Jean stroked slower to bring Emma down, then slipped her fingers out carefully and licked them clean before easily lifting Emma into her arms and sitting on the desk with the White Queen in her lap.
Emma immediately struggled out of Jean's arms, brushing her sweat-dampened hair out of her face and trying to regain a sense of propriety. But the hurt look on Jean's face quelched her need for adolescent pride, and with a sigh of defeat she sat back on the doctor's lap, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Jean's ear and kissing her lips softly. "Amazing," she whispered, trying for once not to be selfish. She wanted Jean to know how good it felt, how well she'd done, what a good 'student' she had been. Jean's earnest expression called for nothing else, and nothing else would do. The smile she was rewarded with calmed her irritation at her loss of dignity.
Jean was nervous to say the least until Emma said that one word and kissed her. She smiled, wrapping her arms around Emma and holding her close. She too felt something besides sex was going on, but she didn't have the will nor the energy to examine it just now. Whatever it was, they'd work it out some other time. She was about to say something when Emma's expression faded to one of displeasure.
"Now," Emma said, back in her usual self-assured state of being. "I'm not sure what made you think it was okay to order me around like you did, young lady, but let me assure you, it is not. You will never speak to me in that manner again, do you understand?" She stood up again, in front of Jean, her eyes twinkling as she looked at the redhead.
Jean blushed darkly, averting her eyes from the gaze boring into them, and curled her knees to her chest. How did Emma manage to make her feel like a naughty schoolgirl with just a look and a stern voice? When just moments ago she was running the show, suddenly she was on the verge of some sort of punishment... a punishment she was not likely to refuse... a punishment she was looking forward to, no matter what it might be. It had been far too long since Jean let her wild side out, her sense of adventure, and Emma brought it out with such ease that it was actually a relief to acquiesce to whatever the queen had planned. Jean's heartbeat picked up again with excitement, the unknown factor hanging above her head causing her to bite her lip against the smile she felt coming on. "Yes Ma'am," she answered in a properly penitent tone, lowering her eyes to stare at Emma's boots.
"I can't let this go, you do realize that, don't you Miss Grey?" Emma continued, the familiarity of this role putting her back at ease within seconds.
"Yes Ma'am," came the tiny reply.
"What do you think I should do about your lack of respect?"
Jean blushed even darker, hundreds of scenarios flying through her brain at lightning speed, each one dismissed as soon as it entered. It wasn't up to her. "Whatever you think is warranted, Ma'am," she answered obediently, lifting her eyes to the smooth, flawless skin of Emma's face.
Emma's grin turned wicked. "Let's go to my room, darling. There are so many toys I want to use on you... I think first I'll fit you with some steel shackles and chain you to my bed. Then I might get out my beautifully crafted singletail..." Oh, the possibilities were endless with a willing partner, and Jean was so obviously willing that it clamped a vice around Emma's chest, making it hard to breathe. Jean was the perfect submissive - petulant when called for, shy and respectful when it fit the scene, nervous all the time. Emma's more predatory instincts latched onto the nervous part of Jean, wanting to twist it into something sinister, but each time she entertained that thought, her heart pulled as she looked at Jean's open, beautiful, trusting face, and she reminded herself not to break her.
Jean bit her lip at the prospect and moved to pull her pants and panties back up for the trek to Emma's room when the classroom door blew off its hinges and there stood Scott and Storm. And now her fingers wouldn't work, they were shaking too much, so she used her TK to yank her clothing back into place before she got even more embarrassed than she already was, which would be literally impossible. Her face was as red as her ass and she wanted to sink into the floor, wishing she had Kitty's power for a moment…
Emma on the other hand – calm, cool, collected Emma – just smirked, made a slight show of leaning down to pick up her discarded white lace g-string, and strode toward the door, handing the very wet panties to Scott. "Be a dear and reunite this garment with my sunglasses, would you?" she said, smiling at Storm and stepping between the two of them out the door. She turned and leveled her icy stare at Jean. "Jean," she ordered pointedly, "come here."
Scott had not missed the red stripes covering Jean's ass before she'd managed to get her clothes up, not to mention the redness of her left cheek, and the way Emma was treating her had him suddenly worried. "Did she hurt you?" he asked, ignoring Emma's saucy comment about the sunglasses and starting to move toward Jean, but Storm got in his way, whispering something into his ear that made him look very grim but stopped him in his tracks.
Jean would have to thank Ororo later, whatever she said to him. "No, Scott," she whispered, lowering her eyes as she moved past him to the door and the patiently waiting Emma. Dear God, this was humiliating. And the look on Emma's face was a little scary. But this wasn't her fault! And why the hell had Scott blasted the door instead of knocking?
Emma caught Jean's thought and chuckled. "They did knock, darling, we were busy," she answered the unspoken question with a wink.
Scott looked like he wanted to strangle Emma as he shoved past the three women and went off someplace to sulk. Just like him, Jean thought. Storm gave the girls a small smile, knocking Jean playfully on the arm. "That must have been some spanking," she teased, and before Jean had the chance to shrink against Emma for protection from the teasing, Ororo tousled her already tousled hair and walked away, leaving Jean and Emma to (not) wonder what the two had wanted in the first place.
Emma of course smirked at the retreating Storm, then turned to Jean with a slight frown. "When I tell you to come here, you come here. You don't look at anyone else or speak to anyone else. Is that clear?" she reprimanded her quietly but sharply.
Jean shivered. What had she gotten herself into? Oh who was she kidding, she fucking loved every minute of it. Emma could command her senses like no one else could. "Yes Ms. Frost," she whispered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in an adorably nervous gesture. She felt Emma's projected urge to stick her in a schoolgirl uniform and spank her again. At that she managed to squelch a gasp of surprise, not wanting Emma to know she'd received the thought.
"Good girl," the White Queen answered regally, petting Jean's hair and kissing the top of her head. "Follow me."
Jean had never been inside Emma's bedroom – it looked just like her. It felt like her too, and there was a slight chill in the air befitting the queen of ice. Everything was white, from the ornate bedside tables to the satin sheets and comforter, to the walls, the plush carpet, the leather recliner and the iron bed frame. Normally she would comment on the lack of color, but the precarious position she was currently in prevented her from daring to do so. She didn't want to see that disappointed frown on Emma's face again.
The sound of Emma's lilting voice jarred Jean from her exploration of the room. "Shall I put out a 'do not disturb' sign?"
Jean scowled, shooting Emma a glare of her own. She wanted to forget that Scott and Storm had seen her like this, and it was just like Emma to torture her with the memory.
The White Queen closed the distance between them and stood with her face a breath away from Jean's… "I'm going to wipe that insolent look off your face," she promised, licking Jean's cheek slowly before pulling back and giving it another good hard slap.
Jean whimpered, her knees going weak, that familiar tingle in her belly returning full force to haunt her. Why was she enjoying this? Emma had just slapped her face… and Jean was ready to do anything for her.
Emma absolutely adored the whimper Jean let out – it might very well have been the most erotic sound she'd ever heard. She purred and rubbed Jean's stinging cheek, giving it a few firm pats and then forcing Jean to look at her with a tight grip on her chin. "Go into that closet," she instructed, nodding toward the closet in question, "and bring me back something. You have two minutes." She sent Jean off with a bruising kiss, then reclined on her bed to watch and wait.
A sound of disbelief could be heard from the closet as Jean opened the doors and looked inside. Black, everywhere. Not a trace of white… black whips, black chains, black objects that made Jean tremble. How was she supposed to pick something out when she barely knew what any of it was? Her eyes roamed the expanse of the rather large walk-in closet, and she ruled out anything sharp or too heavy. Had it been two minutes yet? She didn't want to get in any more trouble. Finally a smooth black leather belt caught her eye, and she ran her fingers down the length of it, the feel making her stomach jump. She carefully took it from its peg and turned, walking back to Emma and holding it out to her while staring at the carpet. "Here," she whispered.
Emma grinned, taking the belt and wrapping it around her hand a few times, holding onto the buckle for a base. "Very nice," she said approvingly, nodding at Jean's choice. "Take your clothes off."
The command seemed to sort of come out of nowhere, and surprised Jean for a moment. Wasn't Emma supposed to strip her of her clothes? This line of thought wouldn't get her anywhere, though, and when Emma slapped the end of the belt into the palm of her own hand, Jean's thighs clenched and she got to work getting undressed. The jeans and panties went first, and the cool air felt very nice on her backside. She unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her shoulders, then removed her bra and started to fold her clothes.
Emma laughed. "Jean, what are you doing? Leave them and come here."
Jean started at the voice, having not even realized she was folding the clothes. Habit, she supposed. With a sheepish grin she dropped them to the floor and climbed up onto the bed in front of Emma.
Emma leaned forward and kissed Jean's cheek, then ran her fingers over the leather belt with a sigh. "I'm surprised you didn't pick a strap-on."
Jean blinked, glancing toward the closet. "I didn't see any…"
"They're in the first and second drawers of the étagere…"
The redhead's lower lip worried its way out into a very endearing pout and her voice held a childish whine. "Is it too late to change my mind?"
Emma's look spoke volumes, but she answered vocally anyway. "Of course. Now be a good girl and get on your hands and knees."
Emma could hear another tiny whine as Jean complied, pushing onto her hands and knees in the middle of the bed, her head dropped between her shoulders, burgundy tresses splaying across the white satin comforter. The contrast was exquisite and Emma wished she had a camera within reach. She burned the image into her memory in case she never had the opportunity to do this again.
The White Queen kicked off her shoes and stood up on the bed, towering above Jean with a devious grin on her painted lips. She uncoiled the belt and folded it in half, pulling it taut with a loud crack, the noise almost sending Jean sprawling onto her front in surprise. If it sounded that painful, she could only imagine how painful it was going to feel. Her entire body quivered with anticipation, sweat already dampening the hair at the back of her neck.
Emma unfolded the belt again, grasping the buckle and letting the other end fall lightly across Jean's shoulders and criss-crossed down her back. "You're going to be my good girl and stay on your hands and knees, Jean," she commanded in a very enticing drawl. "You're not going to fall or we'll start over."
It was all Jean could do to get an answer out through the wave of uncertainty and arousal that washed over her. "Yes Ma'am."
"Delightful." And with that, Emma began. She drew the belt back and forward with practiced ease, landing a solid stroke across Jean's left shoulder blade, avoiding the bones of course.
Jean cried out, her head shooting up and back, a stripe of heat rushing to the surface where she'd been struck. Son of a bitch, that hurt… and in a much different way than the paddle. It stung more, and it hurt ten times worse on her shoulders than on her ass. Another stroke caught her other shoulder blade, and she dropped her head forward again, gasping for breath. Her elbows wavered, but she pushed them straight, refusing to let herself fall.