A repetitively refreshing morning

It was still only the second day of receiving my powers, or at least, realizing I even had them; who's to say how long I could've done this before yesterday? All the fun, antics I could've stumbled into... well, fun relative to who's asking. Even though it feels like I have gotten a grasp of how my power works, I still just couldn't fully believe it. That first day was like a fever dream, but it was real. Oh boy, it was real. I could feel the phantom pressure of Sydney's face on my cock, the imagined weight of Mom's tits in my hands, and the memory of controlling them like dolls. I spent the rest of that day mostly in my room, nursing a persistent headache behind my eyes. I might have some sort of limited stamina when it comes to this; these headaches can't be a coincidence, but if that's in regard to how long I stop things, or how many people I leave suspended, or even rewinding, it was up in the air.

Guess I just have to mess around with things some more, huh?

My day started strong with the bedroom door to my room being slammed open. I was still in bed, but a jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I sat bolt upright. Standing in the doorway was Mom, wearing a tightly fitted robe, tied pleasantly around her slender waist. Her hair was still damp from a shower, clinging to her neck and shoulders. The way it was tied around my mother's figure made her ample bosom even more prominent than the previous day's tight-fitting shirt, while it drifted over and around the swell of her hips. The look on her face, though, was anything but pleasant. A storm was brewing. "Dexter. Get up. Now." Her voice was clipped, precise, and held no room for argument. "It's past noon; you're not spending your Sunday sleeping in when there are things to do."

"Huh," I rubbed the grogginess from my eyes. Man, I was knocked out after yesterday. But honestly, I feel recharged; a good sleep did wonders, way more than it has ever done in the past. "What things? I did my homework. I showed you." There was a smug little confidence that I didn't know I had in me. I guess the knowledge that the matriarch of my life was no longer the top dog she thought she was, and as long as she was a slave to the threads of time, and I can control time freely, nothing she can do would matter.

Her expression hardened. "And I appreciate that. I do. But let's see," She shifted her weight, unknowingly adding a hint of sex appeal to her pose with the way in which she moved her hips. "The house is still a mess, your laundry needs to be done, and the garage looks like a pack of raccoons had run through it, when I explicitly told you to tidy it up more than a week ago."

"Oh, right." I sighed, "Whatever, I'll do it. But it's not like you're dressed for work. You look like you're as lazy as me."

Mom blinked, somewhat taken aback by the audacity of my tone. "Excuse me? E-Excuse me!? I worked Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, every day, including Saturday, and I need to explain myself for wanting ONE day to- you know what? No. No. Young man, you're not going to talk to me like that in my house. You are eighteen years old; I shouldn't have to remind you of your chores. You're going to start pulling your weight around here, and you're going to start now. Or else I—"

"Mom, fast forward."

Without a warning, time around Mom began to blur. Her body jerked into hyperspeed. Every movement became a rapid blur; arms flailing, hair whipping, chest bouncing in a frantic, almost cartoonish rhythm as the fabric of her robe struggled to keep up. It began to drift down her shoulders, allowing more boob flesh to ripple out; her mouth opened and closed at rapid speed as her lecture continued. The words came out in a high-pitched, compressed rush, the syllables smearing together.

"—ullPu yuorW ti eht erE- odrO eht gnihT d'I oN- !smU- gniod a reW n'uoY- !yrtsuD- gnitsiL rof emanK uoY-!"

It was illegible, as if someone writing these events were to just mash random letters and symbols on their keyboard without much rhyme or reason. I couldn’t help the wide, satisfied grin that spread across my face. Watching her get fast-forwarded like a video on 8x speed; angry, authoritative, completely out of control. Karma for having the nerve to burst into here like she owns the place. Well, she does literally own the place, but the point is I'm basically a god now. Had she just left me alone, done anything but impose on my space, this wouldn't be happening... Actually, I definitely would've found her later to mess around, but this specific situation wouldn't be happening.

Her finger that was pointed at me jabbed forward and back in a hyper-speed blur. Her head shook so fast I thought it might fly off. I could tell she got even more mad seeing me laugh. Her tits, even confined within her robe, jiggled at a frequency that was mesmerizing and absurd. I could almost hear the humming buzz of her body vibrating through the air, or maybe that was the sound of the air swishing by her with the speed she was moving at. I might've given Quicksilver a run for his money with how fast Mom was moving; is that his name? I only really keep track of the female heroes. Speaking of.. I wonder... Do I mess with them? No. No. That's ballsy. It's probably best I stay in my lane and just not impose on the big wigs. Scarlett Witch alone is an all-powerful (and all-sexy boobacious babe, if you know what I'm saying) reality warper who I think can just do anything she wants whenever she wants. There was a news report of some time she just created a giant bubble-like dome around New York which stopped time itself, something about multiple bombs being placed around the city and she couldn't risk anything so she just halted time itself in the massive radius so they could be defused. I've seen battles with her, mostly just to beat off with the screen paused when she's at a comedically lewd angle or to zoom into her breasts as she's in the heat of battle, but she just said, "No more flying," and the criminal that was trying to fly away just lost the ability to and face planted onto the ground. I'm pretty sure if she just says those three words, she can make anything happen.

And that is just one fucking person. A whole group of them, pissed off? I'm basically a god, sure. I won't stop gassing myself up about that; but when I live in a world where there are multiple gods, I suppose that might make the power less special when everyone's special.

Keeping things street level will probably be the best play..

Mom moved over to the window and redficuouse speed crashing tit first into the wall like some doll at behind wirred around by overly excited hands; she ripped open the blinds then began to gesture wildly at the grass. "—ehT sgraG si a ssEm! gnilaeD no ti dna lla ti lliW uoY!" That was her telling me to deal with the grass, if I had to wager. I did say I'd do that a month ago; to her credit, she gives me a lot of time to do things. I just never cared, and I guess she's being pushed to her wits' end. Well, she better get used to that, if I didn't care before. Hahaha! I sure don't care now. She stood there, spouting her gibberish, rubbing her temple and pacing the room, looking like a glitching video game character, arms flailing and gesturing at frame rates unimaginable, her robe now mostly open and giving me a perfect view of the plain bra containing the tits I'd manhandled just yesterday.

She looked down; I could hardly make it out with how fast she was moving, and gasped at the state of her robe. Her hands flew to the tie of her robe, desperately trying to cinch it shut as she continued her rant. "—tuo tI dna gnidaeR ehs roF- !evitceR eht gniod oD- !eno tsraP dna tnaW uoY- !sraW tuo siht dnA-" The words were a meaningless, high-pitched squeal, but the intent was clear. She was losing her mind, and I was the one pushing her over the edge.

"Mom, normal speed," I commanded, my smirk still plastered on my face.

My mother's pace snapped back to her regular rhythm. She stumbled, dizzy from the sudden shift in momentum. She blinked, her hands still fumbling with the tie of her robe. Her chest was heaving, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The look on her face was a deep, simmering rage. As if she realized, for some reason, her movements were off, such as her robe shifting down, but the fact she was shifting at super speed in a world still moving at normal speed just didn't convey. "No more video games, no more nights on the tv, no more phone for a month! The garage, the lawn, your room— it's all being done today! And if I see so much as a single speck of dust out of place—"

I could see she was about to launch into another tirade. I let her go on for a bit, enjoying the show at normal pacing, enjoying the sight of her getting all worked up over nothing. It was so amusing: someone who thinks they are in control, not realizing they're speaking to someone who could control time itself. She turned to leave, presumably to get some tools or a list of chores for me to do. "—And when I get back, I want to see you started! Or so help me—"

But she was cut off the moment her back was turned to me and she had one foot out of my door. "Stop."

And just like that, she was frozen.

I got up from my bed; the familiar thrill of control surged through me, causing my cock to twitch.

There she was, in the doorway, one hand on the frame, the other clutching her robe. Her body was angled away from me, giving me a perfect view of her backside. The robe, having been loosened during her little hyper-speed tantrum, was easy for me to fiddle with. I approached and ran my hands over her figure; it was now hung loosely on her frame, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her back and the line of her panties. Her ass, perfectly round and firm, was practically begging to be touched. So I did.

SLAP

That won't get old.

Okay, new plan. I could leave her mad; it truly didn't matter. She had no control here. But I just didn't want to deal with the headache, especially if I was bound to get one anyway with these powers of mine. "Mom, rewind." I started.

Her body jerked backward, her foot stepping back into the room, her arms uncrossing, her robe re-tying itself. Her angry expression smoothed out, her lips moving in reverse, her words becoming a series of low, guttural sounds.

" —em ylpoep oshT-"

I let the reversal continue until she was back in the middle of my room, her hands on her hips, her face still holding that stormy look from when she first woke me up. I hopped back in bed so she wouldn't notice me effectively teleport. "Mom, resume."

"—pull your weight around here, and you're going to start now. Or else I—" Her tirade picked up exactly where it had left off.

"Oops, nope, sorry, too early," I said.

Mom blinked, her train of thought momentarily derailed. "What? What are you talking about?"

I just sighed dramatically, swinging my legs out of bed and standing up. I stretched, letting out a loud yawn. "Nothing, Mom. Just thinking out loud. I resumed you too early, that's all."

"Resumed... what? Dexter, what in God's name are you talking about?" Her voice was laced with pure, unadulterated confusion, with irritation soon following. "Am I a joke to you? This is—"

"Yeah, you kinda are now."

I walked right past her, out of my room and headed down into the hall. She was clearly too dumbfounded by my response to stop me, even though she was both taller and physically stronger than me. She was left standing there, speechless. I could feel her eyes on my back as I moved further into the hall. But eventually that shock cracked. "DEXTER! YOU GET BACK HERE! WE ARE NOT DONE!"

I chuckled to myself, continuing forward. "Oh, we are, Mom. We are."

"YOU THINK THIS IS—"

"Mom, rewind." God, interrupting women with this power will never get old. Her body jerked backward again, her angry words becoming another meaningless garble as she was pulled back into the room. I timed it perfectly this time, letting her get right back to the point where she was in the middle of her initial lecture, right before she decided to speed ahead and talk about all the other things I needed to do. But unlike before, I let her keep reversing. Crossing my arms, I leaned against the wall, seeing her previous actions from this different point of view. Her hands went from being on her hips to being at her sides. She was back to the moment she had just walked into my room, then continued on, closing the door in reverse, walking backward down the hall at a brisk pace. I followed, not wanting to lose her.

She retreated all the way to the Master bedroom, then to the bathroom. I let her step back inside, the door swinging open in reverse. I saw her standing in front of the mirror. She did something kinda gross but oddly fixating to witness: she leaned in as if she were going to spit into the sink, and re-absorbed... nothing. Probably because I am only reversing her, not time itself; if time was being played back, the spit she'd initially shot would return into her puckered lips, but with her being the only one on playback, she was just repeating the action, so she and things tied to her reversed, but the spit was no longer a part of her. That said, she was able to replay the motion of putting away her toothbrush to reclaim it, and begin brushing her teeth in reverse, the bristles of the brush pushing the minty foam back into the tube, a bizarre sight to be sure. I let her continue all the way until she was undressed, then into the shower.

Steam curled around her body as she stepped out, droplets of water flying back up to meet her skin as she stepped backward into the shower stall. She was completely naked now. And redid the action of turning off the water, meaning she turned it back on. I watched as she continued to reverse, soaping up her body in reverse. Her hands moved up her legs, over her stomach, and up to her breasts, the suds disappearing back into the washcloth. She tilted her head back, rinsing her hair, the water flying up from the drain and back onto her head.

My dick was getting hard again. This was better than any porn I had ever seen. A live, naked, reversing woman, completely oblivious to my presence. I reached down and gave myself a few strokes through my pajama pants, my breath catching in my throat. After she finished undoing her cleaning, I shot strands of cum over her body, while she walked back, not particularly caring about the seed over her skin; she moved backward into her room, and climbed backward into her bed. Spreading my cum over her sheets and comforter while further smearing it across her skin. I let her stay in bed for a bit longer, reversing while also barely shifting, until eventually she was clearly sleeping in reverse.

"Mom, resume," I said, and she returned to normal, sleeping peacefully in her bed. I turned and walked out of her room, closing the door quietly behind me. "Mom, stop." The soft snoring that was coming from her bed ceased, leaving a perfect, peaceful silence. That was a fun little detour. She can stay frozen like that for the rest of the day; she said herself that this was her day off. I might as well let her enjoy her one day to herself by being frozen the entire day. Damn, that's evil, petty, and downright mean. But, seeing what I've been doing, yeah, I basically am a villain; might as well fucking embrace it at this point. There isn't a morally gray bone in my body. This world is full of villains; I think they'd take an extra member.

I walked back out into the hall, my mind racing with possibilities. I had so much power, and I was only just beginning to scratch the surface of what I could do. I walked down the hall to Sydney's room. The door was closed. I put my ear to it and heard nothing. I turned the knob and peeked inside. She was still asleep, sprawled out on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow, one leg hanging off the side of the bed. She was wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top, her ass looking delectable in the morning light filtering through her window. She was one of those booby horny bait influencers; it isn't my fault if her entire job is to make guys horny. My dick roared to life, and a part of me wondered if there was more to this time power thing than I knew. Like my internal time worked at its own pace or something; by that I mean, I just wanted to be horny and primed again, and my dick was just ready for round two like that. Usually there's a recharge period; guys can't just bust and bust left and right. It takes time to rev up the engine, so to speak. But if I can control time, what's to say I can't control my own time?

Food for thought. It's something to mull over for sure. Last night I thought about how I was rewinding and pausing time itself and specific people, which had been what gave me the idea to try fast-forwarding. It was like I'm a human TV remote, so it didn't hurt to try. And what did you know, Mom started speeding up like it was nothing. If I could figure that out, I could probably think up something about why my internal timings seemed to just work how I wanted.

But that's for later; currently I'm focused on handling my sister. Look at her sleeping, so cute.

Ah well.

---

Deep underground beneath the X-Mansion, the Cerebro chamber hummed with quiet power. Blue light washed over the curved walls as Jean Grey stood at the center platform, the massive spherical headset locked around her temples. Her green X-Men uniform clung to her like a second skin, the material stretched tight across her chest and hips with every slow breath she took. The absurdly form-fitting spandex left almost nothing to the imagination, but she had long stopped caring. Function first. Always. Even if the spandex does literally ride up her ass, making each cheek clearly defined, directly tickling her anus with the sheer tightness of the fiber.

A soft chime announced the door. Storm stepped inside, white hair drifting slightly in the recycled air. She moved with that same quiet grace she always had, hands folded behind her back. Her heels clicked along the polished reflected floor, echoing throughout the soft hums and churns of technology. Each step caused her dark-skinned jugs to ripple within the confines of her corset, rippling as if they were jelly on a plate.

"Any luck, my sister?" Ororo's voice was a calm contralto, a deep, resonant voice cutting through the hum of the machines.

Jean’s brow furrowed beneath the helmet, her fingers clenched at her sides. "A few, give me a moment, I'll project my thoughts." Her mental energies stretched out across the globe, a fine mesh searching for a specific anomaly, a ripple in the fabric of reality that was too small to be an Incursion but too significant to be a mutation. "Currently I'm searching for signs of danger rather than mutants. I've just come off a scan for X-Genes."

"Well, on the topic of our kind. Emily’s settled," Ororo said. "She’s getting the full tour right now. Logan’s showing her the Danger Room. She seemed.. nervous, but the pheromones she produces already have half the students in a better mood. It’s subtle. Use—"

Everything stopped.

Jean and Storm froze mid-conversation. Jean stood with her mouth slightly open, one hand half-raised toward the holographic display, the green spandex stretched so tight across her chest that the outline of her nipples pressed clearly against the fabric. Usually, X-Men wearing the skin-tight material have specially made pasties or coverings meticulously designed with their exact nipple sizes in mind, allowing for literally skin-to-skin tight fluidity while preventing private spots from sticking through. But due to the sheer amount on her plate for the day, Jean had forgone wearing such coverings in her haste to get to work. The material had ridden even higher up the cleft of her ass, the thin strip of green fabric disappearing between her mighty butt cheeks. Her expression was locked in mild concentration, eyes half-lidded under the helmet, lips parted, the natural scent of her breath oozing out.

Storm was caught mid-step, one heel still an inch off the floor. Her full brown breasts were frozen mid-jiggle, the upper curves spilling heavily over the top of her corset. Her lips were parted on the unfinished word, the soft "f" of "useful" still shaping her mouth. The pose looked almost stupid frozen like that; one foot raised, tits hanging, mouth open like she’d been paused by a bad remote.

Then time snapped forward again.

"—ful." Ororo finished the word as if nothing had happened, her foot finally settling on the floor. Her breasts gave one last heavy bounce as momentum returned.

"Logan? I didn't know we were that low-staffed. He isn't the tour-type. Please find her after and be sure she is alright." Jean chuckled, though she didn’t open her eyes. "But also be sure to keep an eye on her pheromones. I trust you when you say she has only lightened others' moods, but I don't want anyone in this school to be manipulated, even subtly by something lik—"

STOP

Jean’s mouth locked open on the last syllable, the word cut off mid-breath. Her body remained perfectly still, the tight green suit clinging to every curve of her slightly shifted figure. One of her hands was frozen halfway through a small gesture, fingers slightly curled. Her other hand had instinctively shifted to scratch an itch over her nipple; the lack of pasties covering caused slight irritation. The itch would've been quick and subtle, but in this halted time, her hand scratching the unmistakable outline of her nipple was more than apparent. With the slight shift in her weight and parting of her thighs, spandex had worked itself even deeper between her ass cheeks from the earlier movement, the fabric now more blatantly wedged. Her frozen expression looked faintly annoyed, brows drawn together under the helmet.

Storm stood beside her, one hand resting lightly on her own hip, breasts still and heavy, the dark nipples stood erect against the hardened corset. Her face was tilted toward Jean, a look of patient attention frozen on her features. Her hair was still, no longer drifting in the recycled air. A single drop of condensation had formed on the cooling unit behind her and was frozen in mid-air, a perfect crystal sphere hanging mid-air directly above her absurdly apparent chocolate cleavage.

A second later, the pause released.

Blip

The single drop of condensation, which should have fallen long ago, suddenly hit Storm directly atop her right breast with a soft plink. Something the Goddess of the Weather failed to even notice; even as it softly trickled down the curve of her breast, and out of sight within the cleavage between the two mountains of flesh.

"—e that," Jean finished her sentence without missing a beat, her mind seemingly unaware of the micro-second stop. At the exact same moment, Jean finished scratching her breast, more so her nipple, and her other hand completed its gesture. "It's a slippery slope."

"Agreed, Jean," nodded Ororo, coming to a halt beside her sister in everything but blood, causing her rippling boobs to jostle for one last moment, taking a decent amount of time to finally settle. "That's why, despite the... issues, I assigned Logan to give her the tour; if her pheromones become a problem, he'll sniff it out before anything can ari—"

Time lurched backward.

Ororo’s body jerked in reverse. Her breasts bounced upward against gravity as she stepped backward, the last few words coming out in a warped, reversed stream, "—ira nac gnihtyna erofeb tuo ti ffnis ll'eh ;ruot eht reh evig ot nagoL dengissa I ,seussi eht etipsed ,yhw s'tahT." Ororo rewound through her entire sentence, her body walking backward in perfect, graceful reverse. Her heels clicked against the floor in reverse rhythm, her magnificent jugs jiggling upward with each backward step, her hips swaying in an eerie, backward sashay. Like a video on playback she returned all the way back to the point right before she'd finished her previous sentence. As with the rest of her, her mouth moved in reverse, the deep mature voice twisting into something unnatural. To anyone who could observe this, the bounce of her tits reversed into a strange upward compression that was truly hypnotic.

Jean’s head tilted the opposite direction, her earlier chuckle sucked back into her throat. Her fat lips yapped backward through her own words as well. Then the rewind stopped and time flowed forward again from an earlier point.

"Agreed, Jean," Ororo repeated, breasts settling once more. "That's why, despite the... issues, I assigned Logan to give her the tour; if her pheromones become a problem, he'll sniff it out before anything can arise."

"Laura was not available?" Jean asked. "The younger female clone of Logan would prove to be better suited to help accommodate another teenage girl into the school."

"No, she was indeed. But there also comes into play questions of hormonal.. maturity. We've discovered Emily herself is attracted to the same sex... with her ability... and Laura's enhanced senses..."

"I see your logic." Jean took a slow breath. Her mind was sifting through terabytes of psychic data. "Back to our recruitment data. I've logged sixteen more," Jean swiped across the digital display, revealing her thoughts projected to the room. "All of them projected to manifest within the next six months. I’m tracking the exact windows. It is always after their eighteenth birthdays. If we reach them the day their powers ignite, we avoid the usual disas—"

Fast forward.

Jean’s body blurred. Her arm swiped across the display in a rapid smear of green. Her mouth opened and closed at high speed, the rest of the sentence dumping out in a high-pitched, compressed rush, "—sasaid lausu eht diova ew ,etingi srewop rieht yad eht meht hcaer ew fI .syadhtrib htneetgie rieht retfa syawla si tI .swodniw tcaxe eht gnikcart m’I .shtnom xis txen eht nihtiw tsefinaM ot detcejorp meht fo llA" She and everything else looked like just a show played at x12 speed.

Her tits jiggled in a frantic, almost cartoonish blur inside the tight spandex. Her anus being rubbed relentlessly with the skintight fabric stretching up and down the cleft of her ass, riding up her pussy and rapidly riding down. The constant friction creating a small wet spot in her crotch.

At sonic speed, she moved over to the console next to her, her fingers flying across the keyboard, the holographic display flashing with unreadable data. Storm was also fast-forwarded, standing there, watching the blur of her friend with a slightly tilted head, her own tits bouncing in an impossibly high frequency. The air around them hummed with the energy of their accelerated movements. "—sruo s’erehT dna snoitcnuF fo esuaceb revoM dna renoG ,noitacilppa lla eht dna ,srewop tsrif eht fo emiT dna srewop eht fo gnirts eht fo snoitseuq eht gnissim dna ,noitacilppa dna gninrow eht tuoba skrow gnorw eht dna ssel eht dna gnorw eht tsuj eht esuaceb t’nseod ton dluow ti dna ;yrev dna elpmis fo sseccA ,srevo eno eht ,ssecorp eht morf dnah ot stnemom dna srevres gnissim dna sserdda tsuj s’erehT" Jean spewed absolute gibberis at comical speeds, looking back over her stupid pillowly lips yapping nonsense to her friend, who understood the rediclosnes blabber and responded with her own incoherent nonsense.

"—gniyrt dna gnippohs srewop eht tuo kcab ot ekil t’nac dna ,sniar eht fo sruo eht ot gnithgim tuo siht hguoht ot gniyalp t’nod yalp hguoht lla t’nod tI" Storm spewed back, her hair whipped slightly from the sudden displacement of air as Jean’s sped-up movements disturbed the space around them. Her brown tits flopped all over her chest. Moving so fast they physically erupted out and slapped the bottom of her chin, managing to brush her bottom lip, causing a string of drool to connect between her fat lower face pillow and the upper swell of her round breast, and cleavage. The entire explanation finished in under a second. "You’re right," she said, finally back at normal speed. Their entire discussion had skipped forward way past where it was before. Now talking about something where the context had been blurred. "It isn’t a shield. It’s something else. Something that—"

STOP

The humming of their voices and soft technological sounds of the room halted without warning. Not that anyone noticed.

Jean’s hand was frozen mid-swipe, her fingers hovering over the holographic display. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips parted in a silent, high-speed lecture. Her expression was one of intense concentration, her brow furrowed, her green eyes locked on the data. The tight green spandex was still wedged deep between her ass cheeks, the fabric taut against her skin. On the other hand, Ororo was literally interrupted mid-sentence, her plump lip parted, a thick line of drool from when her boobs had comically erupted up into her own face due to the sheer speed they were jiggling still lingered. She hadn't noticed, nor the soft imprint of part of her lipstick on the dark brown tit flesh.

Reverse.

Time jerked backward.

Storm’s white hair whipped the opposite direction from the sudden displacement of air. Her brown tits flopped all over her chest in reverse. Moving so fast they physically sucked back down from under her chin, the upper swell of her round breast pulling away from her fat lower lip. The string of drool that had connected them snapped backward, the saliva retracting from her cleavage and lip until it disappeared entirely into her mouth, slurping up her own, unknown thick string of spittle.

Her tits jiggled in a frantic, cartoonish reverse blur inside the tight spandex. The skintight fabric rapidly rode down the cleft of her ass instead of up, sliding away from her anus and pussy. The small wet spot in her crotch shrank and vanished as the constant friction undid itself.

Jean’s pillow lips yapped the reversed gibberish back into silence while Storm’s own incoherent reply reversed out of her mouth, "—tI t’nod lla hguoht yalp t’nod gniyalp to thguoht siht tuo gnithgim to eht sruoh fo eht sniarb, dna t’nac ekil to kcab tuo eht srewop gnippohs dna gniyrt—"

At sonic speed Jean moved backward from the console, fingers flying in reverse across the keyboard. Storm was also locked in the reverse fast-forward, standing there with her head un-tilting, her own brown tits bouncing in an impossibly high reverse frequency. The air around them hummed as the energy of their accelerated movements rewound.

Her tits jiggled in a frantic, cartoonish reverse blur inside the tight spandex. The skintight fabric rapidly rode down the cleft of her ass instead of up, sliding away from her anus and pussy. The small wet spot in her crotch shrank and vanished as the constant friction undid itself.

Jean’s body blurred in reverse. Her arm swiped back across the display in a rapid smear of green, the holographic data flashing in the opposite order. Her mouth opened and closed at high speed as the compressed rush of words sucked back into her throat in reverse, "—lla fo meht detcejorp ot Manifest nihtiw eht next xis shtnom. m’I gnikcart eht tcaxe swodniw .tI si syawla retfa rieht htneetgie syadhtrib. fI ew hcaer meht eht yad rieht srewop etingi, ew diova eht lausu sretsasid—"

The entire accelerated exchange finished rewinding in under a second. Their bodies snapped back to the exact positions they had held before the fast-forward began.

Resume.

Time snapped back to normal. Jean blinked, the last of the accelerated motion leaving her chest still faintly trembling. "All of them projected to manifest within the next six months. I’m tracking the exact windows. It is always after their eighteenth birthdays. If we reach them the day their powers ignite, we avoid the usual disasters." She continued the dialog exactly where it was, as from everyone's perspectives nothing had changed. Time flowed like normal. Only she repeated herself as time had rewound back to earlier in her sentence.

Storm watched her for a moment. "You’re carrying all of this alone more than you should." She placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, her thumb brushing the tight bullet-resistant spandex. "I would take a turn. If I could. But perhaps allow Betsy a moment. Or even Emma, if w—"

Stop again.

Ororo’s hand remained on Jean’s shoulder, thumb pressed into the green fabric. Her full brown breasts were pushed slightly forward by the angle of her arm, the soft flesh compressed against the edge of her corset. Her mouth was open on the unfinished word, the soft "d" of "could" still on her tongue. The frozen expression looked almost thoughtful, but with her lips parted and eyes locked on Jean, it carried a faintly ridiculous quality; like someone paused mid-advice, served in the form of a kiss. Lips perfectly poised for something thick and hard to slide in.

Jean stood still beneath the touch, the spandex of her uniform pulled taut across her ass, the fabric still riding deep between her cheeks. One of her own hands hovered near the display controls; this time, her other hand was reaching back to pry the fabric from riding directly up against her asshole. Without saying it directly, she regretted now wearing the custom-made padding to prevent things such as the latex perfectly molding the outline of her snatch and ass due to its tightness.

Then time resumed.

"—e moderate her, could.." Ororo resumed but was gently cut off.

"I'm sorry, Ororo, but you know I won't let Emma in this." Jean was quick to dismiss that thought, "I'm not going to allow it."

Ororo was gentle when she said this, "I understand your.. potential... distrust of her." She chose her words carefully, licking her plush, pillowly lips with a gentle dance of her tongue, "She has had a complicated past, one that affected me personally."

"Yeah. I remember you punching her in the face." Jean smirked to herself.

"I did. And I do not regret it. But we all have complicated pasts, my sister. She has been a stalwart ally for years now. Perhaps the best ally we have had in decades. Even the professor trusted her. I truly believe she loves her students; they are her children, as they are ours. Perhaps we should embrace her as a vital ally rather than... a riv—"

Rewind.

Ororo’s mouth moved backward, the last words reversing into a low, guttural stream:

"—vir a ...naht rehtar ylla lativ a sa reh ecarbme dluohs ew spahrep .sruo era yeht sa ,nerdlihc reh era yeht ;stneduts reh sevol ehs eveileb ylurt I .reh detsurT rosserorp eht nevE .sedaeced ni dah evah ew ylla tseb eht spahreP .won sraey rof ylla trawlats a neeb sah ehS .retsis ym ,stsap detacilpmoc evah lla ew tuB .ti terger ton od I dnA .did I—"

Her tongue retracted from her lips. Unglazing her own face pillows. Her hand left Jean’s shoulder in reverse. Her breasts shifted backward with the motion, the heavy flesh settling into an earlier position. Jean’s smirk faded in reverse, the expression smoothing out.

The rewind stopped at an earlier beat. Time flowed forward again.

"I did. And I do not regret it. But we all have complicated pasts, my sister. She has been a stalwart ally for years now. Perhaps the best ally we have had in decades. Even the professor trusted her. I truly believe she loves her students; they are her children, as they are ours. Perhaps we should embrace her as a vital ally rather than... a rival." Ororo's breath was warm against Jean's back. "The White Queen has matured since her past."

"Oh, Ororo. I do trust her." Jean said flatly. "She is an X-Man. The sacrifices she'd make in the name of her students.. I have no doubts that this place is safe in her care. She's proven herself." She sighed, "No, the problem is she'd do anything for her kids. No limits. No restraint. If it is for the school, she'd do it. She doesn't care how others perceive her; how her actions reflect on us, and the world at large. If she was allowed in this, she'd scan all minds on earth, instantly summon all life with an X-Gene. And potentially ruin the years of trust we've established for mutant kind. Something that hasn't been easy. Her own past actions attributing. She'd do whatever it takes to keep hers... hers'. So I do trust her, my bias with her past and how she's treated me, and Scott isn't a factor he—"

STOP.

Jean’s mouth stayed open on the cut-off syllable, the "e" of "here" still forming. Her frozen face was crystalline, the soft freckles on her features frozen around the upper curve of her cheek, making the "e" come off like more of an eerily plastic smile, despite the context that the actual tone and sentence would provide. Her chest was mid-sigh, the tight green fabric stretched across the rise of her breasts; her nipples seemed far more prominent as the deep breath she was taking caused them to expand, pressing absurdly blatantly against her second skin.

Storm stood close behind her, one hand still near Jean’s shoulder, brown breasts rising and falling no longer, the soft flesh held perfectly still. A single strand of white hair hung motionless across her cheek. Her frozen features were captured mid-empathy, lips slightly parted, dark eyes wide with understanding for the woman who couldn't see it. The frozen state turned her expression of sisterly concern into something like a predator watching prey.

Time released.

"—re." Jean finished, then continued without missing a beat.

"Of course, not a factor at all." Ororo raised an eyebrow at that. "Well then, Betsy? I see her as more understanding of privacy in the way The White Queen isn't."

"Betsy is filling in for my classes as a substitute teacher. And this is something I want to oversee myself, if I am being fully honest." Jean finally admitted. "Scott’s still in the field. Charles is… unavailable. Someone has to keep the school running." Jean finally lifted the headset. The blue light faded from her eyes. "Besides, I'm not running this alone. You’re the only reason I’m not completely underwater. Your judgment’s been the difference more than on—"

Fast forward again.

Jean’s face blurred into a smile of motion. "—ce. Evah ot ym hcae dna ,kool yrev dna seicurc eht gninrut eht dna ,gnikrow eht ni gniyalp ot desu rof tsuj eht si ti ,dnif I ylefas rof t'nac uoy tub ,eman eht morf sdaerla gnidaer tnereffid eht dna stnemom eht fo tsuj eht dna ,looc era ew ,yad eht ot emiT" Her idiotic sentence dumped out in a high-pitched compressed rush of words; hands moved in a smear of motion, one reaching out to touch Storm’s arm, the other tapping at the console. The entire spree of gestures were completed in less than a second.

Storm’s body and thick lips responded in their own accelerated blur. "—noitcurtsni eht dna snoitacilppa lla dna ,srewop eht fo emiT dna srewop eht fo gnirts eht fo snoitseuq eht gnissim dna ,noitacilppa dna gnin—"

Rewind.

The compressed gibberish sucked back into their mouths, their motions reversing in a smooth, seamless cascade. Jean's smile vanished, her hands snapping back to their earlier positions. Ororo's head tilted back, her body retreating from the console. The entire frenzied exchange erased itself, leaving them standing exactly as they were before the fast-forward.

Resume.

"—You are the only reason I’m not completely underwater. Your judgment’s been the difference more than once." Jean finished, as if nothing had happened. The headset was still on her head. She hadn't taken it off. The conversation had reverted back to an earlier point.

Ororo gave a small, acknowledging nod. She never needed praise, but she accepted it. They were both oblivious to the manipulation of their reality.

"Your—" Jean began to say, slowly raising her hands up.

Fast forward.

Slow was a thing of the past, Jean’s hands blurred as she removed the headset. The rest of her sentence dumped out in a rapid, high-pitched smear "—mgduj retawrednu yletelpmoc ton m’I nosaer ylno eht er’uoY .enola siht gninnur ton m’I ,sediseb—" Her breasts bounced hard inside the green suit from the sudden accelerated motion.

Resume.

The headset clattered onto the console at sonic speed once the fast-forward ended.

Jean blinked, slightly breathless from the sudden shift. But otherwise unaware. She continued her sentence that couldn't have possibly been understood. "—ndercover as transfer students. They’re already enrolled. I would have preferred Jubilee or Kitty for something this low-profile, but—"

Rewind.

Jean’s hands flew back up to her head, the headset leaping from the console and snapping back into place around her temples with a soft click. Her breasts bounced in reverse. Her words, once finished, now reversed back into her throat in a garbled, backward rush, "—tub ,flewol-pwol gnihtemos siht rof yttiK ro eilebuJ derreferp evah dluow I .derollne yreda er’ey—"

Time lurched backward.

Everything pulled back. The headset was now firmly on her head again. Her hands were lowering. They moved back, one to the screen, the other back to her asshole, unprying the skin-tight latex from more comfortable back to fully conforming to her ass and snatch. The entire sequence of events had been undone. They were back where they started.

Resume.

"So I do trust her," She said, now at normal speed. "My bias with her past and how she's treated me, and Scott isn't a factor here."

"Of course, not a factor at all." Ororo raised an eyebrow at that. "Well then, Betsy? I see her as more understanding of privacy in the way The White Queen isn't."

"Betsy is filling in for my classes as a substitute teacher. And this is something I want to oversee myself, if I am being fully honest." Jean finally admitted. "Scott’s still in the field. Charles is… unavailable. Someone has to keep the school running." Jean finally lifted the headset. The blue light faded from her eyes. "Besides, I'm not running this alone. You are the only reason I’m not completely underwater. Your judgment’s been the difference more than once."

Ororo gave a small, acknowledging nod. She never needed praise, but she accepted it.

"Your aid is paramount, Ororo." Jean’s expression shifted; she raised her arms slowly. "Which brings me to the one I can’t get a read on." With a soft click, she removed the helmet. "I need your wisdom and insight on this." A new projection bloomed in the air between them: a teenage boy, average build, short dark hair. Dexter.

"I sent Gwen and Tandy," Jean said. "Undercover as transfer students. They’re already enrolled. I would have preferred Jubilee or Kitty for something this low-profile, but both are still tied up. Jubilee’s with the West Coast team. Kitty’s deep in a retrieval op. I needed people I trust comp—"

STOP.

Jean stood with one hand extended toward the projection of Dexter, mouth open on the unfinished word. She posed as if framed intentionally as a statue of the Greek gods, with her free hand on her hips, thick thighs and legs parted; the green spandex was pulled tight enough across her hips that the line of her sex was faintly visible through the material. Her ass cheeks still remained clearly separated by the riding fabric. The frozen look on her face was serious, focused, but the open mouth and mid-gesture arm made the whole pose look slightly awkward, like a paused cutscene.

Storm’s arms were crossed beneath her breasts, the heavy brown flesh pushed upward and inward, soft upper curves spilling over the corset. Her white hair framed a calm, attentive expression that now looked oddly blank without motion; she took in the sight, or didn't as everything was paused, her wisdom was nothing more than a statue waiting for time to resume.

Which it did.

"—letely." Jean finished.

Storm’s gaze lingered on the image. "You trust them with this?"

"Mutants or not. They’re family in every way that matters," Jean answered. "Same as you. Sister."

She waved a hand. A secondary display opened: a detailed scan of Jean’s own telepathic pulse from the previous night. A soft blue tendril of energy approached a digital render of Dexter’s sleeping form. The pulse slipped toward his head... and stopped. Completely. No resistance. No shield. Just an abrupt halt.

Jean replayed it from multiple angles. Different intensities. Once the pulse slowed, then froze. Another time it simply reflected off.

Storm leaned closer, studying the playback. Her boobs shifting as she crossed her arms, the brown flesh bulging over the top of her corset, her bare brown nipples ticking against the cool mesh-like armor. "It looks like a bounce. Telepathic reflection. Perhaps he has latent shieldin—"

Rewind.

Ororo’s upper body rocked backward. Her breasts lifted in reverse against the corset as her arms uncrossed. The last words reversed into a warped stream:

"—gnidleihs tnetal sah eh spahreP .noitcelfer cihtapalet A .ecnuob a ekil skool tI"

Her mouth moved backward. The soft flesh of her tits compressed upward strangely. Jean’s hand on the display controls moved in reverse as well, the holographic replay winding back.

The rewind stopped. Time flowed forward from a slightly earlier moment.

Storm leaned closer again, studying the playback. Her boobs shifted as she crossed her arms once more. Or from her perspective, the first time. "It looks like a bounce. Telepathic reflection. Perhaps he has latent shielding."

"That’s what I thought at first," Jean said. "But look again. It doesn’t deflect. It reverses. Same speed. Same trajectory. Like the energy itself is being wound backw—"

STOP.

Jean’s mouth hung open on the cut-off word, one finger pointing at the display. Her posture was one of instruction, head tilted. The spandex was pulled taut across her back, the fabric disappearing into the cleft of her ass, the lines of her shoulder blades sharp through the suit. The frozen expression was intent, almost sharp, but the open mouth and mid-point finger gave it a faintly comical quality.

Storm stood beside her, arms crossed, head tilted to follow Jean’s gesture. A lock of white hair had fallen across her cheek, the end of it perfectly still in the recycled air. Her breasts, heavy and round, were compressed by her arms, the dark brown flesh straining against the corset. Her face was a mask of concentration, eyes locked on the frozen hologram, lips parted slightly as

Storm stood half-leaned in, breasts compressed by her crossed arms, white hair hanging still around her face.

Time released.

"—d. Backward." Jean finished.

Ororo watched the animation a second time, then a third. Her expression remained calm, but her eyes sharpened with that quiet, measured focus she was known for. Not genius-level calculation. Just deep, patient understanding. "You’re right," she said at last. "It isn’t a shield. It’s something else. Something that treats the intrusion as an event that can be undon—"

Fast forward.

Ororo’s mouth blurred. The rest of her observation raced out in a compressed high-speed rush:

"—nodnu eb nac taht tneve na sa noisurtni eht staert taht gnihtemos .esle gnihtemos s’tI .dleihS a t’nsi tI"

Her breasts gave a rapid series of small bounces from the accelerated speech and slight head movement. The sentence finished almost before it began.

Jean exhaled. "Which is exactly why I need eyes on the ground. Gwen and Tandy can get close without raising flags. I won’t risk a stronger psychic probe until I know what we’re dealing w—"

STOP

Storm remained close, arms still loosely crossed, heavy brown breasts held in place by the corset, the soft flesh unmoving. Her face was tilted toward Jean, eyes locked on her with a look of intense concentration. Besides her, Jean stood with her shoulders slightly dropped from the sigh, mouth open, green spandex still mercilessly tight across her chest and ass. The fabric between her cheeks had worked itself even deeper during the earlier movements, meaning she'd need to reach a hand back between her butt flesh and pry it out again. Her frozen face carried a tired but determined look, lips parted mid-word, unintentionally making her lips look both kissable and fuckable in this frozen world.

Time resumed.

"—ith." Jean finished.

Storm tilted her head. "You haven’t looked through anyone near him?"

Jean’s mouth tightened slightly. "I try not to. As I said, I'm not Emma. Privacy matters. Especially with potential recruits. But.." She glanced at her oldest friend. "Between you and me, sister.. I did. Once or twice. Sometimes the same pause happened. Other times it worked fine. This morning I saw his mother walk into his room. I tried looking through her eyes. Nothing unusual. She yelled at him about chores. Then she went back to the bathroom, brushed her teeth again, took another shower, and went back to bed. From her perspective it was completely ordinar—"

Rewind.

Jean’s body jerked backward a step. Her mouth moved in reverse, the last stretch of dialogue coming out warped and backward "—yranidro yletelpmoc saw ti evitcepsrep reh morF .deb ot kcab tnew dna ,rewahs rehtona koot ,niaga hteet reh dehsurb ,moorhtab eht ot kcab tnew ehs nehT .serohc tuoba mih ta delley ehS .lausenU gnihton .seye reh hguorht gnikool deirt I .moor sih otni klaw rehtom sih was I gninrom sihT .enif dekrow ti semit rehtO .deneppah esuap emas eht semitemoS .eciwT ro ecno .did I ..retsis ,em dna uoy neewteB"

Her hand left the display. Her shoulders rose as the earlier sigh reversed. Storm’s head tilted the opposite direction.

The rewind stopped at the moment just before Jean’s admission. Time flowed forward again.

Jean’s mouth tightened slightly once more. "I try not to. As I said, I'm not Emma. Privacy matters. Especially with potential recruits. But.." She glanced at her oldest friend. "Between you and me, sister.. I did. Once or twice. Sometimes the same pause happened. Other times it worked fine. This morning I saw his mother walk into his room. I tried looking through her eyes. Nothing unusual. She yelled at him about chores. Then she went back to the bathroom, brushed her teeth again, took another shower, and went back to bed. From her perspective, it was completely ordinary."

Storm was quiet for a long moment. "She went back to sleep? After already waking up?"

Jean gave a shrug. "I'm not prying deep into her week and how exhausted she was or why she wants to sleep on the weekend. As I said, I'm not Emma. I only used her gaze as a window to see what he was doing. And nothing occurred. The worst I saw was that she was rather upset with him and was moving a lot. Other times I try to enter, I just can't, like with Dexter hims—"

STOP.

Jean stood with one shoulder slightly raised from the shrug, mouth open on the unfinished word. Her frozen expression was open, almost conversational, lips still shaped around the last syllable. Unnoticed by Storm, but blatantly visible in this frozen world, her free hand had inched back between the meaty compress cleft of her ass cheeks, and was mid-grabbing her latex, attempting to pry it from the direct mold of her inner ass wall.

Storm watched her in perfect stillness, white hair unmoving, brown breasts heavy and still within the corset. No thought, emotion, or sign of anything that could be awareness oozing out of the otherwise statue of a Goddess.

Time resumed.

Jean resumed; there was a soft *snap* from her ass as she pulled the latex from the mold of her asshole as she finished her sentence, "—elf."

Ororo stood in silence; this time of her own free will as she was allowed to think. For Jean, she would think as hard as she needed to, when her best and most trusted friend was asking for genuine advice. Her mind and well-accounted wisdom simply took in the situation and thought with regal patience. "I do believe he might have a natural effect around him. Something that isn't always present but might be preventing you from entering at times. As the times you were able to look through their eyes, you saw nothing out of the ordinary. It is to be expected when X-Gene begins developing; it isn't known for being easily deciphered. When I first gained my powers, the weather had a mind of its own around me. Whatever his power is,” she said finally, “it isn’t simple. And it already knows how to erase itself from observation. Even if he knows it or no—"

Fast forward.

Ororo’s final words raced out in a high-speed blur, "—on ro ti swonk eh fi nevE .noitavresbo morf flessti esare ot swonk ydaerla ti dnA .elpmiS t’nsi ti ,yllanif dias ehs ,si rewop sih revetahW" She made a few steps forward to gesture to the screen, which would've been fine had she not been moving at ludicrous speeds. Her breasts gave a quick series of soft impacts against the corset from the accelerated movement and speech. Creating such an absurd jiggle, her tits sprang free from her corset three times to smack her face as she kept on spouting gibberish. Well crafted thought, the wisdom she chose to share with the woman she saw as a sister stronger than even blood-tied bonds, just came out as inconceivable chaotic nonsense. While her tits were jiggling like they were in an obscene cartoon. Bouncing to such a degree her spit was flying everywhere, even landing against Jean's own face, and inside her mouth as she opened to respond to this advice with her own inconceivable nonsense.

At super speed, Jean licked her own lips, slapping up Ororo's drool and swallowed, then said "—retsam s’tI .ecnaD eltit a saw I nehw ,rehpicretni yltnereffid eht hguoht gniog dna ,doow eht dna sdriew eht gnillort—" Such a riveting transaction of dialog.

The blur of speed ended.

Jean nodded once. The holographic display of Dexter remained floating between them, quiet and unreadable.

"I'll keep up to date with the two on ground level," she said. "I believe, if anything out of the ordinary is occurring, at the very least Gwen's spider senses will detect it. While Tandy might be able to get an emotional read if something is there that we cannot see."

Storm gave her a genuine smile and a nod, happy to help a friend. The two parted, as Ororo moved to the changing room, preparing to get out of this black and gold corset and thigh-highs to dress in her teacher-ready attire. As Storm was put on the back burner, it was time for Ms. Munroe to rein in her class for Elemental Control and Environmental Awareness; she had papers to grade and didn't have time to waste. Of how convenient it would be to just be able to freeze time and work at her own pace. "Oh, but what a problem such a power would be." Ororo chuckled at her own thought as she clicked off her corset, letting it fall to the floor her massive brown bosom bursting free and falling with gravity, there was a heavy and audibly meaty slap as they flopped down against her sternum. Her brown nipples stiffened from the sudden exposure to the recirculated air in the room.

She began to stretch, her arms rising high above her head, arching her back. A low groan escaped her lips as the tension of the day unwound from her muscles. Her breasts, heavy and full, lifted with the movement; the dark brown areolae stretched into taut ovals. A single drop of sweat, dislodged from her collarbone, traced a slow, glistening path down the valley of her cleavage, disappearing between the soft mounds.

She paused for a moment, noticing her breasts in the mirror. Approaching, she tilted her head and lifted her right boob. Frowning she lightly jiggled the heavy chocolate weight that spilled over her palm as she watched the natural light of the room glisten over her breast. She similarly did the same with her right breast, before crossing her arms under both and cupping them into the light. "Drool?" She murmured. "When did that happen?" She said to herself, noticing the subtle sheen and dried string of saliva that clung to the curve of her upper breast, just below her collarbone. Without a word, she traced a very faint, barely noticeable sheen of saliva from her breast up, and up, where it broke near her collarbone; though, further up, it approached her lower lip, where the other end had seemingly broken. Tilting her head, Ororo eyed her lower lip; there was similar drool on her cheek and upper forearm now that she noticed. Almost like something slapped her fast and she splurted drool through the air.

But she felt nothing. No sting of impact, or the stinging slap of someone else. Only the upper portion of her right breast, where the curve of her propped-up cleavage usually sat within the corset, had the most impact, with the most splotch of drool, than the rest of her.

Before her thoughts could move anymore, as there was nothing really odd, outside of the fact that she was seemingly drooling without realizing it, she noticed the clock. Right. She needed to grade papers before class. Alas, there were more important things to worry about than a bit of dried spit.

But it wasn't dry. She mentally noticed. Propping up her tits even more in a blatant display only she could see.

It was fresh.

The clock ticked.

"The power to stop time would be so useful in moments like these," Ororo said, half joking but still partially in thought while posing before the mirror, holding up her two absurdly massive brown boobs, vaguely thinking about the drool. "But truthfully, I must thank the gods such a power doesn't exist. In our corrupt world, it would be a nightmare to moderate and be used without abuse." She sighed, her propped-up bosom expanding to absurdly comical degrees as she took in a deep waft of air. "Not a toy for—" Before she could even finish that sentence, the entire world stopped.

Ororo stood before the mirror, her arms crossed under her breasts, propping them up towards her own face. The dark-chocolate boobs themselves were expanded to a degree that was borderline obscene, the simple act of filling her lungs causing the heavy mounds to press together and upward, creating a deep, shadowed valley of milk-engorged balloons. Nearly reaching her chin from her pose. Her head was tilted down, her gaze fixed on the fresh drool glistening on her skin. Her entire body was a study in frozen motion, a statue of a goddess caught in a private, slightly ridiculous moment of self-contemplation, the absurdity of her pose only amplified by the complete and utter stillness. The perfectly poised posture, made as if she knew she was to be frozen in time; if placed in a royal throne, this would be a perfect statue to honor the queen of the elementals. The thought was almost laughable if she could think it. But she couldn't think, or blink, or do anything; she simply was, as was Jean, also frozen.

The telepath, having dropped something beneath the desk, had her fat ass protruding high into the air, her green latex suit riding up into the deepest part of her crack, so tight that it was practically being swallowed by her ass. Her back was arched, her head bent down, her hair brushing the floor. Her hands were splayed out, reaching for a stylus that had rolled just out of her grasp. Her position was one of undignified desperation, a powerful woman reduced to a clumsy fool for a fleeting second. This was a scene that no one was ever meant to see. A moment of private, undignified reality. With her big bubble butt fully srapped in a second layer of skin, pussy, nipples and asshole blaitently outlined in the comically tight latex, and Ororo, with her big tits expanded to nearly reach her own face, her back arched and both hands propping them up towards the mirror while her own big black butt was slightly arched in the oipposing direction counter balencing the massive milk weight of her mammeries.

A perfect pair of statuesque idiots.

But whereas before they were frozen for a small period of time. This time.

The clock failed to tick, but as they stood there, as the rest of the world sat motionless, the clock would've ticked for minutes, upon minutes; almost an hour had passed, both women not moving, not thinking, not doing anything but waiting for time itself to resume.