A Day in the Life of Queen Marvel [pt. II]

Written in collaboration with Namichwan

As Jean moved from the lavatory portion of the expansive royal bathroom to the actual baths, an open space with a twenty foot wide pool set into the floor, she was naked once more having left the robe behind after relieving herself.

She smiled at the view waiting for her.

Scott getting sucked and rimmed by two beautiful dark-skinned women.

He was already near the side of the pool, one foot planted on the submerged marble ledge that ran along the perimeter. The posture tipped him forward just enough to expose more of his firm muscular ass to the woman behind him, who knelt with hands spreading his cheeks while her tongue worked steadily at his hole. Palesa. Calm, focused, proud of the privilege to eat her queen’s husband’s ass.

M’Tendia was the one in front of him, under him in the shallows as she sucked his cock with reverent determination, her dark eyes lifted, her braids floating around her shoulders like reeds in the water. One of her hands cupped his balls while the other steadied itself on his thigh as her head bobbed, and Jean caught the hot little flutter of worship in her mind as she worked.

Scott looked magnificent like that. Wide shoulders slick with water and oil. Thick pecs and hard abs flexing subtly each time his breath caught. Narrow hips. Powerful thighs. Body waxed of every last hair, like nearly everyone in Markanda save for a very few, disciplined, still somehow managing to look like himself even while two naked women pleasured him from both ends. His jaw was tight, his face carefully composed, and that only made it sexier.

Though, perhaps what was really arousing was the memory of who he used to be to contrast with how he was now. She’d walked into a room where Scott was thousands of times, and he always had the same worries on his shoulders and face whenever she did. Thinking of nothing but the next mission. Be that protecting mutants, fighting the next major villain, or even their relationship–thinking only of what stage their relationship should be rather than enjoying the moment. The Scott of back then would never be casually engaging in an interracial mutant-human bath time threeway, he wouldn’t even agree to a threesome with Logan (despite her knowing it would help the two men’s working relationship). Jean knew that even now his wonderful mind was still overthinking and focused on how to protect Mark, but the sexual freedom he exuded made her happy for him. Maybe under Mark’s rule he could finally learn how to live.

Jean moved across the space, feeling her boobs and butt jiggle with her steps, even as a pair of twins converged on her with eager, synchronized grace. Peni and Zola wore nothing but jeweled headdresses, their nipple piercings glinting on their small black tits as they came to greet their mutant queen, eyes bright with reverence and hunger. They reached her at the pool’s edge and slipped into the steaming water with her, one on either side, their smooth dark bodies pressing close, hands lifted to serve, smiling with the soft, proud excitement of women granted the honor of tending Jean Grey’s naked body.

"Good morning, Peni, Zola," Jean greeted them, her tone warm and casually intimate.

Scott turned his head at her voice, opening his eyes behind his ruby glasses, “Morning, Jean.”

“How is Mark?” he asked after a moment.

Jean offered a wicked, entirely satisfied smile as Peni moved in close in front of her, working fragrant soap over the heavy swell of her breasts with both hands. The twin’s small dark fingers spread and kneaded the rich lather lovingly across Jean’s soft flesh, cupping the weight of her very large boobs from beneath and stroking them slow and adoringly while her thumbs teased over the pink nipples. Behind her, Zola had already dipped lower in the water, one hand steady at Jean’s hip while the other slipped between her thighs, slim wet fingers gently parting and cleaning her cunt before trailing back to the other hole with the same unhurried, intimate care.

“Oh, our King is doing just fine,” Jean said, her voice thickening slightly as Zola’s touch turned more thorough. “When I left him, he was balls deep in Applejack.”

Scott blinked once behind the ruby lenses. “...Applejack? Not exactly traditional Wakandan. Is that a new maid whose name he couldn’t pronounce?”

Jean’s laugh came out as a soft, throaty purr. Peni leaned in to kiss the upper slope of one soapy breast while still massaging both of them, palms gliding over their lathered fullness. Behind Jean, Zola’s fingers eased deeper for a moment, cleaning her with tender diligence that made her queen’s hips shift almost imperceptibly in the water.

“No,” Jean said, amused. “I just did a little psychic remodeling on Abeni to indulge a childhood cartoon fantasy of his.” Her smile deepened as Zola’s hand slid back up to her slick folds and Peni slowly soaped the undersides of her breasts. “He was terribly embarrassed, which, of course, just made it incredibly sexy to watch.”

Zola had drifted around behind her by then, palms sliding over the backs of her thighs before rising to the soft swells of her ass. The twin bent her head and kissed one full cheek, then the other, slow and adoring, her lips lingering against the warm, jiggly flesh before she began to work fresh soap over both globes. Her small hands spread the lather with loving care, squeezing and smoothing over the plush curves, making them wobble softly under her touch as she cleaned them.

At the same time Peni abandoned any pretense of mere washing. She pressed her face deep into Jean’s wet cleavage with a needy little hum, burying herself between her massive soft breasts as though taking shelter in them. Her fingers found Jean’s nipples again through the slick soap and water and began to work them with practiced precision, rolling and stroking them exactly the way Jean liked, just enough pressure to send a hot little pulse through her belly each time.

Jean’s breath caught, then eased back out as pleasure warmed her from skin to spine. She let Zola knead the fullness of her ass and Peni nuzzle into her cleavage, fingertips teasing her hard nipples while the steam curled around all of them.

“You look incredible like that.” Scott commented even as his own attendants continued to pleasure him.

“And I think you look incredible like that. My straight-laced husband casually getting his ass eaten while another girl chokes on his cock.”

His rueful thought was that she was hardly **** on his dick, but he didn’t voice it as he grinned and shook his head.

Jean loved him. That had never truly gone away.

But it had changed.

The old grand romance was gone now, or at least transformed into something smaller. Her soul did not turn toward Scott first anymore. That place had been taken by Mark. Compared to the blazing, almost sacred depth of her bond with her King, her lover, what remained between her and Scott felt softer, older, almost brotherly in places, like the lingering warmth of a life they had once built together.

And yet she still treasured their sexual connection.

Partly because there was still real affection in it. Partly because Scott’s body-builder physique was beautiful and familiar. But mostly because Mark enjoyed what it had become, and so did Scott. Mark loved cucking him, not as punishment, but as pleasure. Scott got off on seeing Jean fucked by a better younger man. In fact, he preferred watching Mark take her apart to taking her himself. And Mark adored that, reducing Jean’s first husband into a man who found his deepest thrill in seeing, with perfect clarity, that she belonged body and soul to her second husband.

The comfortable silence lingered between them as the ladies worked but eventually Scott spoke up, "It... honestly, it still catches me off guard sometimes. A couple of months ago we were back in New York, stressing over the latest anti-mutant legislation on Capitol Hill, trying to keep the academy afloat while the world debated whether Mutants deserved to exist. We were playing a defensive game. Losing slowly, politely… And now we have Wakanda, the most technologically advanced nation on Earth in our corner.”

“Mar -kanda.” she corrected warmly, before raising an eyebrow and plucked what Scott wasn’t telling her out of his mind.

“I appreciate the thought, but I’d rather learn that Fury spilled the beans to world governments while I’m getting rubbed down than after the bath.”

Scott let out a soft, rueful chuckle, his shoulders dropping a fraction as he shook his head.

"I suppose trying to hide anything from the gorgeous Omega-level telepath was a losing battle," he conceded, offering her an easy, apologetic smile.

"The intelligence analysts are still going over everything," Scott continued, his voice settling into a calm, pragmatic cadence, which was quite hilarious given what was happening at his groin and rear. "But the baseline is exactly what you saw. Most major governments have been briefed. The Avengers have been notified. But tactically speaking? It isn't a critical threat right now."

He let his head tilt back, completely at ease despite the global revelation. "There is going to be a massive amount of recon and endless, closed-door handwringing. Fury knows exactly how the King's power works, which is actually our biggest deterrent. No one in Washington or the UN is anxious to stick their best operatives into the field, not when they know that sending them anywhere near Mark just runs the risk of feeding us more loyal citizens. It’s a nightmare for them."

“Ooh, I sense a classic Scott Summers technical breakdown coming~” Jean teased.

“Hm, sure. For you, hun,” he smirked back at her, stretching those analytical brain muscles in ways that always made the psychics around quiver. “The obvious deterrent is our psychic population. Fury has no real answer to get into the country if we have some of the world’s greatest mental scanners in you, Xavier, Betsy, and Emma.”

“Hm, yes. Emma. Maybe she can be useful, when she’s not schlicking herself silly in her room with Mark’s used underwear on her head.”

“We both know you gave her that fetish…”

“Guilty.”

Scott exhaled at her cheeky grin before continuing, “Obviously, anti-psychic technology does exist. Magneto’s helmet, Juggernaut’s helmet, other psychics, androids. But even these come with limitations that we get around using Shuri’s pre-existing technologies. Juggernaut’s helmet is made of a specific metal that has a signature we can track. Androids don’t have brainwaves but radio waves can be scanned just as easily. Our only real risk is new technologies being invented to counter us, and with both Tony Stark and Reed Richards on Fury’s side we may need to prepare for the unexpected. Though, if he starts allying himself with Magneto or Doom we may be in real trouble.”

“Hm… do you think we need allies of our own?”

“Heh. Mark would just take over the leadership of anyone stupid enough to shake his hand.”
Jean chuckled under her breath, “So you thought of Namor too?”

Scott rested his arms on the marble rim, the picture of absolute confidence in their new order. "Add to that the fact that Wakanda was already a practically impenetrable fortress before we even arrived. Let them stare at the shields and hold their committee meetings. They can't touch him."

Jean’s smile softened, though the knowing light in her eyes did not.

“That said...”

Scott gave a small nod. He understood the shift at once. The easy confidence stayed in his posture, but his attention sharpened. “That said, the first response won’t be military. Not unless people panic faster than usual. Fury will start with heroes, specialists, assets he can keep deniable. People who can bypass a border, ignore conventional defenses, or get close to Mark without looking like an invading ****.”

Jean hummed at that, half from thought, half from the way Zola’s sponge slid slowly up the inside of her thigh. “The sort of move he can still frame as containment instead of open war.”

“Exactly.” Scott’s jaw tightened for a second as M’Tendi on his cock changed her rhythm, then he settled again, voice calm and measured. “No place is untouchable. Not in our world. Not with the number of variables in play. Gods, aliens, sorcerers, people with one very specific trick that happens to be the wrong one for us. We’d be idiots to think a shield and a mountain range make Mark safe.”

Jean opened her eyes fully then, blue gaze settling on him through the steam with approval instead of alarm. That was Scott. Not a man who comforted himself with fantasies of invulnerability. A man who looked at the board and counted every ugly piece.

“But,” she said.

“But,” Scott agreed, “that cuts both ways. They know what Mark can do, sending people close to him is dangerous. Every hero they dispatch is also a possible addition to our side. That makes every move feel expensive. Risky. Personal.” He paused. “And personal risk makes people hesitate.”

Jean went still for just a moment.

It was not Scott’s words alone. It was the shape of them. The angle. The opening they made.

Hesitation. Confusion. Disgust.

The world not acting cleanly because the thing in front of it was too strange, too lurid, too embarrassing to handle with a single clear moral line.

And beneath that thought, warm and pulsing like a second heartbeat, Jean brushed against what Mark had already been doing to Wakanda since the moment he took it. A country where the king spent half his time buried in beautiful women, where royal celebrations turned into open spectacles of mutant virility and worship, where maids, queens, guards, and common women alike had been taught to see that appetite not as vice but as order. Sex. Breeding. Adoration. The whole nation already learning to move to the rhythm of Mark’s hunger.

And from the outside, what would that look like?

Not discipline. Not strategy. Not statecraft.

Self-indulgence. Excess. A mutant boy-king fucking his way through a conquered paradise while the women of Wakanda smiled, spread their legs, and called it purpose.

Jean’s lips parted slightly.

Scott noticed at once. “What?”

She gave a quiet laugh, rich and low. “Mark.”

Scott’s brow lifted. “What about him?”

Jean leaned back against the marble edge and let Peni work lather over the swell of her breasts while she considered how best to phrase it. “He’s already doing it,” she said softly. Her smile deepened. “That’s the point. Mark’s appetites are already shaping the country. He fucks who he wants. He breeds who he wants. And because I’ve made sure the women of Markanda want that too, it doesn’t feel like chaos from the inside. It feels like order. Pleasure. Purpose. We’ve been living inside that reality.” Her eyes gleamed. “I think it’s time we start using it.”

Scott studied her. “I’m about to hear something outrageous.”

“No,” Jean said softly. “Something obvious.”

She turned her head slightly, gaze drifting, not away from him but inward, toward the shape of the thing forming in her mind. “What do they think Wakanda is, Scott? To the outside world. Not to us. To them.”

“A black fortress with impossible technology and a superiority complex,” he said without missing a beat.

Jean smiled. “And mutants?”

“A danger. A nuisance. A disease. Depending on who you ask.”

“Yes.” Her smile lingered. “Now imagine giving both groups exactly what their enemies always feared they would become.”

Scott was silent.

Jean let the thought breathe.

“A hidden black kingdom,” she said, voice almost dreamy now, “ruled by mutants. Hyper-fertile. Hyper-sexual. Beautiful. Triumphant. A place where human women adore mutant men openly and human men are expected to live with it. A place where every womb in the country is understood to be part of the same national project.”

The woman behind Scott let out a tiny involuntary sound at that, some **** shiver of excitement passing through the room like the faintest breeze.

Scott’s expression did not change much, but Jean saw the instant it clicked behind his eyes.

“Make more mutants,” he said, referencing Kurt’s zealous sermons.

Jean’s smile flashed, bright and intimate. “Exactly.”

He leaned a little more heavily against the marble rim, no longer thinking about Fury first, or the Avengers, or conventional response ladders. He was following the larger current now. “Not just as policy.”

“No.” Jean’s voice grew silkier. “As atmosphere. As identity. As the first thing anyone thinks when they think of Markanda.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed, interested. “You want it to become the story.”

“I want it to become so thoroughly the story that people **** on it.” Jean’s fingers drifted down into Zola’s wet braids for balance as the woman kissed slowly at her thigh. “Let them call it obscene. Let them call it race madness, mutant madness, breeding madness, whatever filth they need to wrap around it. The point is that they’ll be reacting to the spectacle before they react to the reality.”

Scott was quiet for a few seconds.

Then, very softly, “Refuge in audacity.”

Jean looked at him with naked approval. “Yes.”

He turned it over quickly, the way Scott always would. Not emotionally. Tactically. “If they look at Markanda and see a strategic threat, they coordinate faster. If they look at Markanda and see a fever dream, a giant pornographic psychosis, they argue first.” His mouth twitched. “Governments. Heroes. Commentators. Everyone.”

Jean nodded. “Some will want to destroy us. Some will want to pretend not to look. Some will think we’re too grotesque to touch without contaminating themselves politically. Some will tell themselves this is all too ridiculous to be stable.”

“And meanwhile,” Scott said, “we get time.”

“Yes.”

He let out a slow breath. “Time to consolidate. Time to integrate more assets. Time to let the new normal set.”

Jean’s gaze sharpened. “Time to make it true.”

Scott looked at her for a long moment, then down at the dark head between his thighs, then back again. There was no mockery in his face. No disbelief. Only the hard, adaptive intelligence that had always made him dangerous, now turned toward a new center.

“Mark’s fantasy,” he said.

Jean gave a small, amused shrug. “Mark’s fantasies may be adolescent in texture. Not in utility.”

That made Scott snort quietly.

“He wants black women worshipping mutant cock,” Jean said, utterly unashamed, almost fond. “He wants women all melting around the same truth. That mutant seed should replace human legacy wherever possible. That the women see it as pleasure and the men learn to live with it.” Her eyes half-lidded. “He’s still embarrassed when I touch that part of him. It’s sweet.”

Scott considered that calmly. “And you think the fantasy scales.”

Jean’s answer came instantly. “Of course it scales.”

She lifted one wet hand from the water and let it trail lazily through the steam as she spoke, sketching the outline of a nation only she could fully see yet.

“Humanity attacks mutants generation after generation. Politically, militarily, culturally, biologically. They try to contain us. Outnumber us. Outbreed us. Outvote us.” Her voice remained soft, but something colder moved under it now. “So the solution is not merely to defend mutant lives one at a time. The solution is to convert the reproductive future of an entire society into mutant advantage.”

Scott’s eyes held hers. “Human wombs as seedbeds.”

“Yes.”

There was no flinch in either of them.

No sense that this was too far, too strange, too monstrous to say aloud. In the warm water, with human women tending their bodies and the steam curling around polished black stone, it sounded not mad but clarifying. Elegant, even. The answer that should have been obvious all along.

Scott gave a small, thoughtful nod. “Kurt’ll love it.”

Jean laughed. “He’d turn it into a sermon by lunch.”

“Make. More. Mutants.”

“Yep.”

He rolled the phrase around in his mind, testing its uses. Jean could almost feel the doctrine beginning to harden. Not fully formed yet. Not law. Not ritual. Just the germ of it. A line simple enough to preach, broad enough to build a culture around, hungry enough to justify almost anything.

Scott’s voice stayed cool, but a deep current of conviction had entered it now. “And for the people who hate mutants, it confirms every nightmare they ever had. For the people who hate Wakanda, it gives them permission to enjoy the humiliation. For the ones who hate both...”

“They’ll gorge themselves on it,” Jean said. “And tell themselves that because they enjoy the image, it cannot possibly be a serious threat.”

Scott gave a low hum of agreement. “Racists of both stripes jerking off to their own extinction.”

The vulgarity of it made Jean laugh, bright and low and full in her chest.

“You know I’m right.” he added.

“I do.” She shifted slightly as Zola’s mouth found the slick folds between her legs, her breath catching for one warm second before evening out again. “And while they’re busy deciding whether Markanda is a threat, a joke, a fetish, a race panic, or a mutant cult...” She looked directly at him. “We keep building.”

Because she was in all of them, because every pulse of arousal in the bath brushed against her mind like warm silk, she felt the shape of M’Tendia’s desire with perfect clarity. The lithe young woman had gone almost reverent around Scott’s cock, her mouth working with steady devotion while inside her thoughts there was nothing steady at all. Only hunger. Hope. A pleading little storm offered upward toward Bast.

Please. Please let him choose me. Let him put it in me. Let me take mutant seed into my womb.