Back on the Island

Emma stuck a single finger out the gate; just enough that the very tip of her finger, right past the nail, entered the Krakoan air. She put the index and middle fingers of her other hand on her temple and concentrated. She had done this before. Being on the other side of the Krakoan gate, even just barely, meant she could scan the island. Looking for mutants this way wasn't a perfect process, as there were enough mutants on the island that some were bound to be naturally resistant to telepathy. That wasn't what she was looking for though. She wasn't scanning the nation of Krakoa. She was scanning the island. The living island was itself a mutant, and it fed by absorbing the psychic energy of other mutants. To build the island, Professor X convinced it that passively absorbing the bare minimum from hundreds of thousands of mutants would still be a better feast than draining half a dozen dry once a decade. Krakoa agreed. That absorption, like any energy transfer, left a trail. You just needed to know what to look for and you could feel just the tiniest flow of psychic energy down into the earth and towards the core of the island. Tiny pricks stretching downwards like roots. You could see where everyone was.

'There's three signatures right on the southern edge of the beach,' Emma thought to herself. 'Their signatures are bobbing back and forth just slightly. They're drunk.' She leaned her body towards the gate and pushed her finger further into the Krakoa border; just to her second knuckle.

'Head back inland.' She sent to the late-night beachgoers' minds. Normally this wouldn't work, but they were pretty drunk. She felt the psychic trails move away from the beach.

'Okay, the gate shouldn't be within their eye line now.' She pulled her finger out of the gate and back into Dublin. She looked around the misty town square she was still in. 'Let me just give it a couple of seconds.' She took a deep breath and slowly walked through the gate. She felt around with her mind. No one on the beach. Her eyes confirmed that.

"Good evening Mrs. Frost." A voice said from behind her.

'Shit.'

A figure walked out from behind the gate. They were waiting for her, whoever it was. As her eyes adjusted to the pale light the gate gave off she recognized them. It was the pudgy bartender from earlier today. No way she could let him remember seeing her like this.

"What are you doing out so late?" His arms were crossed and he had a smug look on his face. He had changed his clothes to an equally dirty and crumpled set, wore actual sunglasses at night, and had some silver wreath on his head like some self-absorbed emperor. She didn't have time for this. She squinted her eyes, pressed two fingers on her temple, and put her other hand between her and the boy.

'Sleep,' She pushed into his mind. He still stood there with his shit-eating grin. 'Wait.' Even if he had telepathic resistance, she'd feel it. Instead, there was nothing. It felt like hitting a wall. 'That fucking wreath.' She went diamond and lunged to grab it off his head. He weaved under her but was sent back first into the sand. She tried to close in but he skittered backwards with a look of terror on his face.

"Wait!" He said, out of breath.

"No," Emma responded. She brought down a diamond foot where his leg just was.

"I'm recording everything!" He shouted as he raised his hands up to protect himself. She stopped at that, her torso right above his. His eyes were closed as he leaned his face as far from Emma as possible. Those glasses. Sage wore those. They had cameras in them. More importantly, they had computers in them. Did he know how to use them? If so he could already be uploading the footage of her attacking him to Sage. Or he could have already called someone else. She backed away from him before something she couldn't explain ended up immortalized on film.

"What do you want?" Emma asked as she stood up. She was now painfully aware of her attire. She was still wearing her cheap Dublin stripper outfit with just a drab fur overcoat. She pulled the coat over her body and tied it closed, then de-diamonded. The boy had already gotten up and was wiping sand from his back. He straightened out his wreath and pulled it further down to avoid future slipping. Then, he corrected his glasses.

"Well, Emma—"
"Miss Frost."
"Emma. As I was saying, I'm recording. I was also recording at the club." He said the last line like it was some revelation. Well if he was expecting a reaction Emma didn't give it to him. Of course he was recording at the club. He was waiting for her here, and he knew it was her from behind the gate. The only way he'd know she would be coming from the Dublin gate was if he was tracking her and got here first to cut her off. "Right now no one else knows but if we have another outburst I'll send it to everyone on my list. If I'm ****, or the glasses or the headband are taken off without my say-so, it'll send automatically."

"And I assume you want me to shimmy my chest and ride you in exchange for your secrecy?" She crossed her arms.

"Well, I was thinking more a blowjob," He snorted.

"Of course you were. How do I know you won't just keep the footage anyway?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

"Well, I don't. You're a creep, a lecher, and now you're a blackmailer."

"Is that any way to treat the person with your future in his hands?"

"You and I both know that I've done much more explicit and promiscuous things than strip. Why do you think I would care so much?" He chuckled like he knew a joke she didn't.

"Let's just say I'm confident you don't want this particular one getting out." He said while shaking his head. "Just give me the blowie and once you swallow I'll hand the glasses directly to you to crush." Emma wasn't born yesterday. She noticed he made no mention of getting rid of additional copies. Still, she had no intention of playing fair either. Get one filthy boy's rocks off, then after the instant streaming device was off his face and in her hands she'd hit him where it hurts, rip that stupid anti-telepathy headdress from him, and wipe his mind of this entire affair—plus add a mental trigger to find and erase all his contingencies. He wouldn't even remember the fellatio and after enough bottles of wine and enough time brushing at the sink, neither would she. She glanced at the ground. Did he really have to choose the beach for this? She took off the coat and laid it out in between them, then dropped to her knees on top of it.

"Just whip it out before someone finds us."

Author's note: And that's it for today's update! Sorry to leave you guys on a cliffhanger but like, you can get your rocks off to that strip scene and I think you'd rather have that than like, me never posting again. Now the actual blowjob chapter has been started and the next few chapters are planned out with decreasing detail. I'll be honest tho, I said at the top I have like, so many other branches I could and should update and there's no guarantee I'll update any of them, including this one. I wanna come back to this sooner but I also wanted to never ditch this branch in the first place. I'll give you a tip tho: If you like this writing the next two on my list are my Mind-Controlling Metahuman branch and this new branch I'll be adding to the Busty Women branch of Sexual Privilege.

As always, call me out for any grammar, spelling, or factual. Even just writing writing choices you don't like. A side effect of the break is my list of future mutant targets is more flexible so if you have suggestions tell me.