The Last Temptation of Meggan Braddock

by Indigo

PRELUDE:

Elizabeth Braddock applied the final touch to her makeup in front of the mirror, and smiled as Warren Worthington leaned forward to kiss her bare shoulder. "Thanks ever so for understanding, luv."

Warren flashed that boyish smile, that angelic smile that still made Betsy's heart flutter faster after all this time. He shrugged with that same, carefree air he seemed to have almost all the time since the return of his natural wings. "Betts, Betts, of course I understand. We've both given up the X, and we may as well throw ourselves into our normal lives wholeheartedly.

"While we both know you could teleport us to England for your brother's wedding, that'd hardly be mundane. So I, your doting, dutiful, and adoring rich boyfriend will fly you there in my private jet!" He swept her into his arms, dipping her back cinematically for a kiss. Betsy squealed girlishly and returned the kiss enthusiastically, violet curls springing with her motion.

They stepped into Warren's private elevator, and descended toward the waiting Aston-Martin. "I look forward to seeing Brian and Meggan," Betsy confided in her lover. "It's been such a long time since we visited without some earth-threatening calamity or the death of a friend to gather us all together. Since I lost my telepathy, I find I've almost missed this life."

Warren kissed her hand, and gallantly held the gull wing door for her, admiring the curve of her leg under the violet silk suit. ~God, she's beautiful,~ Warren thought gratefully, ~And she's mine.~ He was whistling like one of his avian cousins as he gunned the engine and sent the pristine white sportscar flying out into the Manhattan night.

45 minutes later, flight plan called in and approved, they were up, up and away in Warren's equally white private jet, England bound.

Nine hours after that, they were setting down in Heathrow -- welcomed into the country by the London chapter of the Hellfire Club. A night of fine dining, dancing, and wild aerial lovemaking celebrated Warren and Betsy's glorious return to the "mundane world." They found ... certain perks of their abilities were too much fun to give up merely for the sake of normality.

They slept in each other's arms, on scented silk sheets, and it was almost like the first time again for the both of them. The night went uninterrupted. No sneaky ninja, no frantic phone calls from the mansion; no practical jokes from Bobby, and no guilt. The X-Men had more than enough mutants willing to fight for the Dream without them.

The next morning, they were on the move again. A quick ring to Braddock Manor assured Brian that his sister and Warren had both arrived hale and well, but that they meant to have a little billing and cooing time of their own before intruding on the betrothed couple. "No doubt the house is positively teeming already," Betsy laughed. "Kitty told us you've invited folk from across the multiverse. I'm sure it'll be a brilliant ceremony! We'll be along in a day or two -- after we've gone shopping for a proper wedding gift. About time you made that Meggan an honest woman!"

Warren had the good grace to look sheepish and whistle innocently before presuming to bend and kiss Betsy's cleavage while she tried to continue her conversation with her brother.

"Oh..." Betsy sighed, eyes beginning to smolder with each touch of Warren's lips, "I think I'm going to ring off now, Brian."

An hour later, the glowing, tousled pair finally did step out to do the shopping Betsy had promised. The boot of the Hellfire Club limousine was filled to capacity within the first hour. "Villains flee in fear from the focused totality of your platinum card, love," Warren teased. Betsy playfully whapped him with the gift box in her hand.

By that evening, they'd stopped at Lladro Crystal, Godiva, and every other fine store in London. Betsy had picked up gifts for the others back in the States, but nothing at all for her brother's wedding. "Bother," Betsy murmured distractedly.

"You did buy the Mikasa crystal dual picture frame set," Warren objected.

"That's from all the others," Betsy pouted prettily. "Brian is my *brother*, and I want to get him and Meggan something unusual and --" Her words trailed off as her eyes caught sight of a window display. "Ooh, perfect!" she whispered, and was off at a run across the street for a closer look at the tiny little store that had captured her attention.

She moved inside. Warren trailed after her, breathless and laughing.

The inside of the store seemed much larger than the window had made it look. Antique treasures, quaint and unique were stacked helter-skelter on the shelves, on chairs and bookcases, and atop chests that were themselves conversation pieces. At the center of the dusty little foyer was a display case, full of equally odd and old jewelleries.

"Perfect!" Betsy breathed, smiling down at something twinkly and ornate in the case. "I'll take them both. Have you a gift box? You have? Splendid!" The card slid across the counter. The cash register rung up the sale, and Betsy Braddock, her shopping safari completed, dragged a willing Warren Worthington back to the hotel to celebrate her victory.

***

Nigel Winston was having a *very* good day. His little antique shop was more a labor of love than aught else. It had been his Audrey's pride and joy when they had been young and in love, like that sweet couple --though Nigel was certain he had no idea what a society lady would want with that scruffy Yank.

He was about to doze off in the thin afternoon sunlight when the tinny jingle in the distance alerted him he had another customer. Huffing a little as he forced his old bones out of the wooden chair, Nigel returned to the front of the store. "May I help yer, luv?"

"I hope so," growled the dark-eyed woman from behind her dark, horn-rimmed glasses. She looked tired, haggard, harried. She pushed her hair out of her face with a brisk motion of a slender hand. "I'm told you have a pair of matching jewellery pieces here? Cameos? Ivory-carved with an orgiastic theme?"

Nigel chinscratched through the wiry grey of his beard. "Matter of fact, I did," he said slowly after a moment of peering thoughtfully over his bifocals.

"Did?" The woman leaned forward, reaching a shaking hand toward Nigel's collar. She stopped her hand mere inches from clutching the collar and hauling the old man across his own counter. "What happened to it?"

"Sold it to a lovely girl earlier this afternoon," Nigel answered slowly after a moment of frowning thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Hanged if I remember which one, though...busiest day I've had in a dog's age."

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL!" Romany Wisdom threw her head back and shouted her frustration loud enough for half of Portobello Road to hear. "I'M TOO LATE!"

-- END PRELUDE

*****

Two weeks later -- as they reckon time on Earth 616:

"Oh, I'm so very, very happy!" Meggan wept for joy, hugging Roma, the guardian of the Omniverse, tightly.

Roma permitted the embrace, smiling down at the radiant bride. "It is a joyous occasion indeed, little one," Roma murmured softly, stroking Meggan's mane of golden hair. "You have been more patient than the oldest oak in Sherwood. You have earned your happiness. Go forth with your beloved and be happy."

At a distance, Katherine Pryde watched with a lump in her throat composed of equal parts joy and bitter envy. Wisdom should have been at her side. But he wasn't. She had had a moment of immature girlish fear and driven him away. And now, she was standing here, watching her friend glow with happiness for a moment she wished she could be planning for herself. Before she could lose her composure and darken Meggan's joy with her own grief, Shadowcat phased through the floor and vanished.

The other guests were already starting to leave. Betsy and Brian whirled on the floor - a happy brother and sister waltz. Warren, able to freely display his wings here in Roma's palace, bowed and asked the bride for a dance. Giggling with delight, Meggan glided out onto the floor with her sister-in-law's angel.

The night went on -- various guests returning to their universes of origin, and people fading into obscurity. The wedding gifts were stacked high in a corner, attended to by a tuxedoed Piotr Rasputin, who carried them through a transdimensional portal for sorting by Lord and Lady Braddock at their leisure.

*****

INTERLUDE

[[A stirring...the feeling of falling into the dark, endless cold, is gone. Warmth. I feel warmth. I can feel the hot throb of a pulse beneath me. Yes. YES!]]

[[I open my eyes and look out. Up. Around. I whirl, twirl, before the mirror, glorying in the motion of my fall of hair on my naked skin. I throw back my head and laugh softly, sucking in great, delicious breaths of air.]]

[[My fingers trace and traverse every contour of my new home. Long, slender fingers part my new, warm nether lips and tease, test, tug --until I draw forth the synaptic burst that truly lets me know I am alive

again.]]

[[Ah, yes. It's time to play.]]

-- END INTERLUDE

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mmmmmm....good morning, Brian." Meggan practically purred the name of her husband into his ear. "I love to say it. Brian. Brian Braddock. Mrs. Brian Braddock. Mmmmm." She was out of the bed in a swirl of satin sheets, flying out to greet the day at Braddock Manor.

Brian, slower to wake, mumbled incoherently, rolled over, and blinked. The nude form of his wife, Meggan, was silhouetted against the golden rising sun; hung in a perfect centered pose as she pirouetted in mid air. ~Lord, she's glorious,~ he thought fuzzily, a slow smile growing on his face; an answering heat grew in his groin as his eyes fixated on the movements of her supple body.

"Good morning, love," he called. "Sleep well?" A wistfulness intruded momentarily on his contented reverie. Had he still his powers as Captain Britain, he would be able to join her in the skydance -- like they had in the early days of their courtship.

"Brian!" Meggan warbled, and spun to return whence she had come, a blonde comet suddenly straddled on his lap. "You're awake!"

"That I am, m'love," he agreed, losing his hands in her hair and pulling her close for a kiss.

"Oh, Brian," Meggan sighed, twining her arms around his neck and crushing her breasts against his chest. She tilted back her head, and offered him her lips.

Hungrily, he accepted, breathing into her mouth, and sighing his pleasure at her touch. His fingers followed the smooth curve of her spine down to her hips, then stroked gently over each buttock. He held her, savoring the nascent heat rising from her skin at his touch.

When she parted her lips from his, he feasted on the sight of her with his eyes, then followed the motion with lips and tongue, swirling circles down her thorat, her shoulders. Nuzzling gently into the hollow between her breasts, Brian inhaled deeply, breathing her earthy musk. He paused, lingering over one breast, then the other. He lifted a thumb to the pad of the left nipple and turned his attention to laving the right with slow circular motions of his tongue.

Meggan made soft, sussurrant sounds of pleasure -- gasping and writhing under Brian's ministrations. Her nails traversed the landscape of his broad back, and her lips pressed urgent kisses against his forehead, until his own head had bowed low enough she could no longer reach. Impatient, impish, she chuckled throatily, one hand slipping beneath his chin to beckon him back to her mouth. The other hand fell to his lap, stroking the urgent tautness of his erection beneath the sheet.

Brian moaned; bracing his shoulders against the headboard, he arched his back and lifted his hips toward the motion of her caress. She paused, and he caught his breath, relaxing back against the bed. Then the sheet was lifted free, and he had only a moment to glimpse Meggan's adoring smile before she lowered her mouth to him and took him in. The warmth of her tongue stroked the underside of his shaft; Brian suppressed a shudder of pleasure. Her deft fingers cupped him gently, then gently traced paths down his inner thighs. He felt the pressure building with each excrutiatingly slow stroke of her mouth against him. She quickened her pace, and he felt her low rumbling purr of amusement as he cried out and clutched at the blankets. "Tease," he hissed between his teeth.

He reached down and lifted Meggan up. He took a moment to pull her close and kiss that mouth that had so pleasured him, before kissing his way down her body, and sliding his face beneath her. Breathing deeply, he kissed his way up each thigh -- making a game of his progress toward her nether lips. His tongue briefly flickered at her clitoris, then away again. His lips brushed her lips, and pulled back. She whimpered, pleadingly. Brian cupped her hips in his hands and lowered her down, his tongue extending to enter her in pulsing, circular motions.

Meggan rocked atop him; the headboard creaked protest as she clutched it tightly. Brian reached up, closing his hands around each of her pendular breasts and thumbed the nipples, pinched and teased them, feeling the nubs firm with arousal beneath his touch. He continued, tongue questing and circling, until Meggan screamed above him in a climax.

Smiling with wettened lips, Brian slid his wife down the length of his body and gazed up at her. Her eyes were closed and she gasped ragged breaths. He waited, waited, waited until she was breathing almost normally again, then pulled her down, entering her with one smooth, intense stroke.

Meggan's eyes flashed open, and Brian gasped, all the more aroused. Her eyes had taken on that onyx, luminescent quality of her true form -- her fey form. He could feel her contract around him, and it made him catch his breath. Meggan bent to kiss him, body bending with an inhuman grace. She sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, and her hips began establishing a rhythm he gladly kept pace with.

Meggan gazed down through the golden curtain of her hair at Brian, watching the sheen of sweat form on his brow -- loving the contortions of his face as the pleasure washed from her, through him, and back again. She savored each stroke, feeling his member slide to fill her, and back again. When his thumb came down to stroke insistently at her clitoris, she gasped. The pleasure increased, and her rhythm with it, almost spasmodically.

Brian too responded to the quickening, his breathing becoming perforated. His voice came in gutteral grunts as he pressed himself against her. "Oh..." he gasped, his own eyes rolling back to an odd, shimmering, irisless white in his head. "Oh..." and the climax overtook him, "Oh ... GOD ... Courtney!" He found release, head thrown back against the pillows.

And just like that -- the moment was ruined.

No afterglow...no gentle cooling down. Meggan was off him so fast he gasped in pain; and gone -- flying out of their bedroom and down the hall to slam the bathroom door behind her.

"M-Meggan...?" Brian asked, confused, as he sat up in bed. ~What could've happened to upset her so? We've just made love!~ He frowned. ~I hope I didn't experience another temporal slip.~ He'd had them from time to time -- losing track of *himself,* which *when* and what *where* he was living in...his time as Brittanic, lost in the time stream occasionally caused him flashbacks. ~Rather,~ he reasoned bitterly, ~like a bad trip coming back to haunt a drug addict.~

In the bathroom, Meggan hunched over the toilet, retching and sobbing. ~How could he betray me this way?~ she demanded in her own thoughts. ~How could he do this to me?! I thought he *loved* me! How could he--~

[[~Easy, sweet pea. To Brian the boy bimbo, one busty blonde babe is as good as another.~]] some voice in the back of Meggan's mind replied without hesitation.

Meggan rose, clutching the sink basin, and gazed into the mirror. Her features were fading already, reflecting her outward pain. She no longer resembled some queen of faerie -- nor even the lovely girl she ordinarily appeared as. Now she had regressed, far, far back to the days before Brian had fallen in love with her: all fangs and snub-nose, big ears, bat wings, matted mouse-brown fur and claws. Her yellow eyes ran with tears. Her fingers ended in cracked claws as she lifted them to her cheeks. The twinkle of the morning light on her diamond wedding band was harsh to her eyes.

The only indication of beauty remaining on her was the black velvet cameo choker Betsy had given her for a wedding gift. Brian had a matching lapel pin. She didn't want to be reminded of that just now. She lifted her hand to tear it from her throat--

[[~C'mon now, none of that. You want your man to call *your* name in bed -- it's your *right*, isn't it, girlfriend?~]]

"Y-Yes..." Meggan said falteringly, and the mirror's reflection was the familiar pretty face again.

[[~So make him *forget* all the other blonde bims. Make him want *you* so bad he *begs*. Make him *crawl* for humiliating you.~]]

"How?" Meggan asked the Meggan in the mirror.

[[~Baby, I thought you'd *never* ask.~]]

Meggan smiled, and inside her head -- Malice shimmied out of the choker and made herself comfortable in her new home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Meggan?" the concerned voice of Brian came from the other side of the door.

"Bugger off, Brian!" Malice called back in Meggan's, lips curling into a cruel travesty of her usual sweet smile.

Tearing open the door, Meggan stalked past Brian, naked and proud. She gave him a glance that indicated she considered him lower than the soles of Mephisto's feet. "I'm going out. Don't wait up."

She was dressed, and heading down the stairs before Brian could pick his stunned jaw off the floor. He watched, impotent and confused, from the bedroom window as she tore down the road toward London.

*****

Behind the wheel of Brian's black Bentley, Malice had taken full control. Meggan was weak -- whimpering and mewling and wondering how she could have been unworthy. ~Little simp. Built your whole world around what *he* thinks. We'll fix *that.*~

She glanced down at her clothing. Meggan's taste was pure country peasant girl. ~PaTHETic.~ Cotton blouses, cotton panties. Long, blousy skirts. And the silly girl owns no shoes! ~Oh, no, my girl -- this will *never* do. Time to remake you.~

She pressed the accelerator and smiled as the engine growled an obedient response. ~I thought I was done for,~ Malice reflected, Meggan's hand turning the radio up loud to blast Nine Inch Nails. ~When Sinister destroyed the choker I was bound to -- I thought surely I'd scatter and fade to nothing. But I didn't. My pain, my rage, my lust for revenge were enough to hold me together until the winds of fortune blew me here -- to England...and a new home. I don't know why that cameo was hospitable to my spirit, but I'm glad. 'Cause Malice is out to play, and she's *not* goin' back!~

In the back of her mind, Malice could feel Meggan trying to reassert herself. Malice permitted it -- having her along for the ride as a willing co-pilot would make her experiences so much sweeter. ~I've never driven before,~ Meggan marvelled, caressing the steering wheel wonderingly. [[~Get used to it, kid. It's time for you to throw off the yoke and take your rightful place in the world.~]] ~Where is my rightful place in the world?~ Meggan asked, ever the innocent. [[~*Anywhere you want.*~]] Malice answered.

She smiled as she felt Meggan's curiosity sparkle. Malice dug another poisonous hook into Meggan's psyche. Meggan pressed a bare foot down on the accelerator, threw her head back and laughed. "This is wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I don't know why I never tried it before!" [[~~Because Brian wanted you helpless and dependent on him. He wanted your body where he could account for it at all times. Wanted to be the center of your world. But see how much bigger the world is *without* him in it, hmm?~]]

"Oh, yes," Meggan admitted, fingers tapping to the pulsing beat screaming from the radio.

Malice's laughter mingled with Meggan's own as the Bentley thundered into London.

*****

Brian was worried; he stood under the steaming showerhead and tried to melt away the sense of dread under the hot spray. ~Meggan's never taken the car before. I had no idea she could even drive!~

He watched the soapy water swirl down the drain, and closed his eyes. ~She'll be fine. She's a strong girl. She'll be fine,~ he told himself.

~So why am I so worried?~

*****

Malice's first stop, Meggan now quite eagerly riding shotgun in her own body, was the finest, most expensive clothing store she could find. When she emerged not forty minutes later, she wore diamond studs on each ear. Her body was sheathed in a skintight sheath minidress of Meggan's characteristic kelly green, with a floor-length green-black trenchcoat billowing like a cloak behind her. [[~Better, don't you think?~]] Meggan giggled, girlish, as if this were all nothing more than a pretend game of 'dress up.' ~I need to do my hair,~ she chimed petulantly.

Malice, of course, agreed, and walked them into the nearest expensive salon.

"What would you like, luv?" asked the stylist, sweeping a protective apron over Meggan's outfit.

"I want it black. Except for one streak of blonde. And I want a daring, deadly cut. Something to stop traffic!" Meggan coyly twirled a lock of hair between her fingers, and gazed up at the stylist with smouldering green eyes.

"God, I love a challenge," the stylist grinned, and set to work, turning her away from the mirror.

When Meggan was finally turned back to face the mirror, her green eyes glinted with the coldness of Malice. "Ooooh, I just *love* it, baby!" she purred. Her mane of golden blonde hair was gone, all except for one streak slightly to the left of center. The stylist had pulled it into a spiral curl that dangled over one eye. The rest of her hair was black as sin, and coiffed to a faint, lustrous wave. It tumbled down onto her shoulders, spilled inkily down her back, and bounced with every move of her head. ~Let's see him mistake me for one of his blondes now.~ Malice smiled approvingly. [[~Now it's time to celebrate a little.~]]

Meggan threw a handful of pound notes to the stylist and stroked his face appreciatively. "Good work, darling." Then she was out the door and back in the Bentley again, looking for somewhere to break in her new look.

It was, alas, far too early, even after the shopping and hairdo, for the nightclubs to be open. Malice wasn't about to settle for something as mundane and pedestrian as the cinema. And she definitely wasn't about to go back to the feckless Braddock until he'd had a proper chance to recognize that he had screwed up in the most grandiose manner possible.

She treated herself to a sinful lunch of lobster and caviar, pleasantly aware of the stares her presence generated in those around her. Malice amplified Meggan's sense of pleasure and dampened her faint flush of embarrassment as she sensed men undressing her with their eyes. Malice's mental caress nudged Meggan's faint surprise into smug satisfaction on discovering the envious, spiteful glimpses of women whose eye she caught.

A waiter presented her a business card on a silver tray, then made himself discreetly invisible. Piqued, Malice lifted the card, and found her eyes widening with delight as she read.

    Hellfire Club New York * LONDON * Amsterdam * Tokyo

It gave an address, as well as a phone number. Malice glanced around, through Meggan's eyes, but could not pinpoint who had sent it to her table. ~No matter. It's an invite I do not intend to pass up.~

She left her cherries jubilee untouched, the echo of her heels trailing her out the door and into the twilight. The Valet leapt to bring the Bentley around. She tipped him with a 20 pound note, and slid into the driver's seat.

She inspected her nails, feigning boredness as she rang the bell. A butler, attired in 17th century clothing, wordlessly opened the door and bade her follow. ~I *like*,~ Malice thought, pleased and not a little awed by the sheer opulence of the mansion she had entered on impulse. ~Very, very nice. I may have to acquire it.~

As she followed the silent butler up the red-carpeted mahogany staircase, Meggan saw the portraits of previous Hellfire Club members. Brian's father had been a member, and Brian himself was Red Bishop. Meggan's lips curled into a cruelly amused moue. ~Oh, we can do better than Bishop, can't we?~ Meggan frowned internally. ~Brian doesn't come here much,~ she knew. His scent, his empathic signature were not even in evidence to her sharp senses. ~Must be because of his drinking. Such an environment would tax his self-restraint, of course.~ [[~Oh, *really*?~]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The butler led her into an opulent room, lit only by firelight and candlelight. The furniture was antique and polished to a warm burnished shine. Without speaking, the butler pulled a bell rope, then poured Meggan a glass of red wine and offered it to her. She accepted, and replacing the butler, almost invisibly, was a maid.

"If Madame will be so kind as to wait here, she is expected," demurred the petite Cockney in the tight, black French maid costume. She curtsied deeply, flashing cleavage, and backed out of the room as though Meggan were visiting royalty.

Impatient but curious, Meggan sat where she was, Malice casually casing the place for things she could sell or steal. Her alert gaze swept the room a few times before she finally made herself comfortable on the backless sofa by the fireplace. Curled there like a lazy jungle cat, she waited for whoever had invited her.

"Oh, my. You *are* every bit as lovely as Charles said you were," said a sultry, deep voice at the door. "I *do* approve. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ms. Steed. The Black Queen of the Hellfire Club. No, no. Don't get up. I like you where you are."

Meggan would have panicked -- innocent helpless child. But Malice's influence had emboldened her. Brazen and curious, she returned the other woman's gaze, unflinching...smiling a challenge. "Really," Meggan responded, toning her voice with Meggan's instinctive empathy to match that of her hostess. "And I will have to thank Charles for the compliment. How kind of him to say so."

"Indeed," the Black Queen agreed, sipping at her own glass of wine. The firelight danced on her costume -- black leather Merry Widow laced tightly to generate appealing cleavage. Her navel bore a tiny blood red ruby. Tiny leather briefs covered her just barely enough to allow for modesty. Her long legs were in high-heeled black patent leather pumps, accented by black, gartered fishnet stockings. A velvet cape, equally black, hung rakish from one shoulder and fell to the floor.

"He does know what I like in my playthings." Steed flashed white teeth in a smile that was equal parts lust and icy calm. She strode, casually, gracefully, across the room to cup Meggan's fingers in her black-gloved right hand. "Such soft skin -- peaches and cream." She bent close and traced her tongue up Meggan's face.

~Oh!~ Meggan flustered internally, but Malice cooed to calm her. [[~It's all right. We'll see what she wants, and perhaps show her a new game, eh, my girl?~]] ~All right,~ Meggan acquiesced, now more curious to see what this more impish side of her had in mind.

*****

The Black Queen bent at the waist, her hair falling to obscure Meggan's face, and pressed a kiss into the hollow of her throat, just below the choker.

Malice failed to be impressed. She had ridden men and ridden women before. [[~I don't do the bottom thing, sorry, sweetie. I take the *top*.~]] She lifted her fingers to the other woman's face and shook her head. "You didn't ask nicely so you don't get any."

"Ooh, a spark of defiance," purred Steed, lifting her fingers to rub at her own nipples through the taut leather of her bodice. "I like that." Her eyes narrowed, and on the couch, Meggan went stiff and still. "You don't want to overdo it though, pet. If I lose my temper --you could lose your mind."

~What's happening?!~ Meggan cried, afraid. ~I can't move!~ Malice paused, momentarily flustered as well. [[~Oh, a psi-witch, is she? Well, we'll see about *that*. Come on, now, let's push back, and show her *our* temper.~]]

The Black Queen approached, licking her lips wet with furtive flickers of her tongue. She reached behind her and freed something from a snap loop on her belt. When her right hand came into view again, she held the haft of a black bullwhip. It hung, flaccid, from her outstretched hand until she pulled it taut and leaned toward her plaything.

Malice, focused through Meggan's will and desire to be no one's slave toy -- shapeshifted. Green eyes became more catlike. Her cold smirk became a feral, toothy smile. The fingers she clutched the sides of the sofa with became talons.

The Black Queen had only an instant of being startled by the sudden transformation of her plaything before Malice was at her throat, tearing it open with her teeth. Freshets of blood splattered Meggan's face and fountained to the ceiling. Malice curled her lip in distaste. [[~Next time, I think we'll skip the drama and just break the neck, hm?~]] She walked over to the bell rope, stepping over a Black Queen who was choking on her own blood as it pooled beneath her. She tossed back the last of her own wine, then pulled the rope to summon the maid.

"Hi," she said, coyly blowing the single golden curl out of her eyes. "We played. I won."

The maid fainted on the spot, and Meggan chuckled, shaking her head. Another pull of the bell rope produced another maid. She glanced at the corpse in the room, at her fallen coworker, then looked, eyes saucer wide, at Meggan. "M'lady," she whispered.

"I require a bath," Meggan said imperiously, plucking at the blood which had splattered her new outfit.

"Yes, Black Queen," the maid said at once and scurried off without hesitation.

"Ooh. I *like*," Malice purred, going to recline beside the fire until her bath was drawn. "The Black Queen is dead. Long live the Black Queen!"

The bath was hot, and in a sunken bathtub some would consider swimming-pool sized. The servants calmly and wordlessly picked up the fallen body of the previous queen and disposed of it out of her sight. When she rose from the water, smelling of jasmine and vanilla, the servants attended her, and dressed her in the costume befitting the station she had won by combat.

Her costume fit well, for something the servants had to have thrown together on short notice. It was of a similar style to the one her dead predecessor had worn, but different enough that it was obviously not one just -- "off the rack".

Malice twirled Meggan before the alcove of floor-length mirrors, before asking what, exactly, this Hellfire Club was all on about. She received her explanation; recited by rote by three maids -- who spoke each part in a carefully modulated voice. [[~Delightful,~]] Malice thought, listening. [[~Taking over the world. I do like this. I like it a lot.~]] To her greater gratification, she discovered that the Inner Circle to which she now belonged was in shambles. The Red Queen, Margali Szardos, was missing and hadn't been seen in nearly a year. The Red and Black Kings both had been murdered -- one by the hand of the late Black Queen, Ms. Steed. ~That leaves dear Brian -- and me -- the only two surviving Inner Circle members. I *love* it.~]]

She listened intently, intensely pleased, to all the servants had to say, then cracked her whip experimentally. The fear in their eyes told her all she needed to know. "I will be back at midnight, with my husband. I will coronate him the new Black King." With a haughty toss of her head, she swept her cape closed and glided imperiously, toes skimming above the floor, toward the door.

*****

"Hullo, luv."

"Meggan?" Brian leapt up from the chair by the fire and whirled to embrace his wife. He stopped cold, and stared at her with stunned blue eyes. "Meggan?" he repeated, dumbfounded.

"None other," Meggan replied, pirouetting before him. "I thought a change of pace was called for, since you were calling Courtney's name in bed rather than mine -- lover." She made that last word sound like an insult.

Brian went pallid. ~Lord, that's what I did...~ "I...I...Meggan, forgive me," he stammered. "Let me make it up to you."

Meggan's smile was icy, but she nodded. "Of course, my heart," she purred, stroking his chin. "I will be waiting for you upstairs on the bed. Come naked. And on your knees." Her eyes danced. "Don't keep me waiting." She slipped a finger under the excuse for a skirt; when she removed it, it was wet. She touched his lips, annointing him with her musk.

Brian stared after his wife in silence -- uncertain whether to be amused, grateful, or afraid. He was several long moments before he decided Meggan had perhaps spoken to Betsy -- or Kitty -- and been advised to vamp him a little after his unfortunate verbal slip.

~No less than she deserves. Besides, isn't variety the spice of life? Who knew my Meggan had it in her -- that she had such a wild side?~ Smile growing on his face, Brian headed for the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt.

By the time he reached the bedroom door, he was wearing only his boxers. Those he slipped off last, and opened the door, dropping to his knees as Meggan had bidden him. ~I like this game.~

Meggan lay on the bed, green eyes practically glowing. She lounged with the casual grace of a jungle cat -- Brian was surprised to feel a frisson of uneasiness skitter down his spine. It was not long in lasting, though. His desire for her body jumped inside him, fanned to a flame in a twinkling. Just looking at her was enough to make him lightheaded.

Brian knelt at the foot of the bed, watching her, waiting for some sign that she permitted him to approach her more closely. She held him at bay with the toes of her left foot. Ordering him to silence with a finger to her lips, she made him watch while she stroked her own nether lips until they brightened and swelled with arousal. She listened to his breathing grow ragged as he watched her pleasure herself, then spread the wetness over her breasts. Only then did she allow him closer.

Brian rose up onto his haunches, palms on the bed, and crawled toward her on his knees, since she had given no permission otherwise. His penis was already erect, and throbbing tensely as he moved. Meggan made no move to touch him. She only reached up her hands and tangled them in his blonde hair, pulling him down hard to her mound.

Brian gasped; she was smiling and pulling hard enough on his hair to *hurt* him. "I've no--" he began, but she silenced him with that finger to her lips again. She knew she had hurt him, and it had excited her. Her own breathing was quickening. She pressed the back of his head down, insistent.

Brian inhaled deeply; to his shock, rather than the earthy musk he expected, the aroma was sweeter, sharper. Teasingly familiar -- just beyond his memory to identify in the heat of the moment. Thoughtless, he descended and suckled at her labia, driving his tongue between the soft lips of flesh. Brian's eyes flew open at once as his tongue recognized what his nose and his mind had not:

Glenfiddich Scotch.

He reared back, angrily -- ready to abandon the game and demand what she was after -- she had been at his side when he'd fallen into the bottle, and helped him climb his hard way out. But he had no chance. Meggan's greater strength pushed his head right back. No longer possessed of his powers, Brian had to do as she wished or risk being smothered. Tears welling in his eyes, he lapped at her slowly, nibbling at her inner thighs and flitting the tip of his rough tongue at her clitoris.

She held him there, with her superior strength, for what seemed an eternity. When the first orgasm came on her, she bucked beneath him, and still never let his head go. She urged him, with gyrations, to bring her there again. She did not permit him to lift his head until she had climaxed three times more.

"M-Meggan..." Brian whispered, heart pounding.

Meggan said nothing. She pulled his face down to hers for a kiss. Brian moaned into her mouth despite himself -- and nearly choked as he realized she had been silent because she'd held a mouthful of the scotch the entire time, waiting to force it on him with this deep kiss. One hand held him there, as her lips and tongue cruelly explored his mouth. The other hand found the hardness of his member and stroked it --gently, gently, then harder; gently, gently, then harder -- until Brian could only whimper helplessly, caught between emotional pain and physical pleasure.

"Please..." Brian begged, when she finally released the kiss. Whether he was begging her to stop, to continue -- even he could not say. He leaned back, offering her his member, pleading without words to take it in her mouth as she had that morning.

Meggan laughed and shook her head. "Don't you want to know how my day was? I can't tell you if my mouth is full of you."

Brian nodded. It was her game -- however sick and twisted it was becoming. He loved her; he didn't want to lose her; he'd play by her rules. "How was your day, my love?" he asked, as expected.

"I changed my hair, so you'll never again confuse me for one of your blonde harlots," Meggan said coldly, and dragged a nail painfully down Brian's chest. A welt raised. Brian shuddered. "Do you like it? Be truthful, now."

Brian's head was swimming. The alcohol was already affecting him. "Yes," he answered. Somewhere in his backbrain, his mind protested in an hysterical scream that *no way* had Betsy or Kitty advised Meggan to do *this*! "Yes, it's beautiful," he murmured, as his obedience was rewarded by her stroking him and suckling his right nipple.

"Very good," Meggan purred. "And now, you'll ask what else I did, hmm? Like a good boy."

"Wh-what else did you do, my love?"

A quick flick of her tongue against the head of his penis was the reward this time, and Brian could not suppress the shudder. Horror and pleasure, disgust and lust were all jumbled together in him.

"I became the new Black Queen of the Hellfire Club," Meggan replied as conversationally as anyone else might mention they'd bought a loaf of bread.

Brian tensed under her at those words, but she silenced any protest with another deep kiss, and her own warmth -- impaling herself upon his hardness with a sudden brutal motion.

He screamed into her mouth and she laughed.

She didn't bother with the slow gentle rhythm; Meggan's wild hair fell on her bare breasts and bobbed with her motions as she braced herself on his chest. "And you're...going....to be...my....king..." she panted, laughing with each thrust.

"This...isn't...funny, Meggan," Brian finally found the strength to say, though Meggan had now pinned his wrists and was quickening her pace feverishly.

"Who said I was *joking,* Brian?" Meggan asked, her own pink nipples hardened with arousal. Her free hand went to her mouth, wetting her fingers, then darted to each breast in turn, before she fingered her own clitoris. "We *are* married, you and I...we will do this together. Rule the Club. London. And then the world!"

"Never," Brian sobbed, closing his eyes. He prayed, somehow, that the time shift that had caused his verbal slip had also traded Meggan --*his* Meggan -- for this beautiful, cruel, malicious harridan who even now was riding him toward an explosive climax. He vowed he'd get her back somehow if permitted the chance -- and then his thoughts disintegrated as the orgasm hit him with an intensity he had not expected. His back arched and a wordless groan of pleasure escaped him.

"Never?" Meggan repeated, contracting around his spent member.

Brian gasped.

"Meggan..." he panted. "This ... this isn't you."

"Yes it is," Malice assured him, eliciting another gasp. "And if you're not with me -- you're against me." She bent once more, forcing her tongue past his lips in a brutal parody of a kiss. Then, hands on either side of his face, she snapped his neck. He died instantly.

His penis took a few moments to grow flaccid inside her and slip free. She waited those moments, then slipped off the bed, showered, and made a phone call to an international telephone number she knew by heart. ~Don't be disconnected,~ she thought angrily as the phone began to ring.

*klik*

"Hello, big Daddy. It's me. Your Best Beloved."

There was silence on the other end, but Malice knew Sinister was listening.

"I'm baa-aaaaaaaaaaack...!" she crooned, and slammed the receiver down.

The halls of Braddock Manor echoed with Malice's cruel laughter.

--end

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