WARNING!!! The following story contains bondage, domination, and extremely adult sexual situations. If this isn't the kind of thing you're interested in, for heavens sake DON'T READ IT!!! You should be OVER 21 YEARS OF AGE to read this, as it is intended for adults only.
This story is written as satirical fiction for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended to gather monetary recompense in ANY WAY, SHAPE, or FORM...it is freely offered for interested readers only.
The original creations of Jean Grey, Susan Storm (Invisible Woman), Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch), Reed Richards and Fantastic Four are copyrighted by Marvel Comics.
UnStable - A Marvelous Ponygirl Story - Pt. 1
Though it was evening, Jean Grey could feel the day's warmth radiating from the crisp lawn as she crossed the distance between the limo that had dropped off and their destination: the manor at the other end of the courtyard. By the young X-woman's side were two heroines with whom she had enjoyed a long and enduring friendship: Susan Storm, the Invisible Woman and Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch. All three women had been fighting crime -occasionally together, often apart- since their late teens, and now that they were in their mid-20s, an easy rapport had developed between them that those who hadn't shared their experiences could not hope to understand.
That the other two had likewise accepted this invitation to be honored here tonight was one of the main reasons Jean agreed to come. The three women were enveloped in a comfortable silence, walking purposefully along to the slight, humid breeze that rustled the lush green leaves of the tress surrounding the sprawling English-style countryside estate.
Susan, the most mature of the three, kept smoothing out her long skirt and glanced self-consciously from side to side. Wanda clutched her bottle of champagne and looked tense but determined. Jean sympathized with both of them. Susan was always the most cautious, the most maternal, even among the Fantastic Four. And Wanda... Wanda had so much going on in her life that a night of being celebrated probably felt a bit unearned. But Jean, who had likewise not had the easiest life since joining Xavier's school as a superheroine, felt a strange sense of calm. If their host tonight wished to honor superheroines, well...where Wanda and Susan might be a bit numb to that sort of thing, Jean had chosen to indulge it for once.
As they approached the grand manor, the ancient stone facade casting long, dancing shadows, Jean noticed the subtle details that spoke to their host's peculiar tastes.
The cobblestone path was lined with lively but gnarled little trees, their branches reaching out like fingers. The manor itself was a masterpiece from another era, similar to the X-Mansion in size but much more stately. But time and neglect had taken their toll, leaving cracks in the stone and ivy creeping up the walls. Yet, despite the decay, there was an undeniable allure to the place, a sense of established wealth that would normally be off-putting to the three heroines, if not for nature of their invitation.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a man who could only be their host. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
His smile was charming, and he carried himself with the practiced ease of someone who was used to getting what he wanted. He was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, but his hands, oh, his hands were rough, calloused, the hands of a man used to physical labor. "So he hasn't always been rich," thought Jean.
"Welcome, welcome," he said, his voice a deep, smooth baritone. "I've been expecting you. I am Robert Haltom, your host." He bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving theirs. "I know this is something of a PR function imposed on you by the government, but please know that I mean it sincerely when I say that we, all of Americans, thank you for what do every day. Honestly, I just wanted you to be able to enjoy yourselves." He stepped aside, allowing them to stroll past him and under broad threshold.
He smiled charmingly. "But enough of that for now. Please, come in. I've prepared some refreshments for us upstairs in the drawing room." As they followed him, Jean couldn't help but notice the way Wanda's red patent heels clicked on the ancient parquet floor, echoing through the vast, empty halls. They were all dressed in evening gowns rather than their costumes, as the whole point of the evening was to help smooth over the nature of their powers and show themselves as true American women, worthy of honor. That said, Susan had confessed to being the least comfortable with such a premise, especially as the men of her team had been intentionally left off the guest list. The Invisible Woman walked close to Jean, her arm brushing against hers, seeking comfort. Even had the rest of the Fantastic Four been there, Susan didn't like pomp and ceremony, and grew self-conscious when being publicly thanked. Jean gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
The drawing room was a grand affair, with high ceilings and a massive fireplace. A silver tray sat on a low table, filled with crystal glasses and a bottle of champagne.
Robert gestured towards it, "Please, help yourselves before we go to the main dining area to honor your heroics. Though they mean to celebrate you, it can be a little...stuffy with this crowd. I find that a little bubbly helps to... loosen things up."
Jean poured the champagne, her hands steady despite the nervous knot in her stomach. She handed a glass to Susan, then to Wanda, before taking one for herself. Robert began to chat up the women animatedly, and Jean soon felt her and her friends' discomfort melt away, as though they were chatting with an old, grateful friend. Perhaps this night would be relaxing after all.
As they sipped their champagne, Jean felt a strange sensation, a tingling in her fingertips, a warmth spreading through her veins.
She looked at Susan and Wanda, their eyes glassy, their movements slow. She realized too late that the champagne had been drugged. Her telepathy failed her, her powers dampened by the unknown substance coursing through her bloodstream.
Robert watched them, his charming smile never wavering, but his eyes were cold, calculating. "There now," he said, his voice a low purr, "no need to fight it, my dears. You'll be happy here. Just... let go."
Jean felt her knees buckle, her body heavy as lead.
She tried to reach out with her mind, to call for help, but her thoughts were sluggish, her powers a distant echo. She saw Susan and Wanda stumble, their eyes fluttering closed. Then, darkness claimed her.
Jean woke to the sound of hooves clattering on stone. Her head throbbed, her mouth was dry, and her body ached as if she'd run a marathon. She blinked, her vision swimming into focus. She was in a stable, the air thick with the scent of hay and horses. She could hear the soft nickers of the animals in the stalls nearby.
The stable was dimly lit, the only light filtering in through the small, dusty windows high above. She could make out the shapes of Susan and Wanda, both of them stripped of the gowns they'd worn to the estate, but both adorned in bizarre walnut-brown leather harnesses strapped and buckled across their torsos, almost like rustic straight jackets.
Additionally, Wanda still wore her red shoes and thigh high stockings, Susan her matronly beige pantyhose and brown slingback pumps . They were both bent over at the waist, their bottoms sticking out as their torsos rested on a large wooden table sprinkled with bits of straw. Their wrists and ankles were bound with leather straps attached to their harnesses. They looked up at Jean, their eyes filled with fear and confusion; clearly they, like her, had just been awakened.
Jean tried to move, to go to them, but she found that she too was bound, her arms and legs strapped to a wooden frame, her body stretched out, vulnerable. Like the others, her gown was gone, leaving her only in her gartered black stockings and heels. Unlike the others, though, she hadn't been tethered into a leather harness...and her bra remained: a sheer, lacy black garment tasked with holding aloft her unusually large breasts.
She could feel the rough wood against her back and the backs of her thighs, even through the stockings, the cool air nipping at her exposed flesh. She tugged at her restraints, her pulse quickening as panic set in. This was not the typical kidnapping she'd suffered so many times in the past, being bound by some vaudeville supervillain like a damsel in distress. This was something else entirely; it felt sinister.
Jean tested her binds again, her wrists and ankles chafing against the leather straps. She could feel the power within her, the telekinesis and telepathy that had always been a part of her, but it was muted, dampened by whatever drug Robert had used on them. But on the periphery of her powers, she could sense Susan and Wanda's fear, their confusion, and it made her heart ache.
She reached out with her mind, trying to comfort them, but her abilities were still sluggish, her thoughts muddled. She could only manage a weak, "It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out."
Wanda groaned, her eyes blinking back the fear she clearly felt. "Jean... what's happening? Why are we... like this?"
Before Jean could respond, the stable door creaked open, flooding the room with harsh, artificial light. Robert strode in, his riding boots clicking on the stone floor.
He was dressed differently now, no longer in the tailored suit but in tight-fitting breeches and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of his tanned, muscular chest. In his hand, he held a riding crop, tapping it lightly against his thigh.
"Ah, my little fillies," he said, his voice a low purr. "I see you're all awake. Good. I want you to be fully aware for your training." He walked around them, his eyes roaming over their bodies, lingering on their curves.
He stopped behind Wanda, examining her nude buttocks pointedly, his hand rising to trace the line of her lovely pink stocking top...before apparently thinking better of it? He rested his hand by his hip, but did not move on, his admiration of her rearward curves still obvious "You're all so beautiful," he murmured, "so full of potential. I can't wait to see you in your new roles."
"What do you mean?" Susan asked, her voice trembling slightly. Jean suspected -no, knew- that Susan's superheroine antics had likewise exposed her to several kidnappings, but there was nothing in her history like this, she was sure of it. Like Jean, this was scary, untrodden territory. "What are you going to do to us?"
Robert chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "All in good time, my dear. First, let's get you ready." He snapped his fingers, and two shadowy figures emerged through the same door from which Robert had entered. They were tall, muscular, their faces obscured by masks like canvas bags with eyeholes.
The first one approached Susan, holding a leather...bridle? There was no other word for it. It was the same color as her harness, and adorned with silver studs. Robert followed closely behind, his hand moving to gently caressing her rump, which caused Sue to startle. "Now, my dear," he said, his voice a low purr, "let's get you properly fitted for your new role."
The henchman gently began to slip the bridle over Susan's head, positioning it so that it encircled her jaw and rest on her neck and shoulders. As with a bridle, Jean was shocked to see that it came complete with a bit that fit into Sue's mouth.
Sue tried to twist away, but her movements were so slow. Robert, meanwhile, continued to pet her, his touch soothing despite the circumstances. "Easy, girl," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I know this is a lot to take in, but trust me, you're going to enjoy this."
Susan was trembling, her body rigid, and Jean knew she was trying to become invisible, to reach out for a power that was not there. But there was something in Robert's voice, the way he spoke to her, that made Sue pause. He wasn't forceful, nor was he violent - instead, there was a note of genuine care in his tone, a concern for their well-being. And his hand on her pantyhosed hip, stroking, soothing, mimicked what he must feel to be oddly comforting, in a twisted, perverse kind of way.
Sue closed her eyes. Why...why was it so hard to think?
"Shhh...just feel my hand, girl." Their host's palm stroked her pantyhosed flank, from thigh to calve, down to her ankles, where she still wore her slingback pumps remained buckled.
Sue's entire body felt warm, a side effect of the drug, she told herslef. She wanted to pull against her wrist and ankle straps as he touched her, but it was so hard to find the energy. Her skin prickled beneath the beige nylon, the man's light touch igniting a spark of something she hadn't felt in ages - not since Reed had last shown any interest in her in the bedroom.
Robert's hand returned to her rump, squeezing gently. "You're learning quickly, Susan," he praised, his voice reassuring.
Suddenly, he signaled to his henchman, and they quickly got the bridle in place, snapping the buckle. Once Robert had snapped, the task had been completed in mere seconds. Jean watched as Susan, though still drugged, was startled and began to try to buck and thrash, losing one of her shoes in her struggles.
Robert's henchman grabbed her, holding her in place. Susan's eyes widened in fear as the bit was pushed into her mouth, but Robert was there, his voice soothing.
"Easy, darling," he murmured, "just accept it. You'll feel better once you do."
Susan was breathing heavily, her large breasts heaving against the wooden table against which she'd been laid. Robert reached around, adjusting the straps, then allowed his fingers to brush against her side-boob. She gasped. "Stop...that!" she snapped.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Robert whispered, his lips against her ear.
"Leave her alone!" Jean shouted. She had had enough. It was time for this man to reckon with the fact that he had kidnapped tried and true heroines, not playthings. "I don't know what's going on her, but you're sick! Let us go!" She pulled against her bonds, both stockinged ankles and naked wrists aching in her struggle.
As she struggled, Jean knew that her large breasts heaved with the effort, threatening to spill out of her lacy bra, knew that she was giving this sicko a show. Her body ached from whatever drug he'd given them, but she knew that the every moment they gave him without pushback would allow this strange captor to tighten his control.
She couldn't let that happen. She had to find a way out, and fast.
Robert laughed, a low, cruel sound. "Oh, Jean, quite the fighter. I admire that. But you see, that's exactly what I intend to break in you. You, Susan, and young Wanda here, you're all under the impression that you're such strong, capable women. Always running into battle in those skintight outfits...such unabashed confidence." His voice took on a dangerous tone, and the heroines were each aware that they were hearing him as he truly was for the first time. "It...offends me, frankly."
"But out here, in my world, things are different." He waved a hand, taking in the stable. "Here, we have no need for powers, or heroics. No," he shook his head. "Here your beauty will not save you, and confidence must be earned.
"On Lord Robert's lands, all animals..." He stepped near Jean, kneeled, crooked a finger, and ran it up her stockinged thigh, from ankle to lace top, until it neared her garter. "Ahem. All animals -such as yourselves- must have purpose. And I will teach it to you, in time."
"And now, let's prepare you two, as well. Bring them the bridles and collars." Robert ordered, signaling to his men. Jean and Wanda looked at each other, their eyes wide with fear and struggle. The extent of their predicament, already bad, was worsening by the second. They watched as one of Robert's men approached them, carrying leather bridles and strange, metallic collars. The collars were unlike anything they'd ever seen, with intricate patterns etched into the metal and small, glowing crystals embedded in the sides.
"You won't get away with this, you fiend! We won't let you!" Wanda cried, finding her defiance for the first time since they'd been drugged.
Robert chuckled, unfazed. "Strong words from a woman in your position, girl. But I admire your spirit. It will make breaking you all the more satisfying." He turned to his men, "Collar them."
Two of Robert's men approached Jean and Wanda, their boots echoing ominously in the stable. The leather bridles and bits were identical to the one Susan wore, and those strange, metallic collars shined ominously.
"No! Stop! We can -mmph!" Jean and Wanda began to thrash, their red manes tossing with their limited movement...but to no avail.
The men were clearly trained, almost mechanical in how easily they accomplished their task. They pinned Jean and Wanda down, their hands rough against the women's soft skin. Jean could feel the cold metal of the collar against her throat, the harsh clasp as it was secured around her neck. She heard Wanda's muffled cries, the sound of her struggling as her own collar was fastened. The bridles followed, the bits pushing into their mouths, gagging them, silencing their protests. "You see, my dears," Robert said, his voice a low purr, "you're not in control here. I am. And you, my beautiful fillies, are going to learn to obey."
Jean glared at him, her eyes flashing with defiance. Her breasts heaved with each ragged breath, the lacy bra struggling to contain their fullness. Her stocking-clad thighs were spread wide, her hips bucking against the restraints, her tongue trying to dislodge the bit in her mouth. But it was no use. She was at his mercy.
And with that, Robert slipped a syringe into her thigh.