Chapter 7: First Date With Mira & Priscilla

Mira had done her hair differently today, drawing it back into a tight ponytail. Her general style was also different, in a subtle, multifaceted way, replacing the sleek and careful fashion with something a bit sloppier and more casual, shorts and a t-shirt. I had to presume it was meant to put off a potential tail - she was very rich, and presumably watched by all manner of paparazzi and stalkers. It was possible, I suppose, that she was trying to dress down as some sort of "neg" attempt, but if so it was far too circuitous a trick to have any effect on my brute force strategy of ignoring subtle signals from women, inherited from my experience back on my own Earth.

"Glad we could finally go out," Mira said, downing her shot glass with a loud gulp then slamming it down against the bar. She then pursed her lips, as if annoyed at something, and shifted her posture subtly. Despite my general hard work to tell what someone was thinking, and my superspeed to provide me extra room to take notice of every subtle tell, I couldn't quite figure out what she was feeling. "Ahem. So. Superspeed and math talents, good combination."

"I don't know if I'd really call myself talented," I demurred. "I mean, I know how to do math, and accounting, but I'm not some kind of whiz kid."

Mira let out a chuckle. "Let me tell you what, in this business somebody who can actually do math is a tough thing to get. Xico's probably the best at math of all the ones you've met so far, and she's used to base eight because that's what taliké use." (It's pronounced tah-lee-kay.) "Plus she's just eighteen, so no tertiary education."

"Well, I'd say I was happy to help, but I'm more happy to earn a million dollars a year."

"That honesty is one of the things I like about you," she said, finger pointing right at me. "Very attractive. Most people nowadays just bullshit, including me. You shoot straight, no matter how bad it makes you look. Admirable." She downed another shot. I... actually couldn't tell if she meant that as a compliment. It must have shown on my face, because she laughed and clapped me on the back. "C'mon, Rodge. Lighten up. It's not a sin to make a good impression on somebody."

"It might be a mistake, though."

"Yeah? What's the worst that could happen?"

I paused as I considered the question sincerely. "I could cause some villain to become obsessed with making me her groom."

"True, that could happen," Mira said, smiling good-naturedly. "Now, what's the worst that could actually happen?"

"Most obviously, I could lead a woman on."

She let out a laugh at that, her lips curling up into a really genuine, sincere smile. "You know how many men I've led on? If you actually did manage to lead me on, it'd be karmic justice for all the broken hearts I've left along the way."

"That doesn't sound like you're trying to make a good impression on me," I pointed out.

"Must be the alcohol," she said, before taking another shot. "Besides, I never said I wasn't a hypocrite," she added, with a grin. There was a buzz from her purse, and she quickly removed her smartphone, her expression shifting. It wasn't a darkening - it was like she went from the playful rake flirting with another potential conquest to a happiness that was more serene and deeper. It became less exaggerated, more gentle. She quickly tapped out a response, then put the phone back.

"Good news?" I prompted, when she didn't explain.

"Oh, just a good friend of mine flying back into town from Montreal," she said, with an airy wave of her hand. "Nothing you need to concern yourself too much with, handsome, unless albino genetically modified cynical Japanese women are your type - in which case, I can give you her number."

"My social schedule's getting a bit thick lately, despite my best attempts to lock myself in my office to keep out the hordes of beautiful women."

She laughed at that. "Well, we can't really help it, you know? We kind of wind up fishing in the same pond for a long time. Hard to get a relationship outside the superhero community. There are currently 76 active field members of Star Heroic. Sounds like a lot, but you've got to take into account the married guys, the ones otherwise taken, the obvious incompatibilities due to age or personality... and you have maybe twenty guys in all Star Heroic you might potentially marry, and you've probably already dated at least half of them at some point."

"I didn't think you were the type to get married."

"Mm," she said, with an enigmatic smile, taking another shot. "Maybe for the right man?" She wiggled her eyebrows at me, then laughed, unable to keep up the pretense. "I'm sorry. That's a line. It is theoretically possible you could be the right man, but I would be remiss to pretend like it was particularly likely. Leading you on. Since you've gone to such great lengths not to lead me on - I'd like to try to reciprocate."

"Don't worry, I wasn't planning to marry you either," I told her, earning a laugh.

"No? You could get fifty billion bucks, easy, you play your cards right. Marry me, then when I inevitably find myself straying, divorce me." She let out what was half a bark of laughter, half a sigh. "To be honest, that's half the reason I could never get married. Couldn't trust somebody with that kind of guillotine hanging over my head. I love money too much. Not everyone can be satisfied with just a million dollars a year."

"You could just not cheat on me."

She laughed at that, then proceeded to make a goofy face, flapping her hands in the air as she spoke in an exaggerated falsetto. "I could just not cheat on you." She stuck out her tongue. "I haven't been in a relationship that wasn't open since I was twenty-four, and that one..." she trailed her finger through the air. "He was pretty good, just not that good, you know?"

"As I said, I wouldn't have married you anyway. I can do better." I intended it in a playful way, and it was taken in the spirit it was given, earning a soft laugh from her, then a long sigh.

"Ah, sorry, my head's not here. Tsuru - my friend, you may know her as Yomi."

"I may also have no idea who literally any member of Star Heroic is until they introduce themselves. I don't actually know your hero name."

"Titania." She tipped her cap to me. "Nice to actually get to know you, but I'll have to pick up Tsuru from the airport in an hour, so..." she pulled out a wad of twenties from her wallet and tossed it down on the bar. "Should be enough to cover the bill. Keep the change or make it a tip, whatever you want. Sorry for the half-assed date."

I took the money, sorted out the bill, and walked home - with superspeed, it really wasn't that far to walk. I did wonder exactly why she'd been so abrupt to leave, given that she had been clearly trying to flirt and seduce me for the past three weeks, and when I finally did agree to a date, it wound up lasting maybe half an hour, if that. The only conclusion I could reach was that it was some type of tactic - playing hard to get, to get back at me for doing much the same. I had to admit it was working at least a bit, but now that I had figured out what was going on, I was fairly certain I could resist.

* * *

Tsuru always felt in a foul mood at airports. Not for any intrinsic characteristic of them - she was nothing if not patient and able to tolerate physical discomfort - but as a simple product of psychic mirroring. Few people were truly happy at an airport, but many were bored, annoyed, irate, or even angry. It created a prickly feeling, and her mind idly danced across the psychic impressions left by the hundreds of people there. Someone had delivered their child, that was always a pleasant feeling - she let herself bask in it, but part of her mind was also out looking for Mira's presence.

She felt her long before she saw her. The familiar rapid pace of thought, the roar of an engine that, despite being trapped inside the cage of her skull, rampaged and bounced inside it with a ferocity and force far greater than any other human that Tsuru had encountered. She was brilliant, a machine of pure intellect, and it always felt good to encounter her mind again, to feel the way she cut up the world into precise pieces and put it back together again according to her abilities. Her limousine rolled up smoothly to where Tsuru waited. Once it was there, Tsuru stepped inside with a quick couple steps, settling in across from Mira, who smiled. Tsuru smiled back. The warmth of Mira's feelings for her, for all their complexities and ambiguities, were always pleasant to bask in.

"You wound up interrupting my date with the new accountant," Mira said, not actually annoyed.

"I'd apologize if you actually cared," Tsuru replied.

Mira snorted. "It was probably for the best. It'll leave him hanging, you know, get him hyped for a second round without interruptions."

Tsuru wasn't bothered by that sort of commentary, but Mira's thoughts were a tangled mess at the moment. There was something bothering her... ah, just lingering embarrassment about her attempts at courtship. The degree to which Mira placed her self-esteem in her capacity to be sexually successful was probably unhealthy, but that was who Mira was. Tsuru found it vaguely funny, in the way that made one wryly grin when one properly appreciated it, if nothing else. The genius billionaire who needs to get laid to prop up her ego. "Why do you assume I give a damn?"

Mira barked out a laugh. "He kind of reminds me of you." Her eyes flicked over to the intercom to the driver, confirming it was off. "Do you think I could've gotten in your pants with my normal techniques?"

"I'm a woman. What's more, I've got a very strong case of psychic mirroring. It doesn't matter how good your techniques are - I'm horny and I'm attracted to you because you're attracted to me."

"When you say that, it makes you sound easy."

"All women are easy, save perhaps the nuns and the asexuals. That, I can promise you."

"Oh? Is the seven second thing true?"

"No. Come on. You have a brain."

"A special brain," Mira noted with some pride.

"True. A special brain. I'll just say that I'll be glad to not be sniffing every horny teenager in the entire airport glancing at a boy's ass or hoping desperately that a button will pop on his shirt."

Mira let out a long sigh. She really, really, put far too much of her self esteem into sexual success. It almost made this a chore. Almost. Tsuru shifted in the limo, sitting down next to Mira, placing one hand on her lap, fingers slowly trailing their way towards her groin. She stared her lover in the eyes and leaned up to kiss her on the lips.

Mira let her thoughts untangle for a moment as she simply enjoyed herself.

* * *

Thus far, my dates had been, well... not really dates. I had invited a girl over to my place, and had sex with her there, or gone over to her place, and had sex with her there. A fairly simple, clean stratagem. There was the bar with Mira, but that hardly counted.

My first date with Priscilla, as it turned out, was not the potential fun of the ballet - but the doldrums of getting sized for a suit. "I think you would look best with a charcoal suit, but if you'd prefer the ebony, it would suit you as well," she said, holding up two separate suits which looked completely indistinguishable to me. Well, no, the ebony was a little more brown.

"I do own suits of my own."

"Yes, quite," she said, with a little sniff that said she was completely unimpressed. "The false belief that your suit is suitable for a showing of Cob Lake by the Hathor Ballet Company, is precisely why I asked for a picture of you in a nice suit before the date of."

"Is it really that important?" I asked, looking at the suits. Her expression narrowed, then she paused, her lips tilting to one side.

"It is. I want to look my best. Looking my best requires my date to look his best. I'll be paying for the suit, of course. I wouldn't expect otherwise." One consequence of the inverted genders was that, just as in my world, the person who did the asking-out paid for the dates - though, unlike my world, they had less money. Feminists had tried to counteract this and encouraged going Dutch, now out of self-interest rather than idealism, but they had been only marginally more successful in this world, for a mirror image of the same reason. In my world, women were happy to get their dates paid for; in this one, men were too. Priscilla was independently wealthy, however, and perhaps a bit of a traditionalist, so she was content to pay for things.

"Isn't it going to cost thousands of dollars?"

"Don't worry about the price tag, Roger." Unlike many other women, had this slight edge of patronizing. I wasn't certain if I liked it or not. On the one hand, of course, I was an intelligent, hard-working man. On the other hand, it wasn't as if I disliked a woman with confidence. The more irksome comments resolved around money (she was richer than me), class (she was born into wealth), and fashion (I knew absolutely nothing about fashion), so I couldn't even say in those cases she was wrong. It wasn't as if she thought I was bad at sex, or anything. If it had been that, perhaps I would have been offended.

"Just pick out what you like. Dress me like a doll," I said, getting rather bored of this whole affair.

She wore a melancholic smile at that, stepping over towards me. She was wearing high heels now, and with her preexisting height, it meant that she had an inch or two on me. "Roger. It isn't that I think of you as an object. I just want this date to be wonderful. Frankly, most of my past romantic partners have, ahh." She cut herself off, trying to think of a diplomatic way to say 'knew how to dress themselves.' "Had a greater degree of interest in the finer points of fashion. It's always been an enjoyable thing, to help them pick out precisely the thing that made them look delicious on my arm. I can clearly see this isn't the sort of thing you'd most like to do on a date, but we can just put together one nice outfit and call it there until the ballet, hmm?"

"Sure. Sorry." She had a way of making me feel as if I was being unfair to her. There was a certain logic to it, even: she had presumably had many romantic encounters with men who absolutely loved getting a free expensive suit picked out for them by a woman with a good eye for it. A little gender inversion made it obvious: a rich man paying for a woman's outfits is a cliche in romantic fiction for a reason.

She leveraged my feelings of unfairness by attempting to dress me in a suit that showed rather too much skin, a low-cut collar that made what was almost a v-shape downward, dipping all the way down to my sternum. Naturally, I told her that was a no-go. I believe she simply interpreted that as a show of chastity on my part, rather than the truth that I found it completely ridiculous to dress that way.

I certainly wasn't chaste, after all.

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* * *

She had gotten us one of those private, overhanging seats, looming over the main part of the audience hall. It was just the two of us seated there, and we had to use binoculars to properly watch the show. It was a tad bizarre to me - why not just sit closer, if you want to get a close-in view? - but I acquiesced, watching the ballet play out. It was the story of a prince who was transformed into a male swan by a wicked sorceress's spell. I watched for a while, but when the love interest princess began dancing around with her female friends as they discussed the entertainments of the day, I have to admit that my gaze may have trailed more longingly across their bodies. They were quite fit and well put together, and their costumes were naturally skintight, given it was a ballet.

Priscilla let out a soft "hmm" noise, her fingers trailing across my own. When I glanced her way - it wasn't a particularly intriguing part of the play, so I was confused by what had her attention - she was looking at me. One eyebrow quirked, and she tilted her head. "A fan of princesses?" She asked. I still had no idea what she was talking about. She leaned in closer, her voice becoming a husky whisper. "I can tell you're aroused." My cock twitched a bit at that, and her eyebrows raised still higher at that point, her hand shifting to clasp mine tight. She grinned rapaciously. "You know, we're all alone up here... we can do as we like."

I swallowed, and she started to shift backwards, clearly misinterpreting that as a fear response. But, it wasn't a fear response - it was more a steeling of myself. Priscilla was a beautiful, austere woman, and there was a certain appeal to her suddenly breaking down that image to sexually proposition me on the first date. From my perspective, after all, she seemed to be the beautiful heiress, born to wealth and completely unattainable to someone like me. And now, she was suggesting that we fuck in the ballet.

From the inverted gender perspective, of course, it all made sense: the young man born to wealth, with a far-too-large head, who could be a bit of a romantic but was still ultimately interested in one thing. If anything, I should have expected this from her, rather than imagining that she would be some chaste woman.

My initial temptation was to just tell her to suck me off, or do whatever she wanted, but phrasing was critical. She thought I was a rather chaste man, and I could understand what was enticing about that, the slow revelation of a debauched person beneath the surface. It was part of what was currently quite appealing about her, after all. So when I spoke again, it was to say, "I've always fantasized about getting a blowjob in a semi-public place like this..." I trailed off as if embarrassed by the confession.

My acting wasn't the best - particularly given I was pretty sure she could monitor my pulse, given the way her fingers trailed along my palm - but it didn't matter. Nobody looks too closely when they hear a line like that. Priscilla just grinned, standing up to get in between my legs without the slightest hesitation. For her, this was going to be a show of power: she could make me come. Her mouth was intense, wonderful... you get the idea. She slid my pants down, revealing my hard cock to open air. Her tongue flashed out across her lips - then stretched forward, getting up to three inches out of her mouth. When she saw my dick frantically twitch in response, her smile widened, and her tongue continued to stretch out until it was as long as my cock.

Her eyes looked up at me as she pressed her tongue against the underside of my cock, as if comparing the two's size. The flexible thing just brushed along the underside, wet and warm, caressing it, practically enveloping it. Then her tongue suddenly twisted, corkscrewing around my length, and her mouth swallowed me up as if it was being dragged forward by my cock. I groaned at the sensation, fingers digging into the armrests on either side of me, swallowing and trying to keep quiet. She hummed in a way that suggested she wanted me to make all sorts of noise.

It was unbelievably intense, having her face mushed into my groin. She must have done some kind of alteration to her body to make it trivial to deepthroat for ages at some point, because she just gulped proudly around my dick as her tongue bathed what of my length wasn't in her throat with saliva, even as time stretched out. The look in her eyes was confident and cocky in the sexiest way, proud that she was getting such a sharp reaction out of me.

My cock throbbed, and I grit my teeth, straining not to come right down her tight throat as she worked overtime to make me do so. Her eyelashes fluttered up at me, her hot breaths rolling around my dick deliciously, my hips bucking softly against her face. I resisted the urge to just grab the back of her head and start fucking her face, knowing that would be considered rude, probably.

As my brain was slowly drained out through my cock by the constant wringing motion of Priscilla's throat, though, I began to engage in a bit of motivated reasoning: wouldn't it be appealing to a man to have the girl just clamp down on his head? How many comments about wanting to be that watermelon, crushed between a woman's thighs, were there? Wasn't it appealing, to be so desired that you made the girl respond that way? Inversely, the same should apply here, no? Sure, men were physically stronger than women, but it wasn't like I had to be concerned about her breathing, given that she was somehow doing it despite the fact that she'd been slurping on my cock for the past couple minutes...

I grasped her head, peeling her up from my cock. Her tongue stretched and strained outward, corkscrewing around my tip to actually wrap around it even once she was entirely off, her dark lips stretched wide to display that pink tongue of hers, flexible and coiled and gently twisting around my cockhead in a lewd and absurd show. "I really, really, want to fuck your face," I breathed out, the closest I could get to asking for permission. She smiled at that, eyes twinkling with arousal at the idea, and just stroked my cock with her tongue all the more, that little lasso of a tip slithering downward and giving the occasional squeeze.

It wasn't quite permission, but if she hated the idea, she would have said or done something. I had no choice but to assume that she merely wanted me to choose to grab her head and start fucking her face 'of my own volition,' as I am just like anyone else and engage in motivated reasoning when it means I get to have hot sex with a beautiful woman. My fingers clasped onto her head and I started to slide her up and down my length. Rather than resist me in any way, she started to move her tongue along my cock, swiveling and twisting and corkscrewing it in time with each thrust of my hips.

I could barely take it, just biting my lip to keep from making too much noise. I finally came, and it was like a gush, thick and overwhelming in its intensity and sheer quantity. Despite my best attempts to the contrary, I flooded both her throat and mouth alike, some of it dribbling out past her lower lip with the sheer quantity, even threatening to stain her dress. Her hands reached up, spreading wide to collect the semen in her palms. When I was completely spent, she finally peeled back, releasing my cock from her mouth to throb and pulse in the open air. For a moment, I got to enjoy the contrast of her ladylike appearance and dark-skin, with the staining of her chin and hands with cum; then her long tongue slurped up every last droplet, licking her hands and chin clean in a lewd show.

"You like the tongue, I take it," she said with a grin as she put my cock back in my underwear, sliding up my pants with some cooperation from me.

"It's very sexy," I agreed.

"Mmm. Would you be willing to do something a bit fun for me, back at my place?" She asked, as she settled into her seat. "There are lots of things that you can do with a power like mine, but of course, I wouldn't use it without your permission..."

"What kind of things?"

She tittered at that, raising one hand to her mouth. "No hesitation at all," she said. "Where'd that chaste boy who couldn't bear an inch of exposed flesh go?" She winked. "Don't worry, I like the fellow who's replaced him," she continued, reaching over to bite my earlobe softly. "Now, hmm, what can I do? I can make your cum delicious... I can make your cock bigger... I can just alter your appearance any which way... and I can make you come faster, and harder, of course..." Each was listed out as a temptation, though the 'coming faster and harder' one felt strange to me. As a guy, I was used to thinking of my orgasms as something that needed to be delayed for the sake of the woman's pleasure, and even in this world I had yet to kick the habit. "These are just ideas, of course. If you don't like them, we don't have to do them. But, you seemed like the open-minded type."

I liked them, to be honest. They were all fun ideas. What guy hasn't fantasized about having a bigger dick, being sexier? The coming faster one was one that I wound up mentally coming back to, as the ballet continued on, me not giving one single good goddamn about any of it any more. Maybe I should kick the habit of thinking I should hold off on coming as long as possible? When you thought about it, what man wanted a woman to hold back? It could be cute, on occasion, but a woman who was eternally trying not to come, versus one who came buckets fast and hard, well... the answer was obvious, wasn't it? And, Priscilla's power meant that I wouldn't be sacrificing a single minute of fun fucking for the sake of an earlier orgasm.

"You can get rid of my refractory period, right?" I asked.

She grinned. "I absolutely can. You can be hard again in a moment, if that's what you want," she said, her fingers playing across the back of my hand.

I didn't ever turn my attention back to the ballet, and we wound up leaving only maybe a third of the way in.

* * *

Priscilla's home was a mansion. The key distinctive feature of wealthy people's homes, in my personal experience, was that the second story could look down on the first. The more such gargantuan open space there was, the more the wastefulness of it became a functional display of wealth. Ordinary people's homes were built with the second floor stacked directly on top of the first, all-encompassing and thus incapable of looking down. For Priscilla's, though, the curling staircase in the entryway went up to what might as well have been a bridge, for the way it stretched across the air, open on either side.

Despite that, the home was occupied by precisely one person: Priscilla herself. There was no sign of a maid, or a butler, though I did notice in the backyard were at least a dozen Border Collies, which patiently sat and stared past the glass door at the two of us. "Oh, don't worry about them," Priscilla said, with a wave of her hand when she caught me looking. "They're for my power. They're the most trainable breed, you see. Please, I know you've been looking forward to the bedroom, so, come," she said, her voice a tad husky as she drew me along with her.

Her bedroom was similarly pointlessly big, as was her bed. It was the sort of thing that four people could comfortably sleep on, but it was clearly used by only one, who promptly plopped down on the edge and began disrobing, removing her shoes, her earrings. "If you need a bit of foreplay, I can suck you off again," she said, with a casual smile as she continued disrobing. "But I think you have been looking forward to this since the ballet, yes?"

I realized that her words were meant because I hadn't started to get naked myself, having become rather distracted by the interesting way her body flowed and shifted, the dress slowly hiking up to reveal long, slender, dark legs. She had a model's physique, thin and tall. Graceful. Mira was svelte too, but there was more muscle there, more tone, a product of having to be at least a bit fit, to be a superhero; Priscilla, thanks to her power, could obviously simply transform herself into a dragon or muscle woman or something, if the need arose.

I just stripped myself at maximum speed, once her naked body was bared to me. Her pussy was well and truly shaved, not a single inch of bush left down there; in fact, she had no apparent body hair from the neck down. She grinned as she saw me practically disappear my clothes. "Somebody's eager," she said. "Just lie down, and let me blow your mind," she said, grasping me by the wrist and dragging me to the bed, practically shoving me down. She clambered up atop me, teasing her pink sex at my cock. "Now, if I recall correctly, you wanted to try coming so fast and hard that your brain turns into pink fluffy cotton, right?" She grinned.

"I don't think I put it in precisely those terms, but yes," I agreed. She grinned at that, hands going to my stomach, and took a deep breath - then simply slammed herself down my length. I groaned at the feeling of it, her sex squeezing taut around my dick. She was tight, and whether or not I wondered at the time if the tightness was induced by her power, she was still absurdly tight, and it felt great, being wrapped up like her pussy was a condom just the tiniest bit too small. Every pulse of blood inside her, every gentle twitch of her muscles, sent waves of pleasure through my body, almost mind-numbing in their intensity.

For a moment, it even confused me - tightness was nice, but it didn't feel this good, particularly with just how tight she was - then I realized that, obviously, this was part of making me come fast and hard. I gasped as she started to slide up and down my dick, her inner walls wiggling along my length, and I came pretty much on the first bounce, just coming right inside her waiting sex. She didn't slow down, didn't stop, just grinned as she pushed herself up, then slid herself back down, licking her lips hungrily before slithering all along my length.

She leaned forward, kissing at my neck, licking at it, then finding my lips with her own, as I continued to erupt inside her in a seemingly never-ending orgasm. She just hummed pleasantly, her tongue swishing around in my mouth, tasting my spit, teasing my palate. My eyes were rolling up as I simply lost myself to the pleasure. When that first orgasm finished, I managed to grab her hips, to pump her maybe three times, and then I was coming again, a second load seeming just as thick as the first joining it inside her, as her tongue hungrily explored the inside of my mouth. It was long and dextrous, and could cover so much area in so little time. It started to feel like she was simply unspooling it inside my mouth to force my cheeks to bulge, like making somebody suck down an entire Fruit Tape without swallowing.

Still, I couldn't complain, and not just because my mouth was otherwise occupied. Attempting to speed up my subjective sense of time let me extend the amount of time I spent not coming, but not by nearly so much as you would expect - her cunt wasn't pulsing quite so forcefully, at one-tenth speed, but my cock was still rubbing and thrusting and throbbing all on its lonesome despite it. It turned a two or three stroke orgasm into a five or six one, and it felt genuinely intense and fantastic. Fuck, if this is what sex was like for women back in my world, why the hell hadn't they been as slutty as I was right now?

After my sixth or seventh orgasm - I was already starting to lose count - I grabbed Priscilla by the hips, twisting her round so she fell on her back. She let out a soft laugh at that, staring up at me with hazel-brown eyes, her dark skin having just the hint of a sheen of sweat to it, despite the fact that we had been fucking for maybe four or five minutes total, most of which I had spent filling her up with load of cum after load of cum.

"Fuck, you feel good," I groaned out, before coming yet again inside her, my whole body shivering in ecstasy.

She grinned at that, then let out a soft pant as my hand reached down for her clit, trying its best to play with her despite my constant spasming movements. "I do, don't I," she breathed out, with a degree of pride that suggested she had played with the specific dimensions of her sex for exactly this purpose. I just found that sexier, though, and started rutting inside her all the faster, pounding away at superhuman speed as I lost all control of my body.

I can't express how fucking good coming like that feels. It is genuinely mind-melting: I was holding onto her thighs tightly, twisting her body into a position that made her easier to fuck, as I just sought out my own orgasm. Or, orgasms, as the case may have been. The occasional brief tingle of old-style guilt over the fact that I wasn't sure if she had come even once, thus far, was overpowered by the simple fact that she was wearing a genuinely rapturous smile, her eyes drinking in my naked body, her hands reaching up to grope and caress me as I rode her like a wild man.

Occasionally, she would manage to speak. My capacity for it had drained out of my cock somewhere around my twelfth orgasm - hers was better, though I was still fucking at superspeed and playing with her clit simultaneously. "Mm, you like it. You like my pussy." "Just enjoy it. No other woman can make you feel as good as I do." "Your superspeed is amazing."

"Fuck, fuck, coming," she hissed out, suddenly, her whole body locking up as she clamped down hard on my dick. It arrested my movement, then, her already tight sex redoubling in its force and holding me in place. I held still, letting the pleasure wash over me, almost drooling in ecstasy at the sensation. I stared down at her, drinking in those good looks of hers, the way her head tilted, the way she panted, the way she seemed ready to lose her breath... and when she was finished, I went right back at it.

I don't know how many times I came. I would guess just south of one hundred; she managed to come five times, before I finally ran out of energy, at some point around the one hour mark. I simply collapsed onto the bed, then, and she let out a soft laugh, seeing me like that. She gave me a kiss, and started to move to rise - I took hold of her wrist on instinct, and pulled her back into me. "Mm, I really should be going..." she said, softly, as she got pressed into my chest.

"Come on. I've never had sex like that, don't just run off the second we're done," I argued. I probably would not have been so uncouth, but I was rather exhausted, and tired people are always more irritable. She let out a small giggle at the line about never having had sex like that before, and decided to let me hold her so close, snuggling up against me as I fell unconscious.

* * *

I woke up before her, perhaps an hour later. Her naked body stuck to mine, sweat pleasantly holding us together, and as my eyes looked down at her, I realized she looked subtly different. Her face was a little rounder; her breasts a mite larger, but so too was her belly. A look at how our bodies pressed against one another suggested her legs were shorter. She was shorter, chubbier, more natural looking, no longer looking like a model does in a magazine after getting airbrushed to high heaven...

It took me a few minutes to realize that she had presumably been looking so good thanks to an application of her power - and, being unconscious, she couldn't maintain it. She was still fairly cute, she just lacked that kind of obscene level of perfection. I thought about it from her point of view, trying to turn the situation around and around in her head. Perhaps she had some sense of inferiority? A complex? It would make sense, wouldn't it? A man who used his powers to make himself look like a beefcake, who actually is just a fairly average-looking guy underneath it... I definitely couldn't express disapproval of what she'd done.

I decided to go for the time-honored way to show a girl you thought she was sexy, at least in this world: laying her down gently on her back, then clambering in between her legs and just thrusting deep inside her, starting to rut. She woke up quickly, and despite her dark skin, I could see the flush on her cheeks as I fucked her hard. She had yet to quite apply whatever particular things had put me on a hair trigger, as she bounced and jerked beneath me, beginning to sputter softly, eyes wide.

"You're sexy either way," I told her, before leaning down to dive bomb her in a kiss, grasping her ass cheek.

Reassuring words or no, I felt as that soft, plush butt from a woman who didn't work out and was a bit on the chubby end, transformed into the tight, well-toned butt that I knew from earlier. As her spine shifted and arched, now that the distance from her head to her pelvis had grown once more. As her thighs became slim. It was sexy, too, to break off the kiss and see the ordinary-looking girl replaced with airbrushed perfection, and I just started to ram into her again, as I lost all control, her twisting work on my body making me start machine gunning her pussy again.

When we repeated the cycle a second time, she didn't wind up staying in bed with me; instead, she wound up serving me breakfast in bed, wearing that lovely model face again as she smiled. "I hope you enjoyed that," she said, exuding confidence as she spoke.

"It was fantastic," I breathed out, feeling dehydrated enough to gulp down the entire glass of orange juice and water she'd brought at superspeed - she wound up having to bring a second pair of cups with refills of both, then a third, before I was hydrated enough to eat and drink more normally.

"Mhm," she hummed, finger trailing along my naked stomach with interest. "A lot of men aren't quite so willing to do that kind of play," she admitted to me. "So? Have I broken you as a man, addicted you to my pussy?" She was smiling as she said it - a teasing mockery of that kind of fear.

"No. It was really good though. Can we do it again sometime?"

She laughed at that. "I would certainly hope so."

* * *

One thing I realized, in the aftermath of my date with Priscilla, was that it was probably the first proper date I had had in this world. I had gone out with Mira for drinks, sure, but that had been a bit of conversation, interrupted by her friend coming back in town (or, more likely, her attempts to play hard to get). Then there had been clothes-shopping with Priscilla, which had soon become mere practicality as she realized I wasn't very interested in shopping.

Everything else I had done, had simply been going to a woman's home, or bringing her to mine, then having sex with her. Fucking Xico and Kate at my apartment; fucking Lope and Xico at her place.

By extension, I realized that Xico had asked if she could go on a date with me - but had never actually asked to go on a date with me. Even our sex romps were pretty much me inviting her over, and then fucking her. She seemed shy, unsure of herself, and thus, I was pretty sure the reason she hadn't asked me out was just that she was trying to build herself up to it. Since I liked her, I decided to spare her that; when she came into work the next day after my date with Priscilla, I spoke up. "Xico. How about after work today, we hit the town and have a bit of fun?"

She blinked rapidly at the question, perhaps reading my thoughts to determine if I was playing with her. I wasn't, obviously. I was just making the first move to make things easier on her. "Y-yes! Yes... let's," she agreed, with a rapid nod, a small, nervous smile on her lips. "S-sorry for not asking you out," she added, seeming ashamed.

"You know I'm used to girls not asking me out," I told her, and she let out a small squeak at the realization, then another rapid nod of acquiescence. "Anyway. Back to the grindstone," I said, letting time stretch out in front of me as I started to work. I suspect she wasn't a terribly effective auditor that time, given the way her tentacles wobbled and bounced with nervous excitement, but I didn't take advantage.

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