The Sex Life Of A Teenage Psychic Ch 01

Warning: This story is going to be very long and gets weirder and weirder as it goes, especially when I start to introduce supernatural elements and unrealistic portrayals of sexual acts. Some of these characters will perform feats that are superhuman and a little violent, which I know turns a lot of readers off. This story will include, but not be limited to, mind control, rape, incent, interracial sex, homosexual sex (lesbian and gay), and maybe even bestiality, if you consider monsters to be beasts. Cheers!

*

It was an incredibly boring looking house, in an incredibly boring looking neighborhood, or at least it seemed that way to me, but growing up in New York City really fucked with your standards. It was actually a nice house. Two stories, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, attic, basement, garage, front yard, back yard, and all that shit. I didn't have any of that shit in New York, my mom and I couldn't afford it. But New York was New York, the capitol of the world, the Big Apple, and this town was . . . what? Nothing.

Even its name was hokey: Wet Valley. Wet Valley? Wet . . . Valley? An internet article I had read said that the name was an Anglicization of an old Native American name that meant Fertile Valley or something like that, but that was literally all that article had to say on the matter. Other than that the only notable things about Wet Valley was that it possessed a so-so football team, an above average baseball team, and an exceptional cheerleading team.

I hated football. I hated baseball. And I abso-fucking-lutely hated cheerleaders.

I could tell I wasn't going to fit in around this town. It was Americana personified, filled with people trying to be Barbie and Ken dolls, and I was, well . . . Goth? Emo? A faggot? I wasn't sure how to label myself, which wasn't a problem in New York. Whoever or whatever you were in New York, there were other people like you. In this town I felt like Edward Scissorhands.

As I walked in my new empty house I came to one of the bathrooms and analyzed myself in the mirror, which I did a lot. My brown hair had been dyed black for years, and it hung over half my face. I wore eye-liner most of the time, which I was probably going to stop doing unless I wanted everyone at my school calling me a faggot. I unzipped my hoodie. I wasn't wearing any t-shirt underneath. It was hot and humid in Wet Valley.

My chest was thin and muscular, my abs had gotten to the point I wanted them. I did a lot of cardio and only ate vegetarian, not that I called myself a vegetarian (that would be too faggoty). I looked good, and I didn't feel like a total douche for thinking so. Most of my girlfriends thought I was hot. All of my boyfriends thought I was hot.

Looking at myself in the mirror was getting me turned on, not that I was some sort of narcissist or anything. I had spent the last three days hopping from hotel to hotel in a moving van with my mother. I never got a good opportunity to rub one out. Everything was giving me a boner.

I unzipped my jeans and pulled them down below my hairless crotch. I sheaved off all of my body hair regularly, I thought it looked gross otherwise. One man I had slept with, an older man I met at a New Year's party, had said that I was a 'twink,' which I found offensive because I generally didn't like titles. I still sucked his cock though. He was big and handsome and rugged, exactly my type.

I pulled the jeans down and my cock sprang out, and for a moment I looked at it the way my lovers did. I was well hung. I was very well hung, actually. Only once had I slept with a man with a bigger penis than me, and he was black. My cock was ten inches long when hard, and it was as thick around as a lady's wrist. I looked at myself in the mirror in the bathroom, my jeans around my ankles, and I gave myself a little smirk. I flexed for myself, and struck a couple poses with my hard cock going in different directions, pretending to be some sort of action hero in a porno.

I started to think of New York, of all the lovers I left behind, of all the clubs that didn't care that I was only eighteen, and I started to jack off. I was sad, but I was also horny as hell. Going three days without rubbing one out did that to me. I don't thing I had ever gone so long without masturbating since I shot my first load while looking through one of my mother's fitness magazine five years ago.

"Aw, yeah," I moaned quietly. My cock was thanking me for stroking it, my balls were screaming to relieve themselves of the last three days worth of torture. "Fuck yeah."

I was almost there. I actually felt proud of myself for bringing my big cock to orgasm so quickly, and in my arousal I started to compliment myself, playing the role of a lover. "Oh baby, you are such a stud." I stretched my cock out its full ten inches of thickness. "What a big . . . delicious . . . fucking . . . cock."

"Having fun, sweetie?"

I spun around, naked from the knees up, cock in hand. My mother was standing in the doorway. I had forgotten to close the fucking door. She was smiling at me, and looking directly down at my so-close-to-popping penis. She was leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, standing in her baggy sweater and jean shorts. Her skin was always two shades darker than mine (she tanned), and her short hair was a tastefully bleached strawberry blonde. I think most boys would have liked to find an athletic, curvy, attractive forty year-old in the doorway while masturbating, but not when that attractive woman was your mother.

"Mom!"

I tried to pull my pants up and move out of view, but I tripped and fell into the tub. I hit me head a little against the tile, but worse, I was stuck on my back with my cock poking straight up, right above my face. A tingling was working its way down my cock. I was very close to cumming, and I was worried that I about to bust my nut on my own face, with my mother watching.

"Mom! Shit! Get at of here!"

"Are you okay, sweetie? Did you hurt your head?"

"Mom! Shit!"

"Oh grow up. You were the one playing with yourself with the door open. You think I don't know what you're doing up in your room all night with your computer on, or when you have one of you 'friends' over?"

"Mom! Fuck you! Get out!"

She looked a little pissed when I yelled "Fuck you," but she wasn't going to make a big thing of it. She didn't leave either though, and even as I tried to shove my giant cock back into my pants she kept looking right at it. I got out of the tub and turned around, feeling less embarrassed by showing my ass than my penis for some reason.

I was just starting to feel a little better when I felt my mother's hand reach around and softly grasp the base of my dick. Her hand was smaller than mine, and softer. My nerves warned me that jizz was eminent.

"Mom . . ."

"Well you certainly didn't get this from your father."

". . . please leave."

Her hand left my cock and I could feel her moving away. "Once you've taken care of that . . . thing . . . can you finish unloading the van? I want to unpack the kitchen stuff."

She left without waiting for an answer and I slammed the door shut. My heart was beating like a speed-freak and my cock was now screaming for the soft hand to come back and finish it off. This was not the most embarrassing episode I had ever gone through with my mother. There was the time when she caught me sucking my math tutor's cock in my bedroom. There was the time she caught me fucking one of her friends from the gym . . . in her bed. The worst had been when some of the kids at school had found out what my mother did when she was in her twenties.

My mother had made movies.

My mother had been a pornstar.

As I sat on the toilet provoking my impatient cock to its needed climax my head spun with images of Asian girls in school uniforms and athletic black men taking outdoor showers, but my mind kept drifting back to one thing, no matter how much I hated it.

I kept thinking about the way my mother's hand had felt on the base of my cock, and the way her voice sounded when she called it "that thing."

I came. I came a lot.

#####

The last box I unloaded from the van was the one I had hidden behind the few pieces of furniture we had decided to drag with us all the way from New York. Mostly stuff that had belonged to my grandparents, mom and I were cool with the idea of getting all new stuff. That made the house feel like a fresh start.

This box was special to me though, and I had gone to a little bit of trouble to hide it from my mom. It was my porn box, not that you'd be able to tell even if you looked inside. I kept all my porn in digital formats: jpegs, gifs, and video files, all of which was put onto a 500 gigabyte external hard drive. 500 gigs was a lot of information, but to my slight embarrassment, or maybe pride, I was actually running out of room on it. I collected and archived porn with an almost pathological fixation, and I took great pride in it.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find ten gigs worth of tasteful high quality videos of fitness models exercising in the nude? It took a while. It was probably time to upgrade to 1 or 2 terabyte drive, which was fine. They weren't that expensive.

I also had a few ounces of weed in the box, which was worth hiding as well.

As I was carrying my box into the house I saw my mother talking to one of the neighbors. The sun was setting behind them so I could only see their outlines in the corona. Something about my mother's body language instantly told me she was flirting, or at least trying to. I had fucked enough girls to know what they looked like when they were thinking about fucking.

". . . anytime you want," the neighbor was saying. He was man. A big one. "You don't even need to ask me. Just come over and hop in anytime."

"God," my mom said, spinning a little on one of her legs. "My own private pool. Not a lot of those in New York. I always had to fight for a lane with the twenty year-olds at the gym."

I was suspicious of what this douche-bag was offering to my mother. For an ex-pornstar she was still a little too trusting of people, especially men. More than once I had watched her go out on a date expecting it to be the start of an actual relationship, only to get popped-and-dropped. I hated the douche-bags who used my mother for sex, and I hated her for falling for it. I was being a little hypocrite though. I popped-and-dropped all the time, boys and girls, but they were usually other eighteen year-olds. Kids that age needed to get popped-and-dropped a few times.

I walked up to my mom and almost stumbled when my cock wanted to spring up. Out neighbor was fucking gorgeous. Tall, rugged, muscular, forty something male with short messy brown hair and a killer smile. Despite my mother obviously liking him I started praying 'Please be gay, please be gay, please be gay.'"

"Heya champ," he said to me, friendly but impersonal. "Nice to meet you."

I guessed he wasn't gay. Gay men didn't say 'heya champ.'

"Hey."

My mother was so giddy she forgot who I was. "This is my . . . son. Son! This is my son. Riley. Rye-Rye"

"Well heya Rye-Rye. I'm Dante, you're new neighbor."

"Hey."

"I was just telling your mom here that I have a pool that you two are welcomed to use whenever you want." His smile was sexy, confident, friendly, and completely fake. I hated douche-bags like this, no matter how much I wanted to stick my dick down his throat. I got hard imaging just that.

"Cool. Whatever. I mean, I don't like to tan."

He laughed. "Yeah. I can see that, Dracula."

My mother laughed. She loved it when men bullied me for some twisted reason. She thought it was 'friendly.' I hated it.

"Yeah, well, nice talking to you Dante. I got to go unload this stuff." That stuff being my porn and weed.

As I went back into the house I could see that my mother was doing her best to seem flirty and cute to Dante the Douche-bag. She was biting her lip and flipping her hair, doing everything no forty year old woman had any business doing. My mother was an exception though, I guess. Even at forty she really didn't look much different than she had when she was twenty, but her whole reputation as a pornstar was related to her immortal youth. That was the curse and blessing of being Roxanne Fox, or as she was more wildly known amongst the spank-banks of American boys, Rox the Fox.

As they flirted a car drove up, a nice one, one of those family cars. The woman who got out was stunning. Long brown legs, perfect brown arms, and two big brown tits that almost spilled out of her flimsy purple summer dress. Her hair was long, wavy, and dark, and on her forehead was a perfect little red dot. The wind blew her hair and dress about like a perverted ghost, and I got a clear view of her black lacey panties, but she hardly reacted. Like a runway model she strutted over to Dante and my mother.

"I'm here," she said.

"Go wait inside," Dante responded. He sounded almost angry. The friendly act was gone.

The woman, Indian by appearance, British by accent, headed straight for his front door without ever looking away. She was almost robotic in her movements. The wind blew again and I saw her perfect, bubble brown butt and the little black thong that clung to her curvy hips. She disappeared inside Dante's house.

"Who was that," my mother asked, sounding very jealous and disappointed.

"A friend," Dante answered. He smiled, but he sounded angry. He said goodbye to my mother, offered his pool to her again, "me casa es su casa," and followed the Indian goddess inside.

My mother stumbled back looking a little defeated, her cute pixie face pouting like a little girl's. She patted me on the back, and then reached into my box. She pulled out the weed and headed inside.

"I'm going to take a bath and get high. Have fun jerking off to all that porn you have on that hard drive."

#####

For a while I had tried my best to not jerk off to my porn collection. Something about my mom knowing about it made the porn seem less sacred I had been so vigilant, so secretive, and yet my mother had known about it this whole fucking time. She had even taken all of my weed. Fucking bitch.

Without my marijuana I had nothing to do but whack my anaconda though, so I did, and I didn't regret a moment of it. Going stoic these last three days had really built up a huge surplus of jizz in my strawberry-sized balls, and after a three hour marathon of jerking off I had already busted three times and showed no signs of stopping. This was going to be one of those nights in which I wouldn't strip fapping until the sun rose. It was a hot night. Hot and humid and sticky. I sat on an old flimsy wooden chair that I padded with pillows while I beat my stick to one of my favorite videos. It was a fourteen minute clip of a handsome, fit black man absolutely fucking the shit out of a busty blonde woman. It wasn't that I was obsessed with interracial porn or anything . . . at least not anymore . . . but black guys were hot, white girls were hot, big dicks were hot, big tits were hot, so . . . back guy, plus white girl, plus big dick, plus big tits equaled totally-fucking-hot.

I was ready to cum again. I didn't have any tissues or jizz-rags at hand. I was just cumming straight onto my chest. I could wash it off later.

But then I felt something, some strange tugging in my body, like an invisible hand stroking my prostrate. It wasn't unpleasant, it actually felt good, but it was just strange. I wondered if I needed to fart, or if I was lightheaded from all the masturbation, but the feeling was totally new.

I took off my headphones and stood up. My thick ten inches of cock stood up like a fifth limb. I let it hang out there, admiring it, and I swear I could feel something touching it. I turned, following the ghostly fingers that were stroking my cock and cupping my balls, and it lead me to the window.

My room had a very large window seat, a place I could lay dawn and look out the window at our neighbor's house. I could see the side of their house and most of their backyard, including a large pool that was sounded by comfy looking chairs and lush flowerbeds. I realized right then that this was Dante's house.

I looked out the window and saw a brown shape moving in the pool. The curvaceous body came to the edge of the steps and rose, waterfalls of warm water and mist dripping off her big, firm tits and perfect ass. It was the Indian woman from earlier, and she was stark-fucking-naked.

I didn't turn away, or even pretend to respect that busty bitch's privacy. She was naked, she was hot, I could see her, and so she belonged to me. I took a hold of my dick and gave it a few slow, excruciatingly pleasurably strokes. She walked around the pool, jiggling with sexual jelly. This was better than anything on my computer, and I knew that she was what I was going to bust my next nut at. I just had to pick the right moment.

The tingling returned again, deep in my groin, like warm water washing over my prostate.

Another person came into view. It was Dante, and I almost lost control of my orgasm when I saw him. He . . . was . . . a . . . GOD! His body was perfectly fit, like a brilliant erotic Greek stature, except his skin was tan and grizzled with just the right amount of hair. Despite the fact that I was a 'twink' I was not attracted to other twinks. I liked a man to have some hair, but not too much. I liked the way it smelled, and I liked the way it felt against my naked skin. I shivered as I imagined myself in bed with Dante, my slender frame resting against his broad, hot chest. I imagined the Indian with us, her soft, supple tits pushing into my back, and her silky, puffy lips wrapped around my cock.

Dante was naked, and I lost my breath when I saw that his thick cock was just as big as mine, maybe even bigger. I wanted so badly to grab his cock and press it against mine so that I could measure them. I wanted to suck his dick so badly my mouth watered.

He and the Indian babe began to talk. She was moving her hips like she had an itch deep in her body. She was begging to get fucked, I just knew it, and from the look of Dante's smile I think he knew it too. He was saying something, but I couldn't hear what. The Indian woman took two steps toward him, her big tits squishing against his hard chest, and then she glided down to her knees.

I could only see the back of her head, but from the looks of it she was either licking, smelling, her even kissing the head of his massive cock. I wanted to do all three. Her head began to move back and forth, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. She was sucking that cock like a pro.

I jacked my cock at the same tempo she was sucking. I wanted my pleasure to be matched to his. I wanted to cum when he came. I wanted to see his muscles bulge, his smile explode, and I wanted to see that slut's brown face get coated with his thick cream.

I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the incredible pleasure I was feeling, but when I opened them I saw that my two secret friends were moving inside.

"Oh shit," I almost cried. My beautiful sex-fairies were vanishing. I started to beat my cock desperately, wanting to cum while I could still look at the perfect lovers, but then a strange thing happened. The tingling came on stronger than ever, as if a ghostly cock was penetrating its way up my lubricated ass. The strange feeling was so unreal that I actually stopped moving. I wondered if I was having a seizure, and then a voice spoke in my head.

[Not yet Riley, don't cum yet. Wait a moment. I have something so sweat for you].

"What the fuck?" I said aloud. I had heard a voice in my head. An actual voice. A man's voice, a booming, deep voice that vibrated in my ribcage. It was so real, so clear, but it couldn't have been. Was I hallucinating? Was I just horny and tired and hearing things?