The Heroine Who Taught Me to Obey That Afternoon

“So, is this your second time?” Centella asked me while the two of us looked down from the rooftop of that building. A couple of blocks ahead, the police were cordoning off the entrance to the shopping mall and helping people out. Two armored trucks were just finishing loading the masked men inside, still unconscious on the stretchers.

“Yes,” I replied, somewhat embarrassed.

The heroine looked me over calmly from head to toe, as if my answer didn’t quite convince her but she’d decided not to press me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her. It was that the words wouldn’t come. Five minutes earlier I’d been in the middle of the hostage-taking chaos, and now I had the most powerful woman on the planet standing beside me.

Centella, no less. One of the five members of the Supreme Vanguard, the most feared and respected league in the world. I couldn’t understand what such an important figure was doing in a secondary city like mine.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said at last, “but… what are you doing here?”

She looked back out at the street. The wind ruffled her black mane.

“I was passing through. They asked for help in the south and, on my way back, I heard about the situation on the local news.” She smiled. “Though I can see this city has its own protector.”

I covered my face, burning red all the way to my ears.

“Thanks… but I still have a long way to go. I’m not ready.”

“No one is ever ready for this. They just knock on your door and force you to act.” She sat down beside me on the ledge and wrapped her arms around my head, pulling me against her body. I felt her heartbeat and her firm breasts, covered by the suit, against my cheek. It was a comforting sensation, too much so. “I value that you’ve decided to use your powers to help others. Though Nocturno may think you shouldn’t encourage rookies, I feel differently. The one who dares to decide is already ready to be tested. You just need training… and something other than a skintight swimsuit.”

“Ah, no, this isn’t a swimsuit!” I was dying of embarrassment. “They caught me in the changing rooms. I still don’t understand how hero outfits are made, and I don’t have a name to introduce myself with. I wasn’t planning to debut yet.”

Centella stood up. She was very tall, her cape fluttering elegantly, and her mere presence revealed the strength she kept hidden. She sighed.

“I can take you to a suit expert. But the name is up to you. What do you think?”

“I’d think that was great,” I replied, excited.

“Good. We’ll meet here again in a week. In the meantime, don’t do anything too crazy, all right?”

“All right.”

“Good girl.” She winked, leapt into the void, and rose into the sky with her cape billowing behind her.

***

“WE HAVE A HEROINE IN THE CITY!” Bruno, my classmate, shouted, waving his arms with his cell phone held high. On the screen, the local headlines read: “Centella and Vallehondo’s New Heroine: Wet Girl.”

It was the next day, and I was in the university classroom in my usual uniform, plaid skirt and white shirt. While my cheerful friend yelled out the news, I buried my head in my arms on the desk. “Wet Girl”? What kind of name was that? It wasn’t even a little bit funny, and it looked like it had been lifted from some cheap porn video online.

“That’s not true,” I muttered.

Bruno kept reading proudly that some robbers had described “a short girl in a tight suit, who went by the name Wet Girl.” Adrián listened silently beside him, as always, though a spark of satisfaction could be seen in his eyes. Carla, sitting next to me, played with her blond hair and let out giggles. In the seat in front of us, Tomás was making pained faces, and when I asked him about it, he only said, “days.” I didn’t push it.

“It’s incredible!” Bruno went on. “Centella shows up in our city and now we’ve got our own heroine.” Then he turned the phone toward us. “Look what I got.”

It was a video recorded on a mobile phone near the end of my fight. The problem was the ending: whoever had filmed it had stood up among the crowd and captured a close-up of my bare breasts before I could cover them.

“They look so tasty! I think I’m in love,” Bruno said, hugging the screen.

I wanted to die. I was almost about to scream at him, but Tomás beat me to it by asking where he’d gotten it, and that kept my panic from being exposed. Great. Just great. My public debut had been a total fiasco: no proper name, no uniform, and footage of my nipples already in circulation.

***

The week passed without incident, though the city never stopped talking about me. Some said I was inexperienced; others said I had no business being there. A few said I should show myself more and prove them wrong. I got so discouraged that I thought about not going to the appointment, but on the appointed day I felt I couldn’t let down one of the most important women on the planet.

That same morning, the news reported that Centella and Nocturno had faced the fearsome Belladona and, despite the brutal confrontation, had won once again. The cameras only showed Centella, winded, with a few scratches and dirt smeared across her skin. I wondered whether she’d be in any condition to keep our meeting.

She was. When I arrived on the rooftop, she was already waiting for me in her skintight suit and fluttering cape.

“I see you don’t have a mask,” she said sternly.

I had completely forgotten. Knowing I’d be meeting her, I’d felt a strange confidence that had thrown me off. Centella pulled a red latex mask from between her breasts and held it out to me.

“I’m glad you trust me. But it’s best to keep your identity secret. The place we’re going…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. She brought a hand to her head, closed her eyes, and took a misstep, as if in pain.

“Did today’s fight hurt you? We don’t have to do this,” I told her, but she shook her head and said it was only a mild ache, that she was fine.

With a tender smile, she reached an arm behind me and, by accident, brushed one breast with her hand.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed, then lowered it to my waist, holding me firmly. “Shall we?”

And without saying another word, she leapt into the void like she had before. A dizzying sensation washed over me and, nearly breathless, I clung to her as best I could. I looped my arms around her neck and she lifted my legs with her free arm, carrying me like a damsel in distress. My face ended up very close to hers. I could see the cuts and slight bruises from her last battle. I looked down once and decided not to do it again.

Centella didn’t fly: she accumulated kinetic energy and made huge leaps that lifted her in an illusion of flight, occasionally landing on a rooftop to build momentum again. I, on the other hand, was literally out of my element. Without water nearby, my powers were useless, and that frightened me.

“So… Wet Girl, huh?” she said.

My face burned. Centella smiled.

“Don’t worry. The names people choose usually have more impact. And besides… I think it’s cute.”

***

We landed on the outskirts of the city, behind an abandoned gas station, beside the road leading to the neighboring town. The price signs were worn down and the pumps were rusty and lonely. Centella set me on the ground carefully and motioned for me to follow her to a pair of old phone booths with darkened glass.

I got excited, imagining we were crossing the door to a secret hideout, but when I peeked inside I saw nothing unusual. I looked at her, confused, and she guided me with her eyes toward the inside of the booth. I stepped into the narrow space.

“It won’t recognize an unofficial member,” she murmured from outside. “We’ll have to go in together.”

And with that, she moved in. As she squeezed inside, I pressed myself against the walls to make room for her, with not much success. The booth had been designed for only one person standing, and although I was petite, that formidable woman had a lot of… presence. When we finally got inside, her breasts were almost resting against my face. Her neckline had shifted, and her nipples threatened to spill over the white star holding them in. She had her legs apart to let mine pass between them.

I could smell her as clearly as when she’d carried me. I heard her sigh and, looking down at me, she asked if I was okay. I barely nodded. She picked up the handset hanging beside my face.

“Centella. Seamstress zero four. Tests twelve. Tailoring. Authorization code six nine six nine.”

She hung up the receiver and waited in silence. A synthetic voice replied: “Voice recognition complete. Code authorized. Close the door to initiate transport.” Centella turned her head and discovered her cape had gotten caught, preventing the door from closing.

“Sorry, could you…?” she asked softly.

I stretched one arm around her side while, with the other hand, I tugged at the fabric. It was almost impossible in such a small space, but at last it gave, and the door slammed shut. With the impact, Centella’s body moved forward and my face was now, indeed, buried in her neckline. Her breasts were soft, warm, hot. There was hardly any light in there. When I tried to apologize, I felt her stifle a moan by biting her lip.

“Stay still,” she whispered, and her voice had changed. It was no longer the patient heroine’s voice from the rooftop. It was an order.

Time didn’t move. The synthetic voice announced: “Simultaneous transports in progress. Please wait.” Centella shifted and, in doing so, let her hip fall against my thighs, which were crossed beneath her. I could feel the heat of her crotch through the suit. In the dimness, I thought I could see the fabric pulling tight over her nipples.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” she said, and slid a hand to the back of my neck, forcing my face up toward hers. “A rookie who doesn’t even know how to cover herself in public. I’m going to have to teach you a couple of things.”

I swallowed. This wasn’t what I’d come looking for. And yet, part of me didn’t want her to stop.

“Yes,” I murmured.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes… please.”

She smiled in the darkness. She lowered her hand to the edge of my tiny swimsuit and, unhurriedly, pulled it aside to reveal one breast. She covered it with her palm, weighing it, and pinched the hardened nipple between two fingers until a cry escaped me.

“Quiet,” she ordered. “If someone activates the adjacent booth, they’ll hear us. You’re going to learn to obey in silence.”

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from moaning. She kept toying with my nipple while her thigh pressed firmly between my legs, right where I needed it most. I started moving against it almost without realizing, seeking relief, and she let me for only an instant before stopping me with a hand on my hip.

“Still. Don’t move until I say so.”

I obeyed. The effort of staying motionless while my entire body begged for the opposite was delicious torture. Centella watched me, enjoying my obedience, until at last she pressed her thigh against me again.

“Now. Slowly.”

I rubbed against her in slow circles, swallowing every gasp in my throat. She guided the rhythm with her hand on my hip, speeding me up and slowing me down at will, reminding me with every pause who was in charge. Her other hand left my chest, slid down my stomach, and slipped beneath the wet fabric of my suit.

“Look at me,” she demanded.

I lifted my gaze. Her fingers found me slick and slid in with such ease that it made me close my eyes in embarrassment.

“I said look at me.”

I opened them again. Holding her stare while she touched me was almost worse than the pleasure itself, and at the same time it amplified it. She traced circles over my clit with the pad of her thumb while two fingers sank into me, slow, deep, unhurried. Every time I was about to come, she stopped and left me hanging on the edge, panting against her neck.

“Please,” I begged in a thin voice.

“Please, what? Ask properly.”

“Please… let me finish.”

“That’s my good girl.”

She resumed the movement, this time without stopping, her fingers firm and precise, her thigh pressed against the back of her own hand. I bit the collar of her suit to keep from crying out when the orgasm split me in two. I shook all over against her, my legs trembling, held up only by her body and the narrowness of the booth, while she whispered in my ear to hold on, to take it, that it was exactly what I needed.

When I finally went slack, panting and soaked, the synthetic voice chose that instant to announce: “Transport enabled.” A powerful vibration flooded everything, like turbulence. My vision turned white and I lost all sense of space. I clung to Centella with my eyes squeezed shut. I felt her sweat, heard her say something I couldn’t understand.

***

When the effect ceased, I opened my eyes slowly. I was trembling, still held against her, my face buried in her breasts and one hand closed, I didn’t even know how, over her exposed ass, where the suit had shifted between the curves.

“Easy,” she said, her warm voice from before returning. “Transport always makes people dizzy the first few times. You’ll get used to it.” She smiled, and there was something new in that smile, a complicity that hadn’t existed on the rooftop. “Though I think you’re going to need more than one lesson. Fix my suit for me, would you?”

I slid my hand along her hip, found the edge of the fuchsia fabric, and when I tugged it into place, my fingers brushed a wet, warm fold that made her hold her breath.

“Careful,” she whispered, biting her lip. “Or I’ll start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

I finished putting the fabric back where it belonged and withdrew my hand, my legs still damp beneath her weight. She rose with elegance and opened the door onto a white, brightly lit corridor that looked nothing like the field we’d left behind. She held out her hand to help me out.

“Welcome to the workshop,” she said. “We’re going to get you that suit. And if you behave, maybe a name worth keeping too.” She leaned down until her lips brushed my ear. “But that, Wet Girl, you’re going to have to earn.”