its job admirably, but then she goes to wash her neck and runs straight into the collar.
She's never seen one like it, which she's one hundred percent sure was Emma's intention. Personals almost always have ornate collars, usually metal, but this one is more than a little excessive; it doesn't just mark ownership, it very distinctly marks Emma's ownership, because Raven's already pretty sure there's nobody quite like Emma.
Something occurs to her, though, and she looks at Lourdes, who's looking away, distracted by something. It just confirms Raven's suspicions- everyone in the house has metal collars, and Raven isn't sure what that means yet.
The party is over, the mood busted; she cups her hands, scooping up water and rinsing off the suds. She pulls the plug, and Lourdes helps her out, offering her a towel. Raven doesn't actually need it, could make the water just disappear, but it's a nice big fluffy towel, and it seems like a shame to turn it down. She does make the water in her hair go away herself, a trick that's endlessly useful. She doesn't know if she's going to be offered something to wear, a suggestion of what to change into, but all Lourdes gives her is a bathrobe.
So, she thinks, it's going to be like that, then. Out of sheer contrariness, she make herself some slippers, little blue ones, because the bathroom floor is cold and no one is there to stop her.
Lourdes leads her out, walking her towards the doors to Emma's bedroom, and Raven has no idea what to expect inside, but she knows it's going to be ridiculous. Lourdes doesn't make the same kind of grandiose gesture of opening the doors as Janos, which tells her right off that no one is inside. Instead, she cracks one of the doors open, pulling it open far enough to let Raven in.
Emma has, for the third or fourth time in their very short acquaintance, outdone herself. The entire place is spectacularly white, ceiling to floor. The carpet is thick, almost shaggy; there's a mirror along one wall, making it seem bigger than it already is. The bed is enormous and inviting, white sheets turned back, but Raven wonders how anybody can ever get any sleep in here, when the room itself is so bright.
Lourdes gives her a nod and a look of pity- somewhat subtle pity, but definitely there. Raven is at a loss, completely unsure of what to do. Now that she's alone, the terror of this situation is starting to come back, the reality of it closing in on her. Any moment now, Emma is going to come in, and she'll make Raven do whatever she wants- Raven would beat her in a fair fight, but there's no such thing as a fair fight with a telepath.
She sits down in the armchair, huddling up a little; her skin is still warm from the bathtub and she's wrapped up in this robe, but she's still getting cold, a trick of the room, the iciness of it. She doesn't know how long she waits, ten, fifteen minutes, waiting for the door to open, maybe a mental warning, but Raven gets nothing until her body starts moving without her, standing up. She lets her robe slip off her shoulders, the material pooling around her feet; after a pause, she slides out of the slippers, too.
She walks over to the bed, and it feels like it always did when Charles did it, when they were just playing around, divorced from her body but still there- but this isn't the time to think about Charles, not at all. Emma makes her climb onto the mattress and arrange herself to Emma's liking; she's sitting back up against the pillows, knees bent, feet planted on the bed. From this position, Emma can see absolutely everything when she walks in; Emma draws her knees together, making it a tiny bit more demure, but it is definitely not nearly enough to even pretend.
It's yet more time before Emma actually arrives; Raven hears her approaching, hears her talking to someone- that's just perfect, exactly what she needs, someone else to join in on this catastrophe. The doors swing open, and Emma walks in, as cool as you please, completely not bothered or entranced by the sight of a naked woman in her bed.
"Thank you, Janos," she says, looking over her shoulder; Raven knows she's just saying it just for Raven to hear, so that there's no denying that someone else has seen her like this, as if there was any possible way that Raven would miss something like that. To his credit, Janos is very pointedly not looking at her, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing; it might even work in the opposite direction a little. This is all about power, about Emma's ability over Raven's, but Janos has just made it about shame.
The doors shut again, and then they're all alone; Raven swallows down the lump of fear in her throat. Emma is still walking towards her, and it is completely unsurprising that Emma dresses up for sex, not down.
The teddy she's wearing is a little wisp of a thing; the cups are opaque, beaded lace, pushing her cleavage up until it just looks unreal, but the fabric that hangs down from them is sheer, flounced at the bottom, more of a formality than anything else. The matching panties cover just enough to be tasteful, riding the line between alluring and cheap; she's wearing long white gloves that come up all the way past her elbows; when Raven looks closer, they're shiny- latex, maybe?- matching the thigh-high boots she's still wearing. Honestly, the whole thing doesn't seem any more revealing than what she was wearing earlier- it's maybe four more square inches of skin.
A voice in the back of her head says not to be ungrateful; if she's got to serve, she gets to serve a beautiful woman, which is probably the best possible outcome- on paper, anyway. Unfortunately, the difference is a little like having her neck broken versus bleeding out; the result is the same.
Emma sits down on the edge of the bed, turned to look at her. "You've never done anything with a woman," she says, skipping all the prologue, the back and forth, the numerous ways Raven could tell her to go fuck herself, and it's kind of a relief. Raven is just about to speak, to let out a defensive, you-don't-know-me response, but then she remembers, oh wait, telepath, kind of a waste of time. "Unfortunately, I can't expect you to jump right in." Now that is a goddamned lie, because that is what Emma has been expecting from her pretty much since the moment they met. "So I decided to find out what you can do."
Raven honestly has no idea what she means by that, but she already knows she doesn't really want to find out. There's a bottle on the nightstand- Raven didn't even see it, because it is, of course, white- and Emma picks it up, climbing up in front of Raven. Raven's knees part, exposing her fully to Emma's gaze, and Emma smirks; Raven has been trying very hard not to blush, not to give her the satisfaction, but she can't help it right then.
Emma seats herself between Raven's legs, taking Raven in, her eyes sweeping up and down her. It's hard not to squirm under that kind of analysis, but luckily, Raven finds she can't, not with Emma holding her still. All she can do is lay there and try to anticipate Emma's next move, plot out the advantages she might have, ways to make it better, to make it stop.
"You think too much," Emma tells her. "Impressive, but kind of exhausting." She uncaps the bottle, pouring whatever it is, some kind of lubricant, onto her gloved fingers; she makes a show of it, rubbing it between her fingers and thumb like she's testing it out. Raven wants to tell her to get the hell on with it, but at the same time, she tries not to even think that, very mindful of the fact that the repercussions could be very bad. At least Emma has long, thin fingers, delicate hands; this could be much worse. She's not expecting soft, but this could be a lot rougher, if for no reason but simple biology.
"Just relax, honey," Emma says, and Raven only just stops herself from rolling her eyes. Emma strokes a hand down Raven's thigh, fingers dragging along the sensitive skin there, and that's one of the things Raven hates the most in these situations, the part where they pretend to be nice.
"Sometimes it's very filthy, being nice," Emma tells her, and just then she slides two fingers into her, pressing them slowly. It's not as bad as it could be; the lube helps a lot. It also makes Raven very suspicious. If Emma's just going to finger-fuck her, then why is all this prep work going into it?
Emma gives her a smile. "That's the problem, isn't it? I could tell you what's coming and you could get ready, but then you'd have to dread it until I do it." She's moving her fingers in and out now, pushing them all the way in on every stroke. "Or I could wait, but then you wouldn't have time to prepare. But now that I think about it, I think you'd sweat-" she shoves in, making Raven gasp- "either way."
Raven doesn't say anything, just bites her lip, and Emma gives her another finger; she's still moving slowly, too slowly, like she's got all night. That is, unfortunately, completely accurate, and there's not a single thing Raven can do about it.
Emma pushes in one more finger, all four inside of her, and it doesn't exactly feel good. She hasn't even been female in a couple of weeks, and she's never been stretched like this before. It's not like taking a cock, round and hard but ultimately predictable; the gloves make Emma's fingers nice and smooth, but that's where the similarity ends- their shape is irregular, capable of expanding and contracting, moving independently as they fuck her.
It hurts when Emma moves her hand, enough that Raven cringes. "This won't do," Emma says, frowning, and suddenly something happens to Raven's body. It's like she opens up, suddenly looser around Emma's fingers; she was barely turned on before, but now she's soaking wet, feeling like she's dripping. The disconnect is absolutely bizarre, her mind hating it and her body begging for it, but before she can even get used to it, she realizes exactly what's about to happen.
"I want to see what you can take," Emma tells her. "You've taken plenty of cock before. I can see that for myself." A memory shoots through Raven's mind- on her back, legs wrapped around someone whose name she barely remembers. "But you belong to me now, and I want to see how much of a slut you are already. I'm not going to waste my time retreading old ground."
Emma folds her hand up, tucking her thumb into the middle of it, and Raven tries to bolt, to keep her from what she's about to do. It's a bad move; one, the motion of it jars Emma's hand in a way that's really kind of awful, and two, Emma just slams her down, a hand on her thigh for show but the whole force of her mind behind it.
"Don't," Raven says, but her voice turns into a whine as Emma presses in deeper; Raven lets out a choked gasp when Emma pushes her hand in all the way past her knuckles. It actually doesn't hurt that much, but only because Raven's horrible, treacherous body is accepting it, embracing Emma's hand.
Emma doesn't stop, her fingers curling inside Raven's body, and then there it is, Emma's entire fist inside of her, Raven's cunt swallowing her all the way up to her wrist. And Raven absolutely loses it; it's been a hell of a day, one of the worst she's had in a long time, even as bad as it's been lately. This woman didn't even own her, hadn't even met her this morning, and now Raven's already her private whore. And apparently there's a pretty steep learning curve around here for whores, because this is possibly the most degenerate thing that anyone's ever done to her.
And none of that would be so bad if Emma's hand didn't feel good, pressing on every sweet spot at once, completely overloading her circuits. It doesn't mean she wants it- god she doesn't want it- but Emma's completely taken away the option of not enjoying it, any semblance of control she has over her body.
Emma leans over her, stroking her hand down the side of Raven's face. "It's fine," she says, kissing her; Raven tries to shut her mouth, but she can't, Emma forcing her to respond. Emma smiles when she pulls away, trailing her finger along one clear tear-track, licking the tear from her fingertip when she reaches the end. Raven can only stare at her through her tears; she knew Emma was crazy, but she hadn't really counted on Emma being this sick.
Emma leans back, and she very slowly starts rocking her hand. "Come for me, sweetheart," Emma says, and Raven holds out for about ten more seconds before she loses it entirely, clenching down hard around Emma's fist and sobbing. She's never felt anything remotely similar, anything that could even be used as a starting point for comparison. She comes so hard that it hurts, and it seems to go on and on.
But finally it's over; she's still crying brokenly, but at least it's finished, at least Emma will take her hand out of her and she can- she doesn't know how that's going to feel, but it'll be better than this.
"Don't get comfortable," Emma says, and this time she twists her hand- ever so slightly, but when she's got her entire fist in Raven's pussy, even slight is enormous. "You're not done yet."
"No," Raven says, tossing her head back and forth, which is apparently the only part of her she can even move, because nothing else cooperates when she tries to fight back. "Please don't- hurts- I can't-"
"Can and will," Emma tells her, moving her fist carefully in and out. "Don't start thinking you have a choice."
Raven is past that point right now; tomorrow, tomorrow she starts regrouping, planning, but no one could possibly expect it of her tonight, not with the kind of hell she's been through. Right now she just wants to curl up and cry.
Emma's only allowing her the crying part right now; she's moving her hand a little faster, and she twists it just so, and Raven screams this time when she comes. She really can't take any more now, certainly can't come again, as easy and as violent as the first two were, because now it just hurts. For a long moment, she thinks Emma is going to do it again, but she relents at the last moment; Raven sighs in relief.
She's got this sneaking suspicion that this is one of the very few times she will see Emma show any hesitation at all.
It's worse going out than it was going in, but Emma, surprisingly, shows some mercy, withdrawing slowly. When Emma's hand is all the way out of her, Raven feels hollow, hollowed out, wet and loose; that's the part she can handle, that part she can focus on, because what's going on in her body is no match for what's going on in her head.
Emma holds up her hand, looking at it curiously. "You are a slut, then," she says. "Looks like I got my money's worth." She reaches up; Raven tries to get away, but she can't, not before Emma slips two fingers into her mouth. "Suck," she says, as if she's going to give Raven another choice. She slides them in and out as Raven sucks them clean, and Raven's face is burning, but there's nothing at all to be done. They taste a little like latex, the lubricant a vague, almost medicinal note, but the taste of her own cunt overwhelms the rest of it. Raven shuts her eyes, tears leaking from the corners of them, and wishes she was somewhere else.
Emma takes her hand away, wiping it on Raven's thigh. "Take a nap," she says, kissing her on the forehead, her voice soft and sweet, like she's still set on pretending to be nice. "We can't continue until you pull yourself back together, and we're certainly not done here, honey."
She saunters out, and Raven curls up in the soft sheets and cries.
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