Killgrave looked down and smiled, convinced he had chosen wisely.
Moments ago, his new business partner, Gambit, had arrived and offered The Purple Man his choice of Psylocke or Emma Frost for use while they conducted their meeting. Not only were they two of the most physically stunning women in the world, they were also two of the most talented and dangerous telepaths on the planet, either of whom would have psychically lobotomized a monster like Killgrave on sight only an hour or two ago. Of course, that was before The Purple Man had used his powers to render both women helpless, and used Gambit's brilliant instructions to have each woman turn the other's powerful telepathic abilities against one another. Not only had they been ordered to lower their psychic shields, each had been commanded to use her own abilities to aid the other in driving an unstoppable set of commands into their minds, permanently warping both of the once proud - no, Killgrave corrected himself, arrogant - bitches into literal whores dedicated to making Gambit, and by extension Killgrave himself, impossibly rich with their spectacular bodies, not to mention the bodies of any and everyone they set their sights on.
Anyway, that choice. Who would Killgrave break in? Psylocke, and her superhumanly perfect figure and unnatural purple hair, a perfect complement for Killgrave's own purple skin? Or The White Queen, the icy blonde bitch with the very best body money could buy? In the end, it was Frost's white lipstick, now smeared around Killgrave's purple shaft as it pumped in and out of Emma's face, that had made the choice for him.
"Fuuuuck, LeBeau," Killgrave sighed. "I don't know what made you jump sides, but we should have done business a long time ago."
Gambit sat across the sauna from Killgrave, Psylocke silently bouncing up and down on his cock. He had made plans to join The Purple Man at the spa as soon as he'd gotten word that Killgrave had successfully captured Gambit's two X-Men teammates, though he couldn't help but stop to break in Rogue first - payment for those years of pretending to be Mr. Nice Guy in a wasted attempt to win her over honestly - before leaving her at the porn studio, safely out of the reach of Killgrave's powers. Looking over Psylocke's shoulder, he warily eyed The Purple Man as Killgrave continued to eagerly facefuck the former White Queen. He had been apprehensive at bringing Killgrave in, worried that the Purple Man might decide to take over the operation, but he had needed Killgrave's powers to neutralize Emma and Betsy before either potentially powerful foe was able to sense what Gambit had been planning. And he had to admit, Killgrave had done an amazing job following Gambit's plan, thoroughly making the two telepaths complicit in breaking each other's wills and bending them to Gambit's sinister service as mutant superwhores.
"Mebbe you right, Monsieur Killgrave," Gambit grunted. "Dese two are special talents, no? Some real powerful folk gon' pay a lotta money and open a lotta doors for just a taste of dis. But seein' as dis a business meetin', let's talk business. See, Gambit got some more irons in the fire, Purple Man. And some big plans. You in?"
***
Dazzler gasped, almost dropping the letter she had just received. It had been a rough stretch for the mutant hero, reduced to a third stringer at best and what felt like long, long way away from her glory days as Alison Blair, the semi-famous "Disco Dazzler", singing sensation and small-time star of the screen.
But then, seemingly out of nowhere, this letter had arrived, and with it the potential to jumpstart her old career in the entertainment industry. Could this be real? Could it? An offer from a new agent promising to have Dazzler perform as a featured supporting act on the biggest stage of them all, the Super Bowl?
"Oh boy!" she squealed. "This could be a whole new chapter in my career! Everyone will be watching!"
***
"Yeah, yeah," Killgrave mumbled. "Those are some big plans Cajun."
Gambit smirked, clearly noting that The Purple Man was absorbed in his degradation of Emma Frost. For his part, Remy was glad at the choice Killgrave had made. Psylocke, as it turned out, still had layers and layers of hidden conditioning from The Mandarin in her psyche that had instantly kicked back in the second her brain had been rewired to be a willing, professional whore in Gambit's employ. And all that training was clearly in display as the British supermodel turned Asian assassin athletically rode Remy, challenging even Gambit's concentration. But Emma was another story. Yes, the programming from Gambit's notes had turned her unquestionably into a complete, professional whore absoultely dedicated in her devotion to Gambit's seedy new empire. The White Queen lived to fuck Gambit and to fuck for Gambit now. Just as she had broken Psylocke, Psylocke had fully implanted a primal desire in Emma, convincing her that her body was Gambit's literal property now, to be used as he saw fit.
That said, while the two telepaths were now prepared to abandon their heroic careers for a life of debauchery, they were fundementally the same people they had been, unlike Rogue, whose psyche had been utterly annihilated and twisted in a completely different way. And so, while Emma was dutifully happy to fuck The Purple Man on Gambit's orders, she was still completely disgusted by the loathsome Killgrave.
Killgrave had noticed this, of course. And loved it.
"I mean, I'm in, obviously. All the way in," Killgrave laughed, noting a look of disdain in Emma Frost's eyes just a second before roughly forcing her all the way down on his shaft, gagging her and holding her in place. "The blackmail stuff you got planned, that's cool. Not my area of expertise, but I'm eager to see how you work."
Emma slapped at Killgrave's thigh, struggling to breathe as The Purple Man continued to angrily facefuck the mighty White Queen with short thrusts. He glanced over at Gambit, who said nothing and was, in fact, eager to make sure Frost was capable of handling clients as depraved as this.
"Obviously, some of the others you have targ-- fuck, this is great!--targeted, my powers may be our best bet for, uh, signing them on to the cause."
Killgrave suddenly pulled out of Emma's face with an inhuman growl, allowing The White Queen to gasp for air for a second before Killgrave came, firing load after load in her haughty face and relishing at the look of seething contempt on the former ruler of the Hellfire Club.
"Oh shit, I've been wanting to do that to this one for-fucking-ever. Goddamn, not so high and mighty now, Frost?" Killgrave's face was a mask of hatred and amusement as he continued. "Anyway, yeah, man, I'm in. We should move forward ASAP. Just remember your part of the deal."
"De Jones girl, yeah?"
"Yeah. And you bring her to me. I want Jessica Jones. I want her to come to me, to be mine without using my powers. I don't care how you do it. I don't care who you use, who you cross. Hell, make that prick Cage deliver her to me himself. You figure it out, Cajun, you're a clever guy. But she's mine."
"Dat can be arranged, mon ami. Take some doin', but consider it done." Gambit smirked and nodded, satisfied that Killgrave's twisted desire to enact a specific revenge on Jessica Jones had fully brought the Purple Man onto Gambit's team, fully loyal.
Of course, before Gambit had arrived, Killgrave couldn't help but take the opportunity to plant just a few more subtle commands into Psylocke and Emma Frost's warped brains. Just a few contingency plans for later. What Gambit didn't know wouldn't hurt, right?