There's a term for people like myself, usually said in a slightly condescending tone: 'sun-worshipper'. Whenever I've got free time on a sunny day I want to lay under the sun in as little clothing as possible. Who knows, maybe it's genetic, I am half Hawai'ian after all. I'm forever being asked, 'Aren't you worried about skin cancer?' Sometimes I am, to be honest, though the one doctor I consulted about it couldn't tell me whether my powers would be able to prevent the disease. I do know I never sunburn, never even tan, likely a good thing; with my skin tone, I'd go from being mistaken for Hispanic to having everyone think I'm black (not that I've anything against either race, but why pretend to be what I'm not?). My complexion looks like I've got a permanent café au lait-colored tan anyway. Though it leads to other questions: 'If you don't tan, why do you do it?' Because it feels good, I always feel wonderful after I've basked in the sun for an hour or two. A simple answer, and the truth, though it never seems to satisfy the questioners. Screw 'em. I knew what I liked.
So, it's no surprise that when I visited Houston that day, and the interview I'd been scheduled for was cancelled--an interview of me for KTEX News, regrettably, 'regrettably' because I'd much rather have been interviewing someone else and getting my forever-flagging journalism career off the ground, instead of bolstering my superhero career--I found an empty high-rise building with an open rooftop, spread out a beach blanket from my duffle after changing into the bikini I also kept in there, and stretched out under the afternoon sun, my sunglasses shielding my eyes. One helicopter hovered around me for awhile, but I ignored it. The worst they could do was call the building owner and have me evicted, police generally being reluctant to arrest people who could bend iron bars with their bare hands and who went around fighting crime besides. Most likely all the helicopter occupants would do was put the pictures they took online, either for muscle-cheesecake websites, or else some 'Superheroes caught being people!' site if they recognized me. Who cared, either way, the Kevlar-reinforced Spandex uniform in my bag wasn't much less revealing than the 'kini. Most web page admins would probably look at the pictures, see that there wasn't much more to see than was on the news at times, and tell the shutterbug where he could shove the photos in no uncertain terms.
Oh, who am I? Summer Thompson is my name, though most who had heard of me in my other role, few as those were outside of Gulf City, Texas, called me Jackrabbit. Yeah, I know, not the most flattering of handles, even if it is rather apropos for a Texas-based superheroine, but I didn't really have a say in the matter. Ironic as it may be for a fledgeling newshack to say, I was at the mercy of the media when that name came up. But believe me, it could've been much worse. In our superhero and -villain-overrun society, one can honestly say that all the good names are taken.
Sex and the Single Superheroine
Part One, Copyright 2004, Michael J. Hansen
Based loosely on concepts created by John Harrington
and inspired by DC Comics
(any stray DC Comics references are the trademark or
copyright of their creators, no infringement is intended or
inferred, don't sue me, you won't get any moolah anyway)
Am I being too hard on myself, saying the photog wouldn't be able to just sell the pic to porn sites? Perhaps; I didn't really think of myself as beautiful, hardly prime fodder for such sites, being far too tall at six foot five, too long of limb, and certainly too muscular. Though I refrained from the sort of bodybuilding that would turn me into a muscle-bound freak, I did enough to keep in good tone, my shoulders, arms, back, and certainly my legs well-built though not quite chiseled...also not enough working out to rob me of my good-sized tits (about an E-cup, maybe an F, although buying bras right off the rack was impossible for me with my frame, making the sizing a moot point) or the shapely ass the red-and-blue-striped bikini clung to quite nicely. I was proud of those features, why screw them up? Even if they didn't really change the fact that I looked like a cross between a basketball player and a wrestler. Still, maybe those who had called me lovely knew something about what they were talking about. At the very least, my half-Caucasian, half-Hawai'ian Islander background gave me an exotic look, that I could admit with modesty intact.
I sat up suddenly, the blanket clinging to my back a moment before falling, when I heard the sound...a rather hard to describe noise, imagine the buzzing of thousands of bees, then play it back sped up a few hundred times, that likely comes close. Pulling off my sunglasses and brushing my long black hair from my eyes, I looked around, catching sight of a bluish-purple beam of energy that lanced up into the sky, its passage accompanied by that same bizarre noise.
"Damn. Time to go to work," I muttered, glancing to make sure that 'copter wasn't in the area still...just in case, I didn't bother taking off the bikini, instead pulling my uniform on over it. Which, as I said, didn't cover much more than the swimsuit anyway, a sleeveless, legless one-piece collared singlet (this was my summer costume, a girl's got to dress cool to clobber bad guys in Texas heat), black over most of my body aside from a red panel running from my shoulderblades down to my crotch--I'd yet to add the chest insignia I'd wear in later days, going instead for the minimalist approach. Black fingerless gloves and red shin-high boots completed the ensemble. I chuckled at myself when I realized I was feeling around in the bag for my mask, something I hadn't bothered with since my formerly-secret identity had been 'outed' a month or so before--with the help of a bullet that had shattered my sternum and almost ruined my whole day, putting me in a coma for weeks. Then I stuffed the blanket and glasses back in my duffle, leaving it there in hopes it wouldn't walk away on me, after which I leaped into action.
I mean that literally. Crouching, tensing my legs, I sprang forward and upward, landing on a rooftop about half a mile away, before running a few steps and leaping to another one. This was my usual form of locomotion. Since long before puberty, I'd been a strong girl and getting stronger every year, what most would call 'super-strong', hardly more powerful than a locomotive as the saying goes, but still mighty enough. My legs seemed to have the most power, making me able to leap great distances without even trying, how far I couldn't say. Since I needed to see to land, telescopic vision not being one of my abilities--I was also quite tough and healed most injuries shy of bullet wounds in nothing flat, but my hide was still delicate enough I wanted to preserve it by not making unscheduled stops into brick walls--I kept my jumps at or below a few miles' distance depending on terrain and so forth. This same power was what gave me my 'hero name', by the way, someone saw me jump a country mile, and (with a typical West Texas twang to his voice) said to the media, "She wuz jumpin' 'round like a big'ol jackrabbit!" The name stuck. As I said, it could've been worse. I might've wound up being Supergirl. Ugh, I'd be sued SO fast...
In no time at all, I found where the blasts were coming from, just in time to see their source get knocked to the pavement by a hero I'd hoped to see. Houston didn't have as many super-characters (heroes or villains) as some of the larger cities, the oil-boom town having gone downhill somewhat after cars and industries started switching to alternative fuel sources--here in 2014, what was once one of the ten largest cities in the U.S. was barely in the top hundred--super-powered assets naturally moved to more fertile grounds, high-population areas seemed to attract us like honey did bees. Natural, I suppose, larger cities had more people for us heroes to save, and more money for those of a larcenous bent to steal. Some stayed, obviously, despite Houston's decline, and I'd done a quick search via the internet to see who I might meet in my visit here. Only common courtesy, seeing what others in the trade I could hobnob with.
Her silvery bodysuit shimmering, as well as conforming to her every delicious curve, Shrike reached toward her fallen foe, a nondescript tough in a simple blue jumpsuit, no gang colors I recognized, before he could regain his senses and pick up the odd-looking pistol that had dropped next to him, her arm curving, elongating, the fist growing to half his size before knocking him back into a wall. While not having the most descriptive of names--not that I was one to complain about others' handles--Shrike had very intriguing abilities, the web site I'd found calling her an 'instant metamorph', able to instantaneously change herself into an incredible array of shapes. One of the reasons I had wanted to meet her, curiosity about that power. Not that it hurt that she was positively gorgeous, a luscious redheaded Caucasian (today, I gathered from her bio that her hair and skin color was subject to change without notice) who I wouldn't mind getting to know in more ways than just the professional.
While she took another swing at the criminal, I saw a glint of metal about twenty feet behind her, a moment before its source stepped out of hiding. Her opponent had brought a friend, evidently, one who was aiming a more normal pistol right at her back. Yelling, "Look out!" I stepped off the roof and let myself drop, my strong legs taking the descent from rooftop to street in stride, my boots making a muffled booming sound on the asphalt, then (while gunman number two, startled, turned to try to shoot me, the bullet sailing safely over my head to smack into a nearby wall) both grabbed his gun, and swung out with one of my legs to sweep his out from under him. Sometimes being long of limb was an advantage. "I really...hate...guns," I growled as I took the pistol in both hands, bending the barrel before tossing it aside.
Villain number two (I wasn't planning to ask for introductions) used my brief distraction with his weapon to roll to a crouching position and punch me in the ribs, the impact producing a loud 'CRACK' and a cry of pain...from him. "And?" I asked rhetorically while he held his broken knuckles, then backhanded him away from me, his unconscious body sliding to a halt right at Shrike's feet.
Numero uno already taken care of, cuffed with his arms behind him, she took another pair of handcuffs from her belt and did the same to numero dos. I raised an eyebrow, impressed, those were expensive items. I made do with plastic binders, when I could afford them. The task finished, she looked at me. "Jackrabbit? From Gulf City?"
"The same, though feel free to call me Summer," I confirmed, grinning. "Pleased to meet you, Shrike. I hope you don't mind the assist, I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so..." I shrugged as if this sort of thing happened every day.
Chuckling, she shook her head, letting me see how her slightly silver-colored skin gleamed, her pupil-less amber eyes hard to read, though very intriguing to look at. "You're a little off your patch. Thank you all the same, I was prepared for this new energy weapon that's been hitting the streets here," she prodded the peculiar-looking gun with a booted foot, the pistol having a stock similar to a .45, but with a multicolored possibly-glass tube instead of a barrel (I couldn't tell for sure what it was made of at a glance), and an oversized clip that seemed to house a battery, "not for a regular gun. If I don't change my skin in the right way to repel something, it won't," she explained. "A bullet could've hurt me quite a bit."
"I know how that goes," I murmured under my breath, unconsciously rubbing the spot where I'd been shot. I was lucky to be alive, my own not-quite-invulnerable skin and fast-healing ability (as well as the surgeons at Gulf City Medical) were the only reason I was still breathing, but my chest hadn't felt quite right ever since. Not bad, per se, just...wrong. Perhaps it was psychosomatic; my body had been violated by a high-velocity projectile, that was enough to make anyone feel out of sorts.
"Ah," Shrike said as we both heard sirens approaching. "Never a cop around when you need one. I don't much feel like going through their red tape, these boys will keep 'til they get here. Care for a lift out of here?"
"I can jump away..." my voice trailed off as her back suddenly sprouted wings, great silver feathered ones that seemed made of crystal, sunlight bursting into a riot of color as it passed through them, and she opened her arms as if to hug me. "Why not?" I decided with a smile, walking into her embrace, which was awkward at first but then fitted perfectly once she transformed to match my height. She flapped her wings, then we were off, soaring through the air.
At first I was torn between envy of her being able to fly, something I'd always wished I could do, and pure lust at being pressed up against her, but lust won in a hurry. I'm sure I held onto her a bit more tightly than was necessary, or particularly safe, but she never complained--perhaps she changed herself so I couldn't hurt her. How she could fail to notice my hardened nipples, I didn't know. Maybe the bikini and my Kevlar-impregnated costume helped soften their touch. She flew me back to where I'd left my duffle bag, which thankfully hadn't been stolen, then we went to her place.
Popular myth would place the homes of all superheroes in hidden mountain hideaways, Arctic fortresses, underground caves, that sort of thing. Truth be told, while I'm sure those did exist, most of us that I knew of lived in the same sort of homes as the rest of the world. Mine, for instance, was a low-rent apartment in Gulf City's East Side, with hot and cold running cockroaches but at least a nice eastern view, the ocean a hint of blue in the distance, and a roof up above with ample room for sunbathing. Besides, a city on the Texas plains was far from any mountains, the drained swampland that formed Houston's central base wasn't conducive to cave formations, and as for the Arctic--brr! Rather ridiculous as commutes went, and us Southern girls weren't made for those temperatures anyway.
Instead--though I won't say exactly where the building was, whether in Houston proper or in a suburb of same, preserving Shrike's anonymity--we landed on the terrace of what she jokingly called her 'Aerie'. It was a decent-sized penthouse apartment, with a patio garden I immediately coveted, imagining sunbathing among its palm trees with its lush grass underneath me, the ferns to either side rustling quietly in the breeze. As for the inside...most would call it a bit sparse, the living room having only a U-shaped wraparound couch half-surrounding an entertainment center, the dining room converted into a small gym I'd have had a hard time using (the freeweights she had weren't heavy enough for me), no room having much in the way of furniture. It seemed perfectly fine to me, living as I did in my tiny digs with shabby second-hand furniture and my little friends who seemed immune to pesticides. She explained apologetically that she didn't get many visitors and thus didn't really need much in the way of furnishings; whether she believed my assurances that the place looked great, I couldn't say.
Sitting comfortably on her couch, I listened to her surround-sound stereo (old turn-of-the-century techno music, not bad, I enjoyed the classics) while she got us both drinks from the kitchen. Both of us being Texans (naturalized in her case I thought, despite my ethnicity I was born in Gulf City), iced tea was something we both could enjoy. Putting a pitcher and a couple of glasses down on the coffee table, she poured while I gazed at what she was now wearing, a pair of snug-fitting shorts and a matching halter-top, no shoes (she seemed to prefer everyone being barefoot in her home, so my own boots were by the door), the clothes exactly the same color as her bodysuit. Possibly not by coincidence. "Did you change clothes, or change your uniform into those?" I asked.
Laughing, she smiled at me while handing me my glass, a flicker of blue coursing from her scalp down to the ends of her shoulder-length hair...then continuing on, flowing across her breasts to vanish into her cleavage. I was sure those tits hadn't been quite as large before, when she was fighting...if she was 'fronting' for me, this evening might turn out better than I hoped. She told me, "Very observant. I can change some things around me, and yes, I did turn my uniform into this."
Sipping my tea, I looked her up and down again, then, "How do I know you're wearing a stitch of clothing? You could've turned your skin into that getup."
She laughed again, then looked at me challengingly. "Would it bother you if I was really sitting here naked?"
"Mm...not bother me, really." I put down the glass, standing up. "Though it would make things more interesting. Mind if I get comfortable? Spandex and Kevlar really weren't meant to be worn the whole day. I'm sweating like crazy under this thing."
She made a 'Be my guest' gesture, so I unfastened the neck closure of my hero-suit, running my fingers along the Velcro beneath the right-side edge of the crimson panel, parting it with the usual ripping sound. The zipper hidden there revealed, I tugged it down, opening the costume from neck to just above my inner thigh, ample enough for me to pull it off and step out of it. My bikini, not surprisingly, had gotten a bit rearranged by my jumping and the short combat, but was quickly put to rights, the striped cups settled more comfortably over my breasts...and the bottoms pulled out from where they were threatening to wedge themselves between my ass-cheeks. "That's better," I declared, sitting back down and picking up my glass once more.
Only then realizing that Shrike's gaze had been fixed on me the whole time, coursing from where my sweat had made the bikini top almost transparent, nipples teasingly half-revealed, down my perspiration-sheened, toned abdomen, to that area between my thighs that was far from hidden, more accentuated by the damp fabric, a vertical indentation following the contours of the cleft beneath it. Her attention was so direct it might've been uncomfortable, if my own wasn't taken up by seeing a red flush wash its way down her entire body, her breathing already quickened, and her nipples tenting her halter. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to force her stare back up to meet mine with a visible effort. "Would it offend you if I told you that you're the most beautiful woman I've had the pleasure of seeing, ever?" she asked.
Blinking, I gave a wry chuckle. "Not if it wouldn't offend you if I didn't believe you..." I sipped my tea before tacking on, "...what you see in the mirror being much more beautiful than I am."
Smiling at my bold reposte, she half-lidded one eye. "Well then...would it bother you in the slightest if I told you instead, you're by far the most fuckable-looking thing I've seen in a very long time?"
Returning a grin, I countered, "Not if this place has a good, sturdy bed. I'm very strong, you know, I'd hate for us to fuck you out of a place to sleep. If I ever let you sleep tonight," I added, my grin widening. I normally wasn't this forward, but hey, she started it!
"Oh, it's very strong, very big, very comfortable," she leaned forward, me following suit, our lips meeting in a quick kiss. "And I'm very strong when I want to be...maybe I'd be the one outfucking a Jackrabbit," she suggested teasingly, kissing me again, her tongue entering my mouth, then flowing down my throat like wine, not staying there long enough for me to have a chance to choke before pulling back up.
"God," I breathed when I was capable of it again. "Kiss me again like that, and we won't make it to the bedroom."
"Can't have that!" Startling me, she pulled me into her arms, then lifted me up, cradling me with an arm under my backside, the other beneath my back. I giggled while she carried me to her bed, which was indeed very large, filling the whole bedroom with barely enough space left for a small dresser against one wall. She tipped us both over so we landed on the huge mattress, her on top of me, kissing me again in that soul-searing way while I ground my hips against hers, my hands finding her bare breasts and squeezing them hard enough to leave marks. I'd never seen her undress, but she was nude now...maybe she really hadn't been wearing anything.
A bit more prepared for the kiss that time, I didn't quite swoon, but did decide to give as good as I got. Not in the same way, I quite frankly wasn't equipped, only a human-sized tongue in my mouth, but there were other ways to retaliate. She gave a throaty laugh when I nudged her over onto her back, then made more entertaining sounds when I buried my face in her crotch, right beneath her fiery bush, my woefully tiny tongue (compared to hers, at least) nonetheless washing over her upraised clit with the skill of somebody who'd been doing this since her teens. "Ooh, you don't waste time, do you?" she crooned. "Ow, not so hard...wait, never mind," the texture of what I was tongue-bathing changed just slightly, flesh toughening up before my eyes, "go hard as you want, forget I said anything...OH!"
That outburst coincided with me plunging my tongue into her vaginal walls. Perhaps I couldn't stretch it down to her cervix as she no doubt could (my bikini-bottoms getting damper at the crotch with that thought, imagining what might happen when I let her up to play mouth-music on my sex, a small rivulet of my arousal soaking through the fabric to trickle down one leg), but the tongue is the single strongest muscle of anyone's body; mine, naturally, was far stronger than a normal human's, and since she proved able to withstand its power, I held nothing back. While I was far from being a slut, my youth at orphanages--from what I was told Mom had given me up, perhaps not being able to care for a baby stronger than she was, where she and Dad were (who Dad was, for that matter, she'd been a single parent according to the orphanages) I had no clue, if either of my folks still lived--rooming with lots of girls had given me plenty of practice at fellatio. Well, what else are a bunch of kids going to do, after their keepers leave them alone in a room with no television? One can only play so many games of cards after lights-out. I wondered sometimes if the reason I'd grown up bi to begin with was all the training I'd gotten back then.
Shrike definitely seemed to appreciate my skill, especially one of my favorite tricks, working my tongue in and out of her rapidly, driving it in to its full length and then pulling it back again, over and over, mimicking what a dick might do in that same situation. A short dick, admittedly, but I'd had few complaints about the procedure. Actually, I'm being coy...she didn't just 'appreciate my skill', she gripped my hair hard with both hands, thighs closing around my head, her skin flaring in a blaze of different colors while she shrieked in not just one orgasm, but several, me shamelessly and relentlessly keeping up the attack to make her passion build and build.
Enough so she lost control of more than just her libido. I'd kept my eyes open throughout, enjoying watching her parody of a rainbow or maybe a multicolored Rorshack test, when suddenly she turned a uniform metallic silver, and the flesh above where I'd been spending these past minutes opened--the only way I could think of it, the skin seeming to bud like a flower--while an impressive length of cock emerged, silver like the rest, as was the heavy scrotum that was abruptly draped over my nose.
She afforded me only a glimpse of all the above before she screamed, and scrambled back from me, turning away, legs and arms both curled around her crotch. "Oh, God, no...I didn't mean to..." she sobbed, flesh changing brick-red.
"What?" I blinked, staring at her, unsure that I'd seen what I thought I saw. "It's all right, come back here..."
"Didn't mean to lose it," she moaned. "You're too good, couldn't hold it--"
"C'MERE!" I yelled, grabbing one of her ankles and yanking her back in front of me. She yelped as I dragged her legs apart, struggling, but I wouldn't be denied, and she appeared to be too mortified to make herself strong enough to outclass me, if she even could. I grabbed her hands, holding them at her thighs when she tried to cover herself, the shapechanger having regained enough control a cunt was all I saw. But I shook my head sternly. "Show me. Show me, blast it! Don't hide it! I was seeing the real you, wasn't I? What you're hiding from everybody? I want to see everything."
Closing her eyes, she mumbled something that sounded vaguely like 'Damn, she's perceptive'...or she could've been calling me a bitch, I really didn't care...then her flesh turned silver again. And the transformation I'd seen repeated. Perhaps all the more so for looking like it could've been molded from solid metal, her phallus was beautiful, a work of art...quite an impressive one, too, a good ten inches long from my estimation, and quite thick. Her ballsac eclipsed her feminine cleft somewhat, and probably would have completely if she'd been standing, her prone position making the softball-sized orbs within roll up close to her cock. "You're right, this's how I really am...humans have wondered, yes, I'm an alien, this is...just how my race is, I'm just lucky enough I can hide it, keep the humans from...mmmmm..."
That moan, like her earlier outbursts, was caused by me; I grabbed hold of her masterpiece of a manhood with one hand, stroking it up and down, marveling at how my fist could only barely close around its girth, while my other hand reached beneath her sac, fingering the cleft my tongue had invaded before, her petals still dampened from her earlier arousal and my saliva. "If 'the humans' don't like what I'm seeing now," I informed her with a smirk, "'the humans' are damned stupid."
Raising her head and looking past her lovely silver tits at me--her eyes, at least, looked exactly the same as they had before, like amber-yellow jewels with no discernible pupils--she gazed at me wonderingly. "You don't mind how...me being," at a loss for words it seemed, she pointed at her dual genitalia.
"I'm bisexual, hon," I murmured as I played with both of her sexes at once. "You've got nothing here that I don't like, though I confess I've never seen it all on one body before...kinda economical." I chuckled as I coaxed a dribble of precum--white, to my surprise, not silver--from her male sex. "You react a lot like a human...are you fertile with us, do you know?"
She shook her head. "No, our species aren't compatible...why?"
"Because I haven't been bothering with taking birth control pills...and unless you can change yourself to 'wrap this rascal' or have condoms nearby, I think I'm going to be riding bareback." I got up while I spoke, reaching behind myself to untie my top, pulling it off, letting my brown-nippled breasts free. Next was the bottoms, quickly untied and pulled off, revealing my bare crotch. "You're probably the first one who could get hard enough to penetrate me fully."
Shrike peered at my shorn cunt with a grin. "Shaved?" She blinked, then. "You mean you're a virgin?"
"I'm always either in a singlet or a bikini, either one needing a clean bikini line," I pointed out with a smirk. "A few minutes with a titanium razor twice a week beats hell out of waxing. And kind of...a boy some years ago tried to take my cherry. He...bounced off." I giggled as I lined myself up with her member, hovering over it with my legs straddling her waist, one hand holding her cock steady. "Sounds funny, now, back then I was mortified, he sprained a muscle in his groin trying to bust my hymen, but couldn't do it. Afterward I even took my own cherry with a metal-cased dildo--almost broke it, even, the dildo I mean--but by then, word had gotten out. Nobody wanted to try the girl with the impenetrable snatch...let's see if you have any better luck...ooo..." I moaned as I lowered myself down, the thick shaft sinking in past my outer labia, heading toward the inner...and succeeding, I slid further down by the second, my crotch nearing hers. "God, so that's what a real dick feels like...you're so thick...oh!" I gasped. "Did you just get thicker?"
"Had to," she grunted through gritted teeth. "You're stronger than I am, I'm having to get so hard, there's not enough of me to carry it all, I had to make more...too thick for you?"
"N-no, I can handle it," I managed, though I wasn't at all sure I really could. My thighs having settled to either side of hers, I slid back up again, slowly and carefully, gasping as she dragged along my sensitive inner walls. This made me even less sure I could do this, but luckily my own body came to my rescue with lots of lubrication, perhaps aided by her thick precum, wetness dripping down all sides of her, making my new downward plunge easier, the next rise easier still...never being effortless, she was way too big for that, but I was able to move up and down faster and faster, the sensations within me stronger than those from any toy I'd ever shoved inside me. Of course, toys wouldn't have the beat of her pulse in them, and certainly wouldn't move the way she did, thrusting upward while I slid down. It was heavenly, enough so I came sooner than I thought I ever could, crying out in lust while my inner muscles (those same ones she'd complained about being stronger than she was) clenched around her, bringing her off a few seconds after my heights were reached.
I think I came again from the force of Shrike's orgasm. Those big balls of hers produced cum with a vengeance, flooding into my womb and right back out again, pouring over her. I suspect my belly would've wound up bulging outward, looking like I was gravid whether she could impregnate me or not, but my own abs saved me, keeping much from happening besides me feeling incredibly full. "Jayzum," I said with a giggle, looking at the mess on the bed while we both recovered from the mingled climax. There wasn't just the proverbial wet spot, the sheets (and Shrike) were covered. "I hope you don't have wet dreams, you might flood the place."
Grinning at me, she answered, "Just watch." My eyes widened as I saw all the jism, all over her and all around her, move inward, as if she was a sponge soaking it all up, the stuff disappearing as soon as it touched her.
I nearly jumped right off of her (and into the ceiling) when I felt the cum still inside me get slurped back into her cock, which was still hard inside me. "Whoa...that has to be the weirdest thing I ever felt..." Shaking my head in amazement, I looked at the dry sheets, even reached down to feel them; they must've been treated to repel fluids, they weren't even the tiniest bit damp. "That's handy, you can just reuse what you put out before?" I asked as I dismounted, so to speak, letting Shrike's cock flop free of me with a pop. "Ah-ah-ah, I'm not through with you yet," I told that member, catching it before it could fall down onto her belly. "I've got plans for you, pretty thing...though you'd better make it a little thinner before I'll be able to fit it in my mouth," I told its owner. "I've been dying to know what your tongue's like inside me anyway, if you'd like?" I'd situated myself so I was along the length of her prone body, my crotch over her head, classic 69 fashion.
She answered by gripping my hips, and burying her face in my mons, that tongue of hers doing just what I'd been sure it could do, delving into me until it came to my cervix. As I had before, I began stroking the petals of her female sex, while holding up her phallus with my other hand, steadying it while I ran my tongue up along its length from her (now silver) pubic hair on up to the glans, tasting myself on her. After all the Lesbian encounters I'd had, I was well aware of my own flavor, my salty-sweet taste mingling wonderfully with hers. Whatever planet she had been born on, she definitely tasted like a human being.
To my delight, perhaps because she relaxed again now that it was obvious I wasn't going to call her a freak and jump out the window away from her, the play of colors across her body began again. Not that the silver wasn't lovely, but the technicolor show was even better, all the more so when she started glowing softly, each of the various hues looking like colored lights were playing beneath her skin, or perhaps a liquid crystal display right below her outer layer of epidermis. I soon realized the tints and the intensity of the glow near me were linked directly to what I was doing to her, whether driven by her emotions or just the pleasure of my touch, her cock soon glowing golden from my tongue-strokes--perhaps I hadn't been able to have these lovely things inside my cunt, but my mouth wasn't so deprived, I'd had practice at this--while rays of gold and white radiated outward from her female sex. It quickly became a game for me, seeing what moves I could make to cause the brightest colors and shine--nibbling the ridge beneath her glans, for instance, or else the hot pulse of white light when my fingers found her species' equivalent of a G-spot--making my own little catalogue of what made her senses sing.
While I didn't give quite the same visuals, it didn't keep me from showing my own delight, Shrike's tongue bathed several times with the syrupy evidence of my orgasms, the flesh of and around my pubes (all the more visible since I shaved off my bush) surely darkening with my arousal and the blood flow to my sex. Happily I didn't come too very often, occupied as I was with driving her to distraction, and a few female-side climaxes I was sure though her male side was holding out for now; don't get me wrong, I love coming, but lots of tiny multiples just wore me out, whereas big barn-burner orgasms like what I'd had from her cock...those were SO much better.
My preferences there didn't keep her from trying her damnedest to bring me off, of course. Including playing a bit of dirty pool; her tongue stiffened inside me, the long thing thickening until it rivaled, then exceeded, what was in my mouth, also taking on the shape of her cock. Somehow it failed to surprise me when I felt spurts of wetness, similar to the salty fluid that was bathing my tongue I'm sure though naturally I couldn't taste it. Sneaky alien, changing her tongue into a dick, bobbing her head up and down to do a fine approximation of fucking me with it; even as I moaned, I knew I'd have to do something about this.
'Something' wound up being letting go of her cock--the one in my mouth, that is--and swallowing as much of it as I could, even thinned down the thing was too blasted wide for me to deep-throat it. Both my hands thus freed--and what I couldn't get in my mouth flaring brightly--I reached down with the hand that had been at her cunt, driving three slippery fingers into her anus, while the other hand went right up into her vagina to the wrist. I had to close my eyes when she became too bright for me to see, the white blaze chasing away the room's shadows, Shrike coming at once with a virtual explosion, a flash bulb going off beneath me might've been dimmer.
Having her incredibly copious semen roaring into me--at both ends!--brought me off, too, I barely had time to disgorge her from my gullet to keep from drowning, a quart of her cream about all I could comfortably hold in my stomach, the cock so bright I could just about see it with my eyes closed, gallons of her thick jism blasting against my face, dousing my hair, washing all over me. And that was only half the flow, my womb feeling full and tight with the load within it, though again my strong abdominal muscles saved me from bloating with her seed, instead forcing it out again around her tongue-turned-cock. I shuddered and quaked, convulsing with a monumental climax of my own, happily my hand slipping out of her cunt or I might have hurt her, since we'd already proven I was stronger than she was it was lucky I hadn't wound up driving my arm in up to the elbow or worse. Maybe it was, anyway. With her powers, who was I to say she wouldn't have taken it in stride and begged for more?
We both had to recover for a few minutes after that one, though I dreamily stroked her shaft to keep it nice and firm throughout. I was pleased to see it never lost its erection, only softening a tiny bit, how much of that due to my masturbating it and how much of it just a trait of Shrike's race I had no idea. Delightful, whichever was the cause, though I couldn't help thinking I wouldn't want to visit her homeworld if all her people were that way. I'd likely die of malnutrition or just overexertion...probably the latter, starving to death around people I could just fellate and get an overfull belly seemed a touch unlikely. Getting fucked to death, though; I could think of worse ways to go.
My reverie got ruined when I belched wetly, making me have a fit of the giggles. "S'cuse me," I managed between spasms of mirth. "Got me a little full."
Laughing with me, her body becoming blue mixed with green, Shrike offered, "Our races aren't compatible, but my cum's not the least bit poisonous to you, don't worry. It's probably nutritious." She likely didn't understand why I suddenly giggled more loudly, that last mirroring my earlier thoughts quite well, but she didn't comment, instead saying, "I can still help you purge it if you'd rather."
I grimaced at a sudden mental image of her power making me vomit up what I'd drank, in a similar way to how her cock had pulled the cum right out of me--or even how my womb-load was flowing out of my pussy, Shrike somehow making the stuff pour out while she drank the evidence of the latest huge climax up again through her skin, the mess all over the bed getting reabsorbed. "No thank you, I think I'll keep what's in me, in me. That'll be at least some that you won't blast right back into me, don't think I haven't seen how you're making more of the stuff. I imagine we're gonna have to lose some of that down the toilet or wherever before we fuck for the tenth time, or you'll bust me wide open, flood this place, or both."
"Tenth time?" she laughed. "You sure you're called Jackrabbit because of all the jumping? Though you're right, I'll have to get rid of some of the excess before long. With my species, we can just absorb it all and trade it back and forth, since you can't--" she coughed "--recycle my cum the way somebody of my species could, well..."
"We'll just have to be careful, I guess," I agreed, giving her cock a kiss. "Though you're talking to me about being randy? This thing hasn't gotten soft yet!" I looked over my shoulder, grinning at her. "This means we can fuck again right now, huh?"
--TO BE CONTINUED
Proving that even a crazy bunnydemon can write a Web page.
Chessia's Home Away From Hell
created by Chessia the Demon (Michael J. Hansen), all rights reserved firstname.lastname@example.org