I Was a Teenaged Metahuman Ch. 02

A blissful, post-orgasmic lassitude rose in them. Their kiss slowed as it continued. His hands roamed her back until she grabbed one and pushed it down to her butt.

His head was going to explode, he was sure of it. She was fast moving from post-orgasmic to second-orgasmic, and he kneaded her firm ass, perpetually aware of the startling heat emanating from her core. His instincts directed him to lightly trace her spine and tease the edges of the breasts she'd squashed against his chest, and then push his fingers up into her soft hair as his other hand autonomously moved to the middle of her butt and curved between her legs, just shy of her womanly magic zone. He couldn't cross that line, he'd ruin both their lives.

She panted in his mouth. She mewled. She was close, but this wasn't enough, and he didn't dare attempt to violate her zone. He did, however, pull hard, moving her body up his and breaking the kiss, and he inhaled her breast right through her suit.

"Ahh! Oh fuck... Yes yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyes... Wait!"

He looked up in surprise long enough for her to yank her top down and shove her tit into his mouth. Then she let out a poorly-stifled scream. Her body trembled and Max felt moisture coming from her down-below as Lydia moaned through a body-wracking second orgasm.

He pulled her down after so they could luxuriate in a long, slow kiss.

She raised her head and her eyes were alight with joy. "Holy shit, Dude! Where did you learn to do that?"

"Instinct?"

She kissed him again, then said, "You have such good hands. Mmm."

He could only beam at her in pride. His life was ruined once word of this got out, but he'd at least managed to avoid the damning main event.

She raised up, pleased to be able to touch him. Her fingers were magic on his chest. "I don't know what it is," she mused, addressing his chest hair, "but you make me so horny."

She kissed his chest, then below that and lower still, just above his navel, but when she raised up to look at his still-turgid member, she gave a start at the state of it. "You came!" she smiled.

"I'm sorry."

"What? What kind of crap is that? I'm not sorry." Her grin was roguish and her eyes took liberties with him. "Come on, let's get washed up."

They got into the lake and swam, and Max pitied the poor fish who would later innocently blunder into his pearly emissions. He hoped their souls wouldn't be endangered.

*

Bites

It was his mother's turn to host the monthly meetings of the Women of Worth. Max knew better than to run off during this, though he'd dearly love to.

He tried to project calm equanimity as he followed the first of his mother's instructions and walked into the living room.

Mrs. Lonigan was saying, "And you just know what sorts of things go on there. So I called the police! I did! Better to be safe."

"Amen," agreed Mrs. Boyle, grimly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said into the thoughtful murmur of mm-hmms and oh-yeses that followed, "but would anyone like some cheesecake bites?"

"Oh, no!" declared Mrs. Overbaugh reflexively, but melted, seeing him. "Well," she drawled, "maybe just one."

"Max, you forgot the toothpicks, you ninny!" said his exasperated mother, heaving to her feet and heading into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said as she passed. Turning his attention back to the platter in his hand, he witnessed Mrs. Overbaugh popping a cube of the dessert into her mouth.

"Mmm, this is good!" she gushed. Things like that always did sound better with a mouthful, but it was just awkward enough to produce a little laugh among the assembled Prayer Warriors.

"Mrs. Boyle?" he asked, swinging the tray toward the rosy-cheeked blonde woman beside her.

"Aren't you a respectful young man?" she asked, and Max was sure his mind was playing tricks on him.

"Such a fine young man," enthused Mrs. Lonigan. "How old are you, Max?"

He turned to answer, "Eightee—," and the last part of the word chopped off. They were all staring at him. He had the distinct feeling that they were...

No. Couldn't be.

He shrugged shyly and offered a treat to Mrs. Lonigan, who asked, "Do you know Marian, at school? She's your age." Her smile was sickly-sweet.

Marian was a year younger than him, and had literally stabbed a boy in the hand with her pencil for touching her desk. "I do," he answered simply.

He turned to offer the tray to Mrs. Boyle. "Such a fine young man," sighed Mrs. Lonigan behind him.

The diminutive woman before him smiled sweetly, acting as if he were offering a rare treat for her alone as she selected a cheesecake bite. She maintained eye contact with him while she ate it and licked her fingers thereafter, inwardly cursing her ungodly behavior.

"Katherine! Do you know Katherine?" Mrs. Overbaugh jumped in.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, turning to her, much to Mrs. Boyle's irritation. "She's in my homeroom."

"Do they have dances at your school, Max?"

"In fact, there's one coming up on All-Saint's Day."

"You should ask Susan!"

"Lucille!"

"No, Marian, ding-dang it!"

"Ladies!" glowered his mother, having just entered.

Chastened, they fell silent.

His mother glared around the room and said, "Max, thank you. I'll take it from here. Go... Go do your homework, Sweetie."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied.

She'd said to do it, not to do it well. Max hurried.

He didn't understand why those women were so forward tonight, when they never had been before, but as he dashed off a few math equations and ran for the door, he decided he wasn't complaining.

*

Conspiracy

"Dude," Max told Lynwood, "It's like a conspiracy. Hi, Deanna."

Lynwood's girlfriend didn't reply, but this wasn't unusual enough to comment upon. "What kind of conspiracy?" he asked.

"People are looking at me."

"Right."

"Check it out!" Max stood and started to walk toward the line, then stopped and pulled his phone out of his pocket as if he'd gotten a text, putting him in everyone's line of sight. Then he turned and sat next to his friend.

"I didn't see anyone looking?" Lynwood suggested.

Deanna set her fork down huffily. "No, he's totally getting checked out," she told her boyfriend. Max sensed her thinking, He's looking pretty dang good, too. Sorry, Babe.

Max blinked. People were so strange.

*

Pluralistic

Max was thankful to the Lord. He was especially thankful to Him this weekend, for He had inspired some of His followers to gather at a weekend retreat where they would learn strategies for coping in a pluralistic and increasingly godless world. Those followers included Max's mother.

He went home to make himself presentable before going to the Eckersons and stopped by Rhonda's room to babble about his excitement. He figured Rhonda got squicked out, hearing about his love life, but who was he going to talk to, Vayden? He would just criticize Max for not being more gangster. Lynwood would deconstruct the whole experience.

*

Level

When he got to the Eckerson place, Valerie was waiting for him with an idea for a project. They took his car to the garden center, and filled its capacious trunk with paving stones and put an honest-to-goodness, full-sized wheelbarrow in the backseat. He set about hauling the stones to the backyard while Valerie cut the sod.

On a return trip he saw her starting to lay down the tessellated stones. "Wait," he said, "we can't do that yet."

"Why not?"

"It has to be level."

She looked at him like he was crazy. "It is level."

"It's not level-level," he shrugged, and described the process. Unhappily, it involved a lot of kneeling and dragging a board through dirt. The substrate had to be smooth and packed flat or the stones would look wonky and the gaps between them would fill up with weeds sooner if no barrier was laid down.

The work was dirty and hot but soon they had the site leveled. They covered it with landscape sheeting and pea gravel, then laid down the stones.

Max had to hand it to her, she worked. In his experience, women usually left anything resembling heavy lifting to the guys, but Valerie handled the rough stones as well as he did, and he wasn't a small guy.

When they were done they stood and took in the whole scene.

Valerie said, "I love it!" and hugged him. "But it needs a fountain."

"Next week," he laughed.

She pouted. "Come on! What did you have planned for today?"

Going home and trying to erase the memory of you hugging me in sweaty clothes, he thought. He made a put-upon face and shone it around the yard but no one took pity on him.

"Come on, it'll be fun," said Valerie.

"Okay. But I have to eat!"

They returned to the garden center and after overloading Max's capacious trunk with a bulky fountain and bungee-cording the lid down, the two stopped at a drive-thru on the way out. Valerie leaned across him to yell her order into the mic and in so doing rested her hand on his thigh.

Again he imagined her thinking, Better order a grilled chicken. I'm so close to touching his cute little dick but of course she was only ordering a grilled chicken. She didn't even look at him. He was pleased to have predicted her order, at least.

"Ya gotta eat at least some of them in the car," she said, folding a handful of steaming fries into her mouth.

He reached for the bag but she pushed his hand away. "Watch the road, young man."

"Told you not to call me that."

"Sorry." She sidled up to him—This was no small feat in a car this size, taking her a few pushes with her feet to make it all the way to his side—and began feeding him fries; two for her, two for him.

He was so turned on by this that his pants once more began to inflate. He hoped she didn't notice but something—it must have been the surprised look on her face or some micro-expression he'd noted that told him the truth: she'd noticed.

Her eyes did widen. Her movements took on more of a deliberate and cautious quality, though she continued to feed him.

But then she leaned a little more and the incredible softness of her breast pressed into his upper arm, and inflation intensified.

I knew it, he imagined her saying, and figured while he was watching the road she could easily steal a glance down at his mostly-grown glory.

She took mercy on him when they got close to her house and gave him his space so he'd subside to normal levels. Plus, they'd eaten all the fries.

Using the wheelbarrow to bear most of the load, they managed to move the fountain to the backyard. His erstwhile employer was once more a big help in managing the heavy and delicate thing, and they got it where it needed to be. For now they just filled it with the garden hose and plugged it into a big orange extension cord.

He felt peace and contentment coming from her as she surveyed her backyard, which had transformed with the added plants, the patio and now the fountain. It felt right to put his arm around her shoulders and give her a little squeeze.

This was a perfectly chaste activity. Less than a hug, and those were perfectly chaste—people did them in the open in church all the time. And if Valerie rested her cheek on his shoulder, she was just tired, wasn't she?

It had to be a sin, though. He knew because even as sore and tired as they both were, holding Valerie like this made him feel wonderful.

"C'mon," he said. "Let's go get cleaned up."

He watched closely for her reaction. Excitingly, he could imagine her emitting a single, sensuous moan of anticipation, but instead she simply said, "Yep. Good work today."

They once more removed their shoes and stepped into the shower. There was nothing clean water could do to their clothes that sweat hadn't already done. She didn't say a thing when Max removed his shirt before getting in, but he sensed her appreciation.

This was their fourth shower together, their own private ritual. Every time it got a little more elaborate. Valerie clearly thought about it during the week, just as Max did.

She started with a big sudsy loofah, working each arm from her wrist to shoulder, then around her neck and upper chest, avoiding the areas covered by her halter top.

He particularly enjoyed her soaping her midriff with the loofah. He wanted to be that loofah, he realized. And with her gaze intent on him through the drifting steam, she'd be able to see that.

"Turn around," he suggested, taking the loofah and doing her shoulders, then her neck and upper back. He loved this part because he could feast his eyes on her without fear of getting caught. Her wet clothes clung to her body so distractingly he didn't notice she'd glanced over her shoulder and caught him after all.

Her only reaction was a smile and a raised eyebrow, but perhaps the most telling was that she simply turned her head back and waited for him to finish.

He did her lower back, just above her butt, while Valerie braced her hands on the shower and let the water fall around her head.

He had to stop to take it in, thinking Wow, what a sight.

Impulsively he knelt, and when he touched her leg below her shorts, she shuddered.

His face was inches from her butt. It may not have been the finest butt he'd ever seen but right then he'd claim it was. He could stare at point blank range at it, and that magical place between her legs, and he did, while taking his time on her lovely legs.

His erection was raging now. Thinking quickly, he said, "Do my back?" and turned as she did, so she didn't get a good look at the front view. He handed her the sponge over his shoulder.

As a means of making his arousal subside, having Valerie work his back over with a frisky, tickly little loofah was a disaster. He was reaching heights of hardness he never imagined. In his wet pants it was painful. She took her time, too, the better to ogle his body.

"Now your front," she said.

Max turned, hands clasped before him. This of course drew her attention, and he attempted to casually let them hang down by his side.

There was nothing casual about the way the front of his pants distorted around his excited appendage.

There was a pregnant pause. After a moment the pressure got to him and he began his apology: "Look, I—"

But she started talking at the same time and he gratefully shut up. "We'll leave that for now. I've got to wash out where sand got down in..." and she pointed down into her cleavage. Her smile turned naughty. "Cover your eyes."

Blushing, he covered his eyes with both hands and listened to the way the water splattered off her moving body as she pulled down her top and splashed the grit away from her boobs. He imagined her point of view, how hot it would be for her to flash him while his eyes were closed. His confined boner ached.

And then she stopped, and he could hear her sigh. He imagined her saying I can't take it anymore!

Her voice trembled with hope and fear and excitement, "Okay."

He opened his eyes.

Valerie was topless. Gloriously. Her breasts were like Felice's but fuller, with areolae as dark as wine. Her body was soft and comfortable and smooth, just begging to be touched.

He glanced up to her face to see her watching him with lust written all over her face.

He backed away in alarm but she surged forward and kissed him, and fireworks went off in his brain. She was so very good, kissing him with sensuousness and the kind of urgency that made his head spin. And her bare breasts were pressing against his chest.

He gave in and kissed her more urgently now, and every time her tongue touched the roof of his mouth a big puffball of white light would go off inside his head and make his thing twitch. He was in the jaws of passion now, and it wasn't letting him go. He kissed her harder and more urgently until she bumped against the back of the shower, and with a growl, he swooped to take her breasts.

He lapped at them greedily, drunk on their taste and texture, living for their soft pliability and the noises Valerie made. She was vocally expressive and enjoyed what he did tremendously. He couldn't shake the sense that there was a wild, barely-tamable creature asleep inside her, waking slowly by degrees with every touch.

He reached for the breast he wasn't sucking and found her hand already there. Valerie caressed the back of his head as she urged, "Oh, that's right, you're a genius. Yes. Yes, oh yes. Unh, Daddy, yes. Yes! YES!" What followed was a low, grinding noise in her chest, followed by the highest, most breathy of wheezes.

He'd just given Felice's mom an orgasm.

"Oh, you naughty boy," she purred, thinking him done, but he was just getting started. He flashed her a quick grin before going to work on her other tit. She gasped, "What are you—oh. Oh. Okay, mmm. God, your tongue. Fuck yes! Aah!" He brought her off again.

"You're an animal!" she enthused, "Come here!" She made him delirious with her kisses and her body against his.

They stayed like that until the water turned cold.

Max got a towel and began drying her off, starting with her breasts and not moving from there. Her cheeks pinked, thinking of what had just happened, and her arousal kept on climbing. Reluctantly, he dried the rest of her. When she turned to let him do her back, he was seized by a powerful desire to fill his hands with her breasts, and he did. Gosh, they were amazing. Playing with them was everything he hoped it would be, and then she turned her head and kissed him.

The sound of a zipper was loud in the bathroom, and Max had never heard anything as sexy as Valerie's moan as she pushed her shorts and undies down. This was going too quickly. His head had been spinning since she did him with the loofah. He would stop this, right now. He had to.

Stepping out of her shorts, she hooked her panties with a toe and kicked them up into her hand. Laughing, she slapped them over Max's head.

There was nothing in the Christian tradition that could have prepared Max for the experience of a naked woman slapping him with wet underwear. Sure, the tradition had a whole family of deities and numerous saints, but none of it—none of it—was an answer for the panty-slap.

He was lost to the moment then. Utterly lost. "Oh, you're gonna get it!" he threatened, and she ran laughing into the hallway. He was close behind.

They ran into her bedroom and she squealed as she flung herself onto the bed. He pursued, but was drawn up short by the sight of her. In awe, he tried to commit every detail of Valerie's body to memory.

She was perfectly ripe. Every inch a woman, and so soft and velvety. Her flaring waist, her full breasts bouncing now on her chest as she settled, that wicked smile of hers.

He barely noticed the satisfied glee that went through her as he worshipped the false idol of her body with his eyes. She posed for him, and it was positively indecent, how her hands melted down her body to her thighs, which she slowly and teasingly pulled apart until her sex was fully in view. It was utterly hairless.

"I didn't think we'd get here," she said, "but it turned me on so much to shave for you." Her finger drew his eye, running lightly up her slit, "Do you like?"

Growling like a beast, enslaved by his desires, he launched himself between her legs and pressed his lips to the place where her finger had just been. The smell was a drug, the taste sweeter than anything he'd encountered. He was starving for more, and he unhesitatingly feasted.

He had never heard such screams and moans. Valerie's strong alto voice reverberated through the house. She whipped her head back and forth and the way she played with her breasts scandalized and excited him.

Her vagina was a vertical slit, with a tender nubbin at the top and an ultra-slippery, wet opening at the bottom. He started at the top and worked his way down, but didn't make it past the nubbin. It made her rage with ecstasy when he kissed and licked it, and when he sucked it she howled in several dead languages and pulled his hair painfully. Her face turned red, her teeth clenched hard enough to chip, and groans erupted from deep inside her. If he didn't know better he'd say she was in agony, but he sensed her pleasure rising and rolling and crashing like a stormy sea.