MILF & Cookies

Mighty Max wasn't precisely certain what he was hearing emanating from his mother's bedroom. All he knew for sure was that it was making the bed springs bounce; as his mom's room was decorated sparsely with throw rugs on hardwood floors, it was not something that could be easily ignored.

"What do you think she's doing up there?" Max asked his Guardian as a piece of ceiling plaster flitted down and landed in a nearby potted plant. Norman raised an eyebrow and stared upwards, silently assessing the situation.

"She's ... busy," he said, simply but knowingly.

Max harrumphed. "And where's Virgil? I thought we had hero stuff to do. That's why you guys came all the way here." As much as thirteen-year-old Max sometimes fought tooth-and-nail against having to do said 'hero stuff', he was an important key in the fight against all things Evil, and sometimes, he even felt up to the challenge. Plus, he had a pre-algebra test he didn't want to study for.

Norman smirked affectionately at his charge. "Patience, Mighty One," he rumbled. "There will be time enough for that."

Max rolled his eyes. "You sound like him, at least." Another particularly loud squeak from his mother's mattress sounded overhead, and Norman looked up again, alarmed. "He's probably helping Mom clean or something; she's been trying to get me to help her with that upstairs closet for ages."

"Hmm," Norman grunted noncommittally. The two watched another plaster flake slide down a wall, and then Norman stood up abruptly. "Baseball cards," he said randomly. "Do you ... have them?"

"Uh ... yeah?" Max ventured.

"Good. Let's go," Norman said. Max blinked, shrugged, and hurried to catch up to Norman's long strides.

*

He hadn't meant for it to happen; he was pretty sure the mother of the Mighty One hadn't planned for it, either. But he had only read - rather extensively - about the wondrously raunchy things that humans did to one another sexually, and, admittedly, was interested in testing out some personally-held theories.

This was not, of course, the way he had broached the topic to the woman whose slim, bare form he was currently straddling. He hadn't, in fact, really broached it at all. The conversation that had served as a prequel to the intimate relations he could now lay claim to had been brief, indecent, and, were Virgil of a mind to overanalyze it the way he did everything else, really the stuff that those paperback romance novels that Max's mom kept shamefully stashed in a small bookcase were made of. He'd been on his way to the bathroom when he noticed a door that was partially open. Peeking in, he'd been taken aback by the sight of his charge's mother's breasts nearly at his eye-level. "Oh," he gasped before he could stop himself.

"Virgil!" Arms crossed immediately over the exposed chest; she was fully clothed from the waist down. "I'm sorry, I got off work a little early and was changing into something more comfortable." She bit her lip, obviously horribly embarrassed.

"The Mighty One does that," Virgil said vaguely, watching straight white teeth worrying what looked like a soft lower lip.

She blinked. "Pardon?"

Virgil cleared his throat. "Max does that, the, er, lip biting thing. Mostly when he becomes nervous or seems to be pondering something particularly complex." He was trying to steer the conversation into a safe zone, but the truth of the matter was that there was a pair of naked breasts in the room, and both of its occupants were fully aware of this. "Anyway, pardon me again," he said, turning away to excuse himself and return some semblance of normalcy (such that it was) between them.

"Well, I-", the Mighty One's mother began. Virgil faced her again, and they stared at one another in silence for several moments. An unspoken agreement seemed to be made in the lapse, and slowly, her breasts were freed from their oppressive hold. They were pert and compact, with rosy pink nipples that seemed to be summoning Virgil. Against his better judgment, but with their owner's breathy sigh encouraging him further, he shut the door firmly and crossed the short distance, taloned feet softly clicking against the wooden floor until he was close enough to touch them. Feathered fingers slid across the buds, which puckered and hardened.

Max's mother slid onto her back atop her spacious bed, and Virgil followed. His eyes - and hands - went to her breasts again, cupping and weighing them. He was transfixed at how the nipples seemed by far to be the most sensitive part, and how stroking his finger across the very top and pinching them made their owner gasp and her stomach muscles tighten. He found himself stuttering, however, when her own hands went to the front clasp of her pants. "You don't ... if, do you ... it's okay if you don't," she said breathily.

Virgil swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "I- I do," he responded shakily, his fingers meeting hers as he took over unbuckling the fastenings of her jeans. He felt, for one of the only times in his expansive life, rather at a loss for words. Somehow, he thought, it was probably better that way. The pants were fairly tight-fitting, but came off easily enough, though a fairly sharp tug brought her underwear down as well (feminine, yet practical; Virgil expected little else). The Mighty One's mother blushed, and he busied himself with sliding everything down her legs and onto the floor while she overcame any embarrassment. His curious examination of her womanly parts was met with a similar excitement as fondling her breasts had, and he smiled kindly when she let out a moan.

"Haven't - done this in a while," she said, shivering a little.

"I understand," he assured her. He motioned downwards with his head to indicate his intentions, and she gave a barely perceptible nod. It was odd, perhaps, to ask permission, given that he already had three fingers worked into her crevice, but even his extensive lifetime and vast cultural knowledge had not prepared him for bedroom etiquette such that he could use here. Simply craning his neck caused too much strain, so he flattened himself onto his stomach instead, her legs spread to accommodate him.

His beak level with her nether regions now, Virgil lapped experimentally, taking special care not to damage anything. Rubbing the clitoris, either accidentally the first few times and then purposefully after that, elicited the loudest reactions, including nails dug into the thick duvet and air hissed between clenched teeth. "Vir ... gil," she gasped, and when he looked up, she was biting her lip again, hard.

*

"I'll check and see if they're done, uh, cleaning," Norman assured Max, who had tired quickly of explaining the rules of baseball to his Guardian and was now antsy to go save the world. Prudently, Norman felt it was best for him to find out the progress of the "cleaning", and opened the door cautiously. He took one look - albeit, a long look, because he was only human, after all - at the scene, at the Lemurian fowl wielding something lengthy, rubbery looking, and florescent like a master swordsman, and at the Mighty One's mother, gasping and grunting bawdily as the device was pumped between her legs. "Fuck me, Virgil," she panted, squeezing her own breasts and arching her back. "Harder. Harder!"

"So are they almost done?" Max asked impatiently when his Guardian returned.

Norman coughed. "They're, uh, gonna be a while, still."