WARNING:
THERE IS EXPLICIT SEX AND BONDAGE GAMES IN THIS STORY. I marked this clearly in the header. The sex is graphic, but all loving and consensual (and not that much worse than a typical romance novel). If reading sex scenes like that would offend you, please don't read this.

If you want to comment, send email to <luba@lubakmetyk.net>

Part 3

While Wisdom sat limp in his chair, fighting to catch his breath, Kitty rose gracefully from her kneeling pose up onto her feet. Getting up, she'd braced her hands lightly on his trembling thighs, although she certainly didn't need the support, and now gave him a quick pat before stepping back. Feeling the loss of physical contact, Pete forced glazed blue eyes open to at least maintain visual contact with that lithe form so wonderfully displayed by her skimpy black outfit.

She prepared fresh drinks with the ease of long practice, a straight Scotch unspoilt by any 'contaminants' for him, the amber liquid liberally diluted with water for herself. She came back to perch in his lap again, and he reveled in the tantalizing sensations of velvet-soft black leather, firm white flesh and silky smooth stockings all rubbing against his bare legs whenever she leaned over to feed him slow swallows in-between sipping from her own glass.

He shifted his body slightly, but with his hands still tied behind the chair's back he didn't have much range of motion. "Ain't you goin' t' untie me now, love?" Not that he was particularly uncomfortable, but he wanted to get his hands on her -- especially to find out if she was wearing any knickers under that hankerchief-sized excuse of a skirt.

"Nope." Kitty smirked happily at her lover sitting there with his shirt unbuttoned and pushed aside to hang down his back, boxers slid down his legs to form a cheery splash of color atop the black trousers bunched around his ankles. "I told you -- I like how you look now. Besides, we're nowhere near done..."

"Err, 'case you ain't noticed, Pryde, I don't think I'm up fer any more right now..."

"And here I always thought of you as this super mutant sex fiend -- ready, willing *and* able, anywhere, anytime, at the drop of a hat." She slid one small hand down to caress the soft flesh laying limp and exhausted in his lap. "And you're wimping out on me?"

"Just need some time an' some fuel t' get me 'strength' back up, is all," he leered back, not at all discomfitted by her gentle teasing -- whatever other problems he might have, insecurity about his physical 'performance' definitely hadn't ever been one of them.

"So you need some refueling, huh? Ok, I think we can handle that." She let him finish his drink, then got up and pushed the table closer, before uncovering several of the plates waiting there. The 'refueling' comment was a long-running gag between them, but Kitty knew it was actually quite apt. She'd often suspected his eating and drinking so much with so little visible effect on his thin wiry form was a byproduct of his mutancy, but she'd never got around to checking that possibility with Moira -- it was more fun to just watch, and wonder. Then again, the books did say having sex was the best form of exercise -- and that was certainly the one form of exercise Wisdom was always willing and eager to work at. Whether Pete ate so much to keep up his strength for constant lovemaking, or got randy so often because his high caloric intake gave him evergy to burn, the net result was the same.

Long experience with *all* the Londoner's appetites had prompted her to order quite a few dishes from room service -- enough food for several 'normal' people. Knowing Wisdom's eclectic tastes, she hadn't worried about how well any two dishes went together -- only about variety and quantity. The resulting relatively traditional birthday feast was Beef Wellington, together with smaller servings of shepherd's pie, steak and kidney pudding, and -- after some internal debate, since she really didn't like the smell of cabbage all that much, but it was one of her boyfriend's favorites (not to mention one of the few vegetable dishes he'd eat without any coaxing required) -- bubble and squeak.

Now, seeing him eyeing the main dish avidly, she got busy cutting up bite-size servings, swishing them around in the port wine sauce, and feeding them to her appreciative captive. Wisdom quickly chewed and swallowed several forkfuls of succulent fillet steak wrapped up in puff pastry with mushroom and onion filling, then pulled his head back from the next generous helping Kitty was holding up to his mouth. "You eat too, Pryde."

"I'm fine, Pete, really... I had a snack earlier -- and I'll have some dessert with you -- but really, it's all I can handle just looking at and smelling what you eat. Actually putting it in my body is too disgusting to even contemplate." She grinned at him, miming holding her nose while she scooped up a heaping forkful of cabbage and potatoes. "You don't want me feeling nauseous right about now, do you? That'd just *ruin* the mood here..."

In fact, she'd thought about ordering other favorites of his, such as chip butties, black pudding, and even the classic Scottish haggis but, while ketchup-soaked french fries peeping out from between slices of thick buttered bread weren't too bad, the sight -- and smell -- of blood sausage and steaming sheep entrails were definitely mood-killers.

He gulped down the bubble and squeak she'd shoved in his mouth, then shot back, "But it'd help put some meat on yer bones, Pryde. It ain't like you had t' watch yer weight, like some."

Kitty made a production out of grimacing and shuddering in only quasi-simulated disgust as she glanced at the chunks of several barely recognizable meats embedded in suet. "I couldn't eat stuff like that even if it was absolutely guaranteed to give me Amanda's figure," a voluptuous hourglass of lush curves a certain skinny 14-year-old had once yearned for, "or Meggan's or Rachel's figures, either, or an even *better* one!" Not that there *could* be any better ones -- the blonde fay could morph into any shape, size and colouring she wished, while the flamboyant redhead who'd been Kitty's roommate and best friend in her first years with Excalibur not only had a killer body but also the in-your-face personality to fully flaunt it.

Vivid blue eyes raked over the admittedly small but definitely feminine breasts held up on display so provocatively by the tight sable leather, then down past the trim flat belly gleaming palely between her clinging top and the equally snugly-filled black microskirt to sleek taut thighs higlighted by ebon garters slinking down to the fishnets shadowing those mile-long dancer's legs, muscular calves lifted and curved by the stiletto heels she wore only on such rare occasions. "Yer figure's fillin' that sexy little black number there just right, love -- an' you filled that Rachel's clobber pretty fine our first night, too." His eyes softened reminiscently, at the memory of her first coming to him.

"Well, a bit better now than the time I had to dress up as her as bait for the Warwolves. Her sexy, skintight red leather hung on me like an old potato sack!" the slender brunette laughed back. "Lucky for both of us that particular bit of lingerie wasn't meant to be as form-fitting as her fighting togs... or most of the rest of her clothes, actually." Scooping up a large helping of minced lamb together with its potato topping, "Here."

As she continued to feed him a good portion of shepherd's pie, he thought happily about how far she'd come. The insecure 19-yr-old girl he'd taken up with almost two years ago had been so sensitive about her slender figure, thinking herself unattractive, that she'd habitually over-reacted to any comments about her appearance -- good or bad. Now, the self-confident 21-yr-old woman squirming around in his bare lap so enticingly was so comfortable in her sexuality she could not only make fun of her own slender figure, but accept *his* teasing her about it... She might still admire the other women she knew with their more zaftig figures, but she no longer wanted to be them instead of herself... just as he himself might not have Braddock's hulking muscles or Wagner's debonair charm, but he wouldn't change places with any of them! Besides, he'd bet *those* wankers couldn't get it up several times every day with *their* women, even if said women's figures were more the page-3-girl stereotypical male fantasy... but his Kitty was ever so much more than an over-inflated pin-up doll, and if he was the only one smart enough to see that, well then, he deserved the reward of having her all to himself...

"See, birthdays aren't so bad," she interrupted his smug musings as she fed him more Beef Wellington.

He swallowed hastily, then replied, "Never said they were, love." Leering at her, "This one's shapin' up t' be a right memorable one. Wouldn't mind if we made *this* a tradition."

"See? And you've been acting like it was your execution coming up instead of your birthday, and you had to escape from a fate worse than death!" Then, moderating her triumphant tone, she went on, softly, "Haven't you had any good birthdays... before today, I mean?"

"Some," he mumbled around the mouthful he was busy chewing.

"So... did you have parties?" she prodded curiously, having trouble imagining the cynical former agent in a silly party hat, blowing out candles -- unless they were trick candles, of course; she could imagine the crowd at the Crown going for those.

"Sometimes. I remember one -- I was mebbe fourteen or fifteen... Romany was off on her own by then, first year, so she threw me a bash at her place. Somebody spiked the bloody horrid fruit punch she'd made with a couple bottles o' vodka, an' we all got right royally drunk--"

"Gee, I wonder who could have done an awful thing like that?" she interrupted, smirking mischievously.

He gave her a exaggeratedly wide-eyed innocent look. "Wot, you think *I'd* ever do something like that?" As she laughed he went on, "I got so pissed I took me trousers off in the street an' did a Jim Morrison raindance ritual with a few o' my mates."

*That* mental image had her almost sliding off his lap as she dissolved into hiccuppy, hysterical giggles.

"Oy! You ok, Pryde?! C'mon, love, untie me an' I'll fix you up a drink..." He twisted forward in his seat, keeping a wary eye on her in case he had to abort her scenario and burn his way free of the belt tying his hands behind his back, if she began choking in earnest.

"No, I'm ok, really." She patted him reassuringly while she pushed herself up onto her feet. Taking his suggestion, she made herself a fresh drink and treated herself to several deep swallows... and a good stretch after she'd recovered her breath, as long as she was up, which had Wisdom's eyes bulging out and his lips pursing into a soundless wolf-whistle at the female body so blatantly displayed and the unconscious feline grace with which it moved.

Then she poured him another several fingers worth of Scotch, and sat back down in her lover's lap, and held the glass with its amber-colored liquor up to his mouth. Once their drinks were downed, she again resumed feeding the guest of honor, asking more quietly, "What about at home?"

"Not by then. But yeah, earlier... I remember one birthday, years before -- I was... six? seven? Anyway, one time when I was still a sprat Mum got me this Transformer called Megatron for my birthday. Fuckin' brilliant toy I'd wanted fer bloody ages... an' I broke it, getting it out of the box. Then, when my da found out, he was furious -- at her for getting it, an' at me fer breakin it... But mostly, birthdays were just one more excuse fer getting drunk an' throwin' stones at people in Pink Floyd t-shirts, or soddin' off down Camden Lock with me mates t' get drunk, steal T-shirts, and laugh at the Bay City Rollers fans..." His faint, genuine smile at the memories twisted into an embittered grimace. "With a flamin' row with me dad before I went out, an' another one when I got back after staying out all night, o' course..."

"Oh, Pete..." There was nothing of the calculating seductress in her spontaneous embrace this time, only the desire to comfort.

Wisdom let himself bask in her unstinting love and immediate support for one long, blissful moment, then shrugged off her concern; he didn't want her pity, he just had to keep trying to make clear to his young lover why he'd never be any good at any of that traditional family stuff. "Now, lookin' back, I can't really blame the old man completely. Like most, he needed t' feel respected, t' feel useful, t' feel in control, an' the less he got any o' that at bloody work, the more he demanded it at home. An' he sure as hell didn't get wot he needed from his kids! Or wot he wanted..."

"What did he want?" Kitty asked softly.

"Who the hell knows? All he ever told us was wot he *didn't* want -- he didn't want Romany muckin' around with any occult crap, an' he didn't want me blowin' school off -- when I went, which wasn't all that often, 'cause I'd rather be down the pub gettin' piss-faced with me mates. I remember being totally fucked up on alcohol during most o' the GCEs, an' Joanna gigglin' t' 'erself several seats behind me -- she was stoned off her face too..."

"Joanna was your girlfriend?"

He had to grin, at how his current girlfriend's tone sharpened. "You don't *really* think I'm dumb enough to talk about old girlfriends with you right here, an' risk spoiling my party?" Even if it was funny now, to remember being 16, and how he'd believed that that one girl was *it* and he'd be with her forever... and not funny at all, to remember how it'd all fallen to shite just a month later when his mutant power manifested during one of his usual brawls and he'd killed that bobby... which had resulted in his 'choice' between gaol or joining Black Air... which had led to his meeting Kitty, and their current relationship...

"I wouldn't mind, I promise," Kitty was saying, in the meantime. "You've been so good about Peter, how could *I* get upset about you having past relationships? As long as they stay safely in the past, of course," she smiled at him, a bit shakily.

Understanding, hah! At least none of *his* old girlfriends was likely to come after them. He was keeping a wary eye on the Russian robot -- Pete didn't trust him yet, especially not where Kitty was concerned... no, not one little bit. The man kept *watching* Kitty, while pretending not to. And he knew for himself how easy it was to suddenly lose control, after all...

Concluded in Part 4...

Additional Notes:

Thanks to Jac, for contributing so much of this part. Joanna and Pete's history are his, from Wisdom: MUTF(R), as are the birthday memories.

This story takes place in my series after The Simple Joys of Childhood, in which Kurt and Amanda, Kitty and Pete all revisit their childhoods while helping Rogue investigate hers. Kitty comes out of it reconciled to her family history and ready to try a family of their own, but Pete isn't ready yet, until the events in the following Rites and Wrongs trilogy.