Random smut stories with plot

by Jokiba

Smut of all kinds with good plot too

2. The New Girl

The New Girl

Thalaxian

Summary:

Tom Olsen, eighteen, has always considered himself straight. But in encountering Freya Venyabildt, the gorgeous scion of a family of billionaires, he finds himself exploring the confines of his sexuality. Because Freya, it seems, has something extra.

Notes:

A futa-on-male story initially involving dubcon/noncon, transitioning to D/s romance. Chapter 3 does involve male-on-male rape, in far less detail, for the sake of the plot. Otherwise, no particular fetishes beyond futanari. The male is not effeminate, and this is not a sissy story!*

Chapter 1: The New Girl

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The New Girl

Freya Venyabildt shouldn't be at Falbeck School. Her family, the Venyabildts, are fucking billionaires. They own one of the largest pharmaceutical companies on Earth, and yet she's joined the school, in my year. It's not like Falbeck is crappy or anything, it's just…well, not some dolled-up private school. It's a state school, with all that that entails.

I don't really know what I expected. It's safe to say, it wasn't Freya. She's in my Science class, in my English too. I guess I imagined some haughty, well-spoken, nicely dressed girl. One of those untouchable chicks. Maybe that's why Freya's here in the first place, because she's nothing like that.

Freya is six foot tall, to begin with. I feel especially short beside her, and she's often in like, two-inch heeled boots, which makes her that much taller. Her hair is bleach-blonde, a golden-white length of straightness that runs over her shoulders and down her back. Teachers always tell her off for undoing the buttons of her shirt, but it wouldn't matter anyway, because her tits are absolutely gigantic. They must be like G-cups, or bigger.

Her skin is always this bronzed tan shade and it looks legit, so either tanning beds or constant holidays. Freya's skirt is always halfway down her thighs, revealing the muscular voluptuousness of her lovely legs, which seem to go on forever. She's pretty buff, for a girl, which makes sense considering within a week of coming here, she already became the star girl's athlete. Always in the gym, she can out-bench all but the strongest of the boys.

Yet despite her athleticism, her body is decked out like that of a love goddess. I've already mentioned her huge boobs and lovely legs, but her backside could crush a boulder into a diamond, so tight and fat are those big buns, and her hips are maybe the widest I've ever seen. She's legitimately a sex-bomb.

…which makes it odd that, as of today, a whole month after she's joined…everyone still avoids her. I mean, I get why that makes sense for most of us "worthless peons" because she's, quite frankly, a bitch . What I don't understand is why the tough guys haven't flocked to her, or the popular girls – the bitchy ones, anyway, considering most are really nice – haven't taken her into their groups. Freya always seems lonelier than anyone else.

She works out alone, after school. She eats alone, behind the PE building, out of sight. I've caught her reading in secrecy a few times, spotted her anyway, in one secret alcove or other. Freya isn't, by any means, stupid. Fucking lazy, without a doubt – or disinterested, at the very least, which comes across the Tome way – but not stupid. I find myself so weirdly entranced by this new girl, and mostly out of her enigmatic qualities.

What is the deal with Freya Venyabildt?

Lisa Darrow is a long-time crush of mine, though she's been fading from my interest – I have no chance at all – since around Year 9. It now being Year 13, and with my curiosity greater than my fear of being awkward, I tap her on the shoulder during RE. The blonde-haired, tan-skinned, very pretty girl – though not a fucking dust mote compared to Freya – turns to me with a funny smile.

'Something the matter, Tom?' she says. Much as I'm never going to be of interest to her, short and chubby as I am, Lisa is still plenty nice. She's always remembered my name.

'Can I ask you something?' I say, leaning over and softening my voice. Our teacher, Mrs Taylor, is always off with the fairies. 'It's about Freya.'

At that name, Lisa seems to stiffen up. The girl beside her, Heather, gives us both a wary look. On the right side of her, Becky – another blonde beauty, though further along the bitchy scale – starts whispering to Carla beside her. It seems to set off a wave of whispers, warnings, worries. I can't make most of them out, but "Freya" is always the first word, and the rest becomes distorted by the admixture of many repetitions stated at different paces, all across the classroom. Lisa glances around, then frowns.

'After class,' she says, quietly. 'I'll wait outside for you.'

And with that, Lisa Darrow turns back to the front, and gets on with her work.

Honestly, weirdest conversation I've ever had with her. I sit here stock-still, perplexed, staring at the back of her pretty head. What on Earth regarding Freya requires talking about it after class? Nothing comes to mind, and besides, I doubt she'll suddenly change her thoughts on the matter.

When class is over, I find Lisa waiting beside the door on the way out. She waves away her friends and walks slowly with me, constantly checking around herself as if the walls might have ears.

'What did you want to know?' Lisa says.

I shrug, more at the presumption that any knowledge is something top-secret than the question itself. 'Just…why does nobody seem to like her?'

Lisa twists her mouth. 'You have spoken to her, right?'

'But, and forgive me for saying, it's not like all the girls in your group are, well, exactingly polite…'

'It isn't about polite, Tom. She's monstrous .' Now at the edge of the humanities block, Lisa glances around again. She leans in close, smelling of strawberries. 'Remember that black eye Becky had a few weeks back? Freya gave it to her. Becky's boyfriend started off on Freya in return, and…Jack doesn't want to say what happened, but Becky thinks she raped him. We tried to be nice to her, but she thinks we're all just pointless.'

Much as it's wrong to think, the idea of being raped by a six-foot Amazonian goddess doesn't seem something to be ashamed of. I suppose I say that as someone single, lonely, virginal, and so far, having not experienced rape.

'She seems so lonely,' I say gently, a little elsewhere. Lisa gives me a frown. 'I suppose it makes sense, what with what you've just said.'

'I don't know why she's at this school, Tom,' Lisa says, firmly. 'She's always flashing her tits and legs, always threatens teachers when they tell her off for it to the point they've stopped, beats up people's boyfriends…she has serious fucking behavioural problems, and that's being light on the issue.' A sudden thought seems to occur, such that she considers me in a new, somewhat disappointed light. 'Do you fancy her or something?'

I swallow the lump in my throat. 'I mean, she's hot.' Lisa rolls her eyes. 'She is , but that doesn't mean I fancy her. It's not like I have a chance anyway.'

Lisa grabs my arm and squeezes it tight. Her fingers should hurt, but it's the first time she's ever touched me, so it feels more divine than painful. 'Be careful , okay? I know we aren't close, but you're a nice enough guy. Rejection might break your heart, but I think she's got the strength to break bones . Steer clear, Tom. Freya is bad news.'

And with that, Lisa smiles warily at me, glances around once more, and speeds off to join her friends. I'm left no clearer on the situation, because for all Lisa has said, it sounds difficult to believe. The girl seems lonely, not evil.

After school, I decide to go to the gym. Not to work out, as such, but I know that Freya is going to be there. The school gym is part of the PE block, adjacent to the gym hall. It has a fair few weight machines, though no free weights, which I'm more inclined to use. Surprisingly enough, the room is empty. There's nobody around.

I dither for a little while, waiting and checking my phone, to no avail. Freya simply isn't here today, for one reason or other. I'm about to go home when, from along the corridor, I hear the sound of voices.

'Suck it, you dirty old whore,' Freya says. It has to be her, it has the right bitchy, sultry, confident allure. 'Wrap those fucking great tits around it, too, ughn yeah. That's it, Vicky , that's a good slut. Ughn, fuck.'

Vicky? I creep along the hallway, ears pricked, mind active. Vicky…Maxwell? The teacher? 'Schlup. Mumph. Schlup. Schlup.' Those noises sound lewd. They're coming from Mrs Maxwell's office, at the end of the corridor, round the little bend and out of sight. Faint, but my ears are good. 'So–schlup–fucking–mumph–schlup–tasty,' Mrs Maxwell says, the apparent source of the sounds. 'Glugp. Mumph. Glugp.'

I reach the corner and hesitate, my heart pounding. What the hell is she sucking on? Is she forcing Mrs Maxwell to blow a guy in her office?

'Ughn. Keep going deeper. Yeah, just like that,' Freya says, voice ablaze with passion. 'Hungry for that–ughn–load, aren't you, Vicky ?' The way she says that name is like some act of power or dominance. 'Bury your–argh–face in there. That's a good slut.'

'Mumph! Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

'That's it, that's it . Mhm, play with those fat balls, work that–ugh–that fucking tongue.'

'Mumph. Glugp. Glugp.'

'Gonna feed you–ughn–lots today,' Freya says, groaning. 'Gotta get that fertile body of yours ready–mhm–because one of these days–oof–I'm gonna–argh–gonna–ughn! Shit, I'm so fucking close.'

There's a slick, wet noise, and a sloppy gurgle. 'Glugp. Schlup. Schlup.' What follows is a panting for breath, and the wet slapping of something against skin. 'Freya…we've…'

'It's Mistress Venyabildt to you, whore,' Freya says. She must slap Mrs Maxwell! The sound is shockingly loud, and Mrs Maxwell gasps. 'Suck the head until you get the cream, and you're forgiven.'

'Y-es M-istress V-v-enyabildt,' Mrs Maxwell says, followed by, 'Schlup. Mumph. Schlup.'

'Ughn fuck. Shitting Christ, you're good at that,' Freya says, groaning. 'Tell your–ugh–bitch-boy husband that–argh–you want to try for a baby on–mhm, fuck yeah, so close–tell him you want to try next weekend. Oof, fuck. Then–ughn–you can bare my child.'

A sloppy sound follows, like a lewd pop. 'Y-es, Mistress Venyabildt. I-I'll bare y-our child.'

'Good girl,' Freya says. I can almost picture her vainglorious smirk. 'Beg for it. Beg .'

'Please feed me your sperm, Mistress,' Mrs Maxwell says, oozing lust. 'I want it in my belly, I want to taste it on my tongue.'

'Ughn, fuck. Suck it out then!'

'Schlup. Schlup. Mumph. Mumph!'

'Ughn, fucking yes! I'm fucking cumming, fuck!' Freya shouts, without a care in the world. 'That's it–argh fuck yeah–that's it, suck out the cream, every last fucking drop…'

It dawns on me that there is no third person, possessing a cock. I've either stumbled upon a weird roleplay, or…Freya isn't a girl. What's more, my dick is hard as fucking rock right now. It's a fucking good thing that nobody else is around, Jesus Christ.

'…show me it, Vicky ,' Freya says. 'Open up, stick out that tongue. Oh yeah, that's the stuff. You had to swallow a few times too, didn't you? Good girl, putting it where it belongs. Shut it now, and savour it. Swallow now, good. Show me.' Freya giggles. 'Good girl, good girl. You really like my jizz, don't you?'

'It's the best, Mistress Venyabildt,' Mrs Maxwell says. 'Just like your cock…just like your balls…'

There's movement from within, and panic sets in on my end. I rush to the changing room door as Mrs Maxwell's office opens up, casting yellow light full of private meaning into the corridor.

'They'll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after,' Freya says, stepping into the corridor. 'You're my personal milker, after all. You're getting awful good at pulling it out, let me tell you…'

She turns around just as I manage to slip into the boy's changing room. I keep the door just a fraction open, for fear of making a sound. It's the tiniest gap in the world, a mere sliver of light. My heart beats hard in my chest, thumping against the inside of my ribs. The silence seems endless.

For a long moment, something blocks the sliver of light. I swear I hear Freya giggle, and then the light returns. I wait and wait, beyond the shutting of Mrs Maxwell's office and the sound of her keys, her walking down the hallway, and then at last take my leave.

Is Freya's secret that she has a dick?

Chapter 2: Keeping Secrets

Summary:

Tom may or may not have discovered something that Freya keeps deeply secret. He overheard something that shouldn't really be possible, if Freya is just a regular girl. And this secret, wanted or not, is something that cannot be shared. Freya is going to make sure of that...

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Keeping Secrets

The following day is Thursday, and ordinarily of no consequence. What strikes me as different, however, is that I always find Freya staring at me. Her scarily beautiful blue eyes readily find me, no matter which room we're in, no matter where I stand outside during breaks. Freya just wears this funny smile, sharp as a scythe for running through wheat.

I start feeling a mote paranoid, perpetually feeling her eyes bore into me even when they aren't. She isn't always looking at me, or for me, which makes it worse. Why am I so scared of some girl?

Freya is scary, isn't she? If she has a dick, then she's not a she, anyway. Is Freya trans? Something else? Regardless, it explains how Becky's boyfriend got raped. He wasn't forced into a girl's pussy, that's for sure. If a no-nonsense woman like Mrs Maxwell is subservient to Freya's cock, then most likely that guy had his back doors smashed in…

'You know the truth, don't you?' a girl says. Her voice is sonorous, husky, sultry in all the best ways. It oozes sexiness. Freya . 'You were in the changing room, weren't you? Eavesdropping on Maxwell and I.'

I turn around slowly, doing my best to avoid showing fear. In the wake of the Amazonian girl's arrival on the central grassy area, most people have excused themselves in one way or another, keeping their distance. The bronze-skinned goddess stands on the edge of the grass, arms crossed beneath her voluminous cleavage and her bleach-blonde hair falling neatly around her face and down her back like a golden veil.

'I don't know what you mean,' I say, surprised at my vocal clarity.

Freya steps forwards, and I step back. She lunges, quick as a bolt, seizing me at the collar and pressing me against a tree. God, her hands are so soft, and she stinks of bubble-gum sweetness. For all her strength and aggression, she maintains a cool, disinterested smile.

'I think you know exactly what I mean. Tom, isn't it? Vicky said that was your name. You have dirt on me, whether you like it or not,' Freya says, her smile taking on a sinister edge. 'I don't like it when people have dirt on me. We both get filthy, you know? I don't like being filthy; I'm very clean, usually.'

'You don't need to threaten me, because I have no idea what you're talking about.' Again, I surprise myself. 'I'm no threat to you. I might even like you, if you weren't acting so venomously aloof all the time.'

She giggles and cocks her head, the smile widening. God, her mouth is so pretty. Her lips are so curvaceous and full, her teeth so white. She's easily the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and it bothers me how much I don't hate her manhandling me like this. I've clearly got a sub complex, or something.

'Venomously aloof? I like that, it's a nice phrase,' Freya says. Her smile grows evil again. 'I saw the CCTV footage, Tom. It's you, outside of Mrs Maxwell's office, and that means you overheard what was going on. Again, that's dirt , whether you like it or not.'

'I have no ill-will towards you, Freya.'

She releases me and steps backwards. Her long, muscular legs move most gracefully. It's impossible to not find myself interested in her.

'Are you gay, Tom?' she says. It seems a non-sequitur. Especially because she must, some way or another, have noticed my wandering eyes.

'No,' I say, simply. 'Why?'

Freya giggles. 'Just wondering. It means this will be easy, that's all.'

She turns about and starts to walk away.

'What does that mean?' I say, calling after her.

'You'll know when you know,' Freya says. She gives me one last smile. 'Nobody has dirt on me if I don't have dirt on them.'

And with that, she wanders off. For the rest of the day, there's no sign of Freya staring at me. She's back to normal; aloof, disinterested, away in her thoughts.

The notion sticks, however, that she must be seeking something to pin on me. Is there anything in my life that I'd be ashamed of, were it to come out? By the end of the day, on the bus home, I realise that while plenty of shit I do might be awkward or even embarrassing, I'd certainly own it all. It's just how I am.

Yet all the same, I can't help but feel a sense of looming dread.

On Friday, I have PE as my last lesson. Sixth Form was meant to drop PE, but that was too good to be true. I'm eighteen, an actual adult, and still have to do pointless laps.

Mrs Maxwell runs it and for the first time in perhaps ever, I'm half-mesmerised by her impressively large chest. It's maybe bigger than Freya's, even. The mental image of Freya – with a dick – fucking that chest is, I have to admit, pretty arousing. I mean, the mental image of Freya – with a dick – is surprisingly…not bad? That's not gay, right? Besides, I'm not even sure she has one and if she does, the surgery was clearly great. But then why keep the dick?

Weird.

Mrs Maxwell says it's my turn to tidy up the equipment, though I don't argue the point. I'm sure it's not, but still. An easier life, not fighting with that boisterous woman. If Freya is somehow dominating her, well, that's scarily impressive.

I get back to the changing room last, and am halfway through getting changed when the last of the other boys disappears off home. Then the door goes, and Mrs Maxwell walks in. The tall woman, about six foot or so, crosses her arms beneath her heaving bosoms and stares me down across the rectangular room. She'd almost be attractive, if not for the fact that she treats PE like a military regimen.

'Uh, miss? I'm still getting changed,' I say.

'No, you're not.' Mrs Maxwell walks over to the outer door and opens it. Someone else steps inside. 'I've locked the other door, Mistress,' the PE teacher says. 'I'll lock this one from the outside.'

'Thanks, Vicky ,' Freya says. 'You're such a good girl.'

I turn as the blonde bronze-skinned goddess walks in, clad in tight-fitting PE kit, wearing a cruel smile on her perfectly voluptuous lips. She strokes Mrs Maxwell's auburn hair as though petting a dog, then sends the teacher away with a gesture. The door falls closed with a locking sound that reverberates inside my head, if not my ears.

The tall girl clenches something in one hand, hidden behind long well-manicured fingers. She watches me, eyes glistening blue, looking me up and down, grinning all the while. Freya steps forwards, and her chest rises and falls. Her hourglass figure, that muscular fertile body, sways alluringly. I'm positioned in such a way that to step back is to corner myself against a set of L-shaped benches, so I stand my ground.

'I'm going to have dirt on you,' Freya says. 'Now, you can leave this room with bruises on your face, or just on your ego…but you will leave with bruises.' I watch her hand, which unfurls like a graceful flower, revealing a bottle of lube . 'Turn around and drop those tight little briefs of yours, dickhead.'

For a moment I just blink at her, standing there with my school shirt on and my underwear, dwarfed by the tall Amazonian girl with the lube in her hand.

'Are you fucking joking?'

Freya giggles, and hooks her shorts with a thumb. A single gesture sends them sliding down her perfect legs, to rest around her knees. She's got no underwear on. She's got…an enormous flaccid penis and two gigantic balls.

'I can be gentle, Tom. But I'm unloading in your virginal arse one way or another. Call it mutually assured destruction; if you let out that I've got a cock, then I let out you've ridden it. Thanks for being straight, by the way. It makes it so much easier.'

I look her up and down, petrified. Freya has this thick flaccid dick that's about the size mine is when I'm fully erect, six or so inches long. It's tipped with a heavy glans hidden currently in folds of foreskin, and beneath it hangs a pair of huge testicles each the size of a clenched fist in a tight sack. The whole thing is bronze like the rest of her, though pale bikini lines run upwards to her hips from somewhere beneath the thick curling mound of golden blonde pubes above her shaft.

'Holy shit,' I say.

Freya smirks, and points at the wall. 'Turn around, dickhead. Don't you dare resist or I'll slam your face against the wall. You know I'm stronger than you.'

She's holding it now, the flaccid thing sort of hanging awkwardly over the edge of her hand, drooping heavily with the weight of that fat head. A weapon, to her mind, it seems. A means of controlling other people. But it's…it's kind of a girly dick, isn't it? I mean, it's not , but the body attached to it might make Aphrodite a little bit jealous.

I'm confused by myself.

'What, you want to suck it instead?' she says. 'Turn the fuck around!'

'O-kay.'

Awkwardly, I turn about and put my palms against the white breeze-block wall of the changing room. There's the plastic clack of the bottle opening, then a disappointed grunt from Freya. Her warm, soft skin brushes against the small of my back as she yanks down my briefs. 'Do I have to do fucking everything myself?'

I go to speak but the cool lubricant drizzles down my arse-crack, a tingling slickness that has me arch my back. 'Shit that's cold,' I say, but Freya only laughs. She slaps my butt hard, so hard I wince and hiss.

'Got a real fat arse. Don't you, Tom?' she says, her very tone possessing a smirk. 'I'm going to enjoy this.'

I'm not sure what I expected. Foreplay? Teasing? Freya just aims her rock-hard throbbing heat at my butthole and digs her hands into my hips, thrusting with reckless abandon.

'Ughn, shit.'

It's a searing pain, like a tearing, the sensation of something way too large going into too small a hole. I grunt, and my eyes water with tears. The hot thickness that pushes out the tight confines of my anus is not content to merely linger, to let me adjust. Freya starts to slam, back and forth, driving that raging hotness up and down inside my arse, spreading the pain as it tunnels.

I grit my teeth and bear it, hands pressed so firm against the wall that the bones of my fingers might snap. Freya's cock is absolutely inhuman, bigger than I can believe, thick and throbbing and pulsing along its veiny length inside my backdoor.

'Guh…it hurts,' I say.

'Ugh, not on my end.'

'P-lease…'

'Ughn, you're so fucking tight.' She slaps my arse hard, ramming deeper, the bristly tips of her pubic hairs tickling the top of my butt. 'What is it with–argh–boys and their fuckable arseholes?'

'Freya, you're…ugh…'

Hurting me? No, that's not quite right.

She ignores me, thrusting away, driving her length deeper and deeper into my exposed and lubricated arsehole. What was meant to be a moan of pain was, well, something a bit pleasant . Freya slams against me so hard that the top of my crack is suddenly full of ticklish soft pubic hairs and a pair of great warm orbs slam against my own smaller balls, their soft skin vaguely moist with sweat.

Glancing down, beyond the overhang of my chubby belly, my erection is undeniable. And when Freya slaps my arse again, giving a sort of sublime sting of pain to the flesh around it, she clarifies something both embarrassing and liberating.

I'm actually enjoying this.

'Take it–argh–take it you bitch!' she says, ramming me, her balls slapping hard against mine. 'You're a fucking girl–ughn–a fucking girl!'

'Ugh…'

'You'll–mhm–never live this down, Tom.'

'Never…ughn.'

'How's it feel, huh? Ugh, how's it feel to be taken like the bitch you are?!'

Freya's fingers dig into my hips, vaguely hurting me with the hardness of her nails. She thrusts and retreats, thrusts and retreats, mounting me like I'm a girl, driving her hot hard rod deep inside me with a rapacious strength and determination. I'm subject to her lusts, to her overpowering strength, to her pacing and power.

The enormous cock throbs monstrously, a heavy radiating sensation that fills my belly with a kind of twisting pleasure. Its course is simple, a straight-forward up and down, back and forth, yet it hits places that have me wince and bite my lips, not out of pain – though the stretching rawness is certainly there – but out of a kind of unwanted, unfathomable ecstasy.

How am I meant to feel?! This is wrong, and I'm not gay, but I don't want it to stop. I want her to lean forwards, to press those massive tits of hers against my back, to grind her crotch against my arsehole. Every slap of her testicles, those great hanging things, is a lewd pleasure to both my groin and my ear. The sensation of that thick mushroom head, flared wide and firm, as it excavates my backside, is something ephemeral.

'Ughn, it's…ugh…so good.'

Freya chuckles, and slaps my arse. 'Thought so–argh–you filthy little butt-slut.'

'Guh…fuck.'

'No loser boy has ever–ughn–been able to resist my dick,' she says, performing a particularly powerful thrust that causes my back to arch. 'Such a fucking–ugh–fragile masculinity. My cock up your arse and you're–mhm–putty in my hands.'

The Amazonian girl slams her powerful hips, the wide curvaceousness of her lower body gracing the cheeks of my butt, the ticklishness of her pubes reaching the top of my crack, the weightiness of those big balls dwarfing my own as they slap against them. My breathing is quicker, and so is hers. There's a tension building in my crotch, a familiar yet vastly stronger pleasure response than I'm used to.

'Ugh. Holy…shit…'

Freya keeps hitting this spot – bombarding it, more like – and every time her bulky fat helmet passes it, the pressure builds a little more. It's like a volcano of heat, a subsurface current urging towards an explosion. I'm so close.

I'm going to cum on Freya's dick .

'Say you're my bitch, Tom,' she says, speaking beside my ear. Through her polo shirt I can feel her rock-hard nipples, poking against my back with every thrust. The full weight of her chest, unfortunately, is kept just out of reach. 'Tell me that you're a girl–ughn–that you're my girl. Tell me…tell me you want me to breed that arse.'

I arch my back, blowing my top. It's the biggest load I've ever shot, a veritable fountain that thankfully only meets the white wall ahead of me. The pleasure she's been stoking erupts, a molten stream of jizz shooting out of my dick at a pace I've never before experienced.

'Uh, Jesus…fucking…Christ.'

Freya grunts. 'You fucking–oh shit .'

Freya halts mid-thrust, deep in my arse. My own orgasm grows all the greater, weakening my knees and causing muscle spasms in my belly. My eyes go wide at the realisation, just as Freya starts to buck and tremble.

She's cumming as well.

'You're–mhm–you're fucking milking me, bitch.'

Freya's grip tightens and she leans forwards, resting her weight upon me. Her massive breasts somewhat flatten and spread, great hot heavy soft shapes cushioning my back, their nipples poking my skin. As I shoot the biggest load of my life up the wall, Freya shoots something inhumanly powerful inside of me.

A wave of heat rushes through my bowels, a sort of velvety thickness that seems to slosh and coat as it moves, pumping out in a series of extraordinary shots. The heavy ooze, the molten fluid, is so tangible it has an obvious and undeniably filling sensation to it. My eyes roll back in my head as that warmth envelops those most sensitive areas, exaggerated by the pressure of her huge helmet and wide length.

She whimpers. 'You're…a…fucking bitch.' Freya seizes my throat from behind, but her grip is weak. Her soft fingers are more ticklish than fierce and she trembles against me, her heavy bosom shaking softly, shuddering and wobbling pleasantly against my back. 'Ughn. That clenching is so fucking good. Fuck.'

But I'm not even sure what I'm doing. The pleasure is causing me to quiver and weaken, and I guess I must be clamping down with my pelvic muscles, squeezing her member extremely tightly. Freya half-heartedly thrusts, disturbing the filling of my bowels, causing me to gasp and grunt from the reignited pleasure. My cock spurts weakly now, my balls drained.

I fall forwards, exhausted, slipping out of her weak grip and almost face-planting the wall – thankfully far above my orgasmic mess. Freya continues to twitch and shudder, then starts to pull away, drawing out of me with a still-hard but softening cock. Without her grip on my hips my knees buckle, and I manage to soften my landing onto the benches at the last moment, breathing mouthfuls of euphoric air.

Freya is smiling proudly, contended, with a dreaminess to her. Her ordinarily perfect blonde hair is dishevelled and a bit sweaty, as is her face, and she has pit-stains beneath her arms. Her enormous bronze dick is all glistening with lube and precum and semen, shrinking even now.

And she's blushing, vaguely. Red-cheeked and wet-eyed and looking more than a little bit pleased with herself. Freya steps backwards and looks down at me, eyeing me as an artist might her newest work.

'You came so hard on my dick that you milked a load from my balls,' she says, restraining a giggle. 'All on camera too, so if you think about spilling the beans, then everyone will know you loved riding my dick, won't they?'

Freya leans forwards and slaps my arse hard, then bursts into laughter as she goes to redress herself. In the haze of post-orgasmic pleasure all I can manage is to lie blissfully upon the bench, watching her jiggling curves and swaying manhood (womanhood?) as she stoops down to collect up her shorts.

I try to sit upright to address her, but something shifts and a heavy leakage drips out of me and down my left butt cheek. The sudden sloppy ooze covers the hand I send there, a thick stringy muck of pearl-white semen, thick and smelling somewhat musky. Creamy as custard, the heavy fluid slowly drips down my hand. There's such a ridiculous amount, and it just keeps leaking.

Freya's semen .

'Basically knocked you up,' she says, turning to face me as she tucks away her pendulous genitals. 'What? Never seen so much cum?' Freya giggles. 'Best part is that you pulled it out, faggot. Enjoy cleaning up that mess!'

And just like that she smilingly collects her little bottle of lube and practically skips out of the changing room, leaving me reeking of salty sweat and musky semen. Above my head, in the very corner where she raped me, is a little camera fixing. So as to say, whatever faces I pulled are now on film, somewhere.

Shit.

Chapter 3: Self-Discovery

Summary:

Tom has had his first real encounter with Freya, and his world has been shaken as a result. But Freya's attempt to get dirt on him, by filming the pair of them in the changing rooms, may have unintended consequences...

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Self-Discovery

I lay awake that night, tossing and turning for a while.

Earlier today, a very beautiful girl – with a penis – raped me in the boy's changing rooms at school. My initial response of fear gave way to pain which gave way to a kind of pleasure I've never felt before, and may never feel again. It's very confusing to consider, because how can anything involving a penis – if you yourself are a man – be anything short of gay?

I'm not attracted to men, nor to cocks, but…Freya's gorgeous. And her penis…it felt amazing inside of me, to the extent that I came harder than I've ever cum in my life. I didn't realise it could feel so good to have something shoved up my arse, to be honest. Freya seemed to know what she was doing, which helped…but it was just so filling , so hot, and seemed to find all the right spots.

And now there's footage, somewhere in the world, of my face as I ejaculate a moment before she does, her cock buried up to its hilt inside my arse.

I understand the principle of her plan – something embarrassing to show the world if I were to reveal her secret – but I don't understand how I fit into it. On the one hand, I had no inclination of telling on Freya, but on the other, I'm not sure that I'm ashamed of what happened earlier.

I'm not fighting between the fact that on the one hand I enjoyed being fucked by her, and on the other that I'm not gay. Freya is, without a doubt, the most attractive woman – penis or not – that I've ever laid eyes on. She's a tall, curvy, busty bombshell.

I'm fighting the division between the part of me that's terrified I'll never again experience that kind of sex, with that kind of "woman", and the part of me that's grateful I got off so lightly in the grand scheme of things.

I've never been so confused.

The weekend passes, and Monday rolls around.

As far as Freya's concerned, I seem to have dropped off the face of the world. She makes no eyes at me, no remarks, no reference at all to my existence. It's just as things were before I overheard that particular tryst with Mrs Maxwell, like I don't exist at all.

I guess one part of me, at least, has its fears realised. What occurred was, undeniably, a one-time attempt at revenge for a slight that hadn't yet transpired. It was daft, but I can't be blamed for having hoped that maybe, on some level, there was something more to it than that.

It dawns on me, around second break, that I'm walking around with two secrets. Yes, I know that Freya Venyabildt has a cock, and it's likely the cause of a great deal of her social ostracism. But I also know that I've been fucked in the arse by the hottest girl in school, and that's worth something, right?

Right?

The week passes.

On the following Monday, after school, I'm alone in the locker room when the big fat coach, Mr Bulger, enters through the inner door. He comes to a halt just inside the changing room, putting his hands on where might, beneath all the fat, lurk his hips.

'Well, well, well,' he says, smirking. 'Just the lad I was after.'

'Coach?'

He licks his lips, and plods forwards. 'Tommy-boy. Word gets around, y'know?' The fat old man stops, and pushes down the front of his PE shorts. Out flops a semi-erect cock maybe eight-inches in length, and thick as my wrist. 'You know what to do, son.'

I step backwards, pressing against the wall for support. 'What the fuck?'

The Coach grabs his junk and gives it a shake. 'Don't be coy, mate. Don't hide your amazement, either. Bet I'm bigger than any wimpy boy your age, that's for damn sure.'

'Coach, what the fuck?'

He looks puzzled for a moment, then frowns. 'You fucking having me on, mate? Hard to get, is that it?' For a big man, he moves fast. Half-dressed, I rush to the exit, but he's on me with impressive quickness and superior strength. The Coach slams me against the tile wall and kisses my neck with his fat, spittle-covered lips. 'Not your type, eh? Well, too fucking bad, mate.'

It takes moments for him to push down my boxers and, inevitably, slide himself inside of me. I wince and cry out, tears flowing already, but he's too damn strong and too damn heavy. The Coach grunts and groans, slamming his hefty hips against my butt, ploughing me not so far from where Freya did that time before.

Only this time, at no point does the pleasure outweigh the pain.

'Who's your daddy, eh, mate? Who's your–ughn–your fucking daddy!?'

I cum, and cry. I don't want to, I don't want any of it, but it comes as natural and expected as sunrise. He continues to fuck me, dirty talking, kissing my head and the sides of my face. My struggling only leads to bruises and scratches, to him slamming me against the tiles as he has his way. I cum again and at last he finishes, filling my backside with warmth.

The Coach leaves me sobbing, broken on the changing room floor. He groans contentedly, and waddles away. 'Fine fucking arse on you, mate,' he says, stretching a little, speaking over my tears. 'Glad there's some new meat. Feltham's too fat, to be honest, and that other kid…Hosley, is it? Yeah, too feminine for my tastes.

'Come to my office after school tomorrow, Tommy. I'll teach you a thing or two about sucking cock.'

'No…please.'

He looms above me, grinning. 'Let's say it's detention, then. Be a real shame if you were to miss a detention set by a senior member of faculty, eh? What might happen, I wonder?'

'Please…'

'Best get used to my cock, mate.'

He winks, and with another vicious laugh, leaves me to my trembling fate.

First thing the next day, I go to the heads.

'You consented,' Mr Fradley says. The tall, skinny, moustachioed man looks at me like I'm a nuisance, not a raped student. 'Coach Bulger is, by all records, an extra-curricular member of staff, and thus is free – if discouraged – to enter into sexual relationships with students of legal age, such as yourself.'

'He raped me.'

'His own testimony says otherwise.'

'He's a rapist!'

Mr Fradley sighs, and leans in. 'Look, Thomas; Leonard Bulger is a wealthy retiree, a critical financier of this academy, which the school relies heavily on. If we push this, and we lose his money, just think how many students' lives you'll be damaging with your accusation. How many students' lives are you asking me to damage, with your accusation?'

'So…sucks to be me, then?'

Mr Fradley nods. 'It's fine to experiment with your sexuality, Thomas. However, regretting such acts is not grounds for calling them rape.'

I go to speak, but this plain-faced, deaf-yet-hearing man is wasted on them. I've missed tutor, risking a detention, all to be told that what was rape was consensual, and that money matters more than my welfare.

'Right, sir. Got it.'

He smiles diplomatically, losing the look as soon as I turn to leave.

'Oh, and Tom,' Mr Fradley says, calling after me, 'don't forget your detention with the Coach this afternoon. It's booked into the system. He asked me to remind you.'

Oh God, no.

Freya is there at lunch break, sat against a wall behind the PE block as usual. For someone who presents as all beauty and no brains, she sits there reading Charles Dickens, his Tale of Two Cities , while delicately eating sushi rolls. Her reaction to my stomping approach is to merely glance up, not so much as changing her expression, then turn back to her book.

'Go away,' she says. 'I'm eating.'

Fucking bitch! I rush up and kick her shitty lunchbox away, scattering its contents. The cunt has the gall to look surprised, to look as though she doesn't deserve such a violent intrusion. With all the composure of an assassin, Freya delicately folds closed her book and pops it down, leaping onto her feet to tower over me with those extra four inches.

'You fucking little bitch–'

I'm not sure why, or how, but I manage to punch her mouth so hard her lip splits. That's my one shot, and then Freya has my collar so tight it tears a little and she throws me around, slamming me against the wall behind her.

'Sore arse not enough? I'll break your fucking jaw then, you shitty little fag.'

But the tears are flowing now, and I'm trembling with adrenaline and fear. Not fear of her, not fear of harm – that'd be easy – but abject terror at what awaits me, unavoidable. And Freya's eyes widen infinitesimally, staying her already-clenched fist.

'I'm g-onna have to s-uck his d-ick now,' I splutter out, trembling, eyes stinging. 'You f-ucking bitch F-reya, you're a f-ucking cunt, and I hate y-ou so bad I'd k-ill you if I could!'

She mouths the first part, then cocks her head. 'Suck whose dick? What?'

'The Coach ,' I say. 'You s-hared that fucking footage, d-idn't you? And he must've s-aw, and thinks I'm g-ay or might be, and…and…'

I can't finish the sentence, because the tears are too much. Like a baby I bawl away, mouth a shudder devoid of true language, pressed against the brick wall by this towering dominatrix who doomed me to an awful fate. The Coach is, it seems, untouchable. Rich, powerful, has a role in things.

And this fucking bitch is laughing at–

No, she isn't.

Freya stares at me with a look of sheer realisation, and gently lowers me back to the floor. She turns away, not seeming to be with me anymore. Through my teary eyes, her beauty is irrelevant.

'Go away,' she says, firmly.

'If I don't show up after school–'

'Go!'

But I remain, and she glares down at me. After a moment, Freya shakes her head, and sighs. 'You had no problem with my dick, Tom. It's clear that you're gay.'

I could laugh, if all wasn't so awful. 'Are you fucking thick, Freya?! I had no problem with your dick because…because you're…'

She lifts her eyebrows. 'Because I'm what ?'

'A girl ,' I say. 'You look and smell and sound like a fucking girl, okay?' I tremble and whimper beneath her solid, emotionless study. 'He fucking raped me in the changing rooms, right? Go watch that footage and compare, if you really don't believe me. If nothing happens before this afternoon…he's going to make me give him a blowjob.'

The very notion makes me physically retch. The awfulness of that fat, disgusting man having me service him like his own personal bitch is something bordering on ineffable. I'd sooner die than do that and…maybe I will.

Freya says nothing. I run off, head alive with suicide methods, but that concept is somehow more terrible. I'm fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked.

And that bitch said nothing.

I skip the last lesson of the day.

It's not like I can get in more trouble, right? The fucking headmaster is on Bulger's side of things, so he can make my life hell without a whisper of dissent amongst the power structure.

I sit in the boys' toilets of the English block, hidden in a cubicle, feet up against the door. The minutes tick away, the hour passing by, until that awful bell rings and my number is up. Coach Bulger stank of sweat when he raped me, and it was hard to deny that his cock was huge. Small compared to Freya's, but still massive enough to be remembered.

I'll have to suck it, won't I?

The notion makes me shiver. It's the gayest fucking thing, gross as hell, especially involving that awful, dirty, fat old man. I bet it's not clean…ugh. The load he shot in my arse stank awfully, with an extremely bitter, bleachy odour to it, not like the clean muskiness of Freya's cum.

I'll have to taste it, won't I?

The tears come again. It's going to be hell, going to be the worst, and all because that fucking cunt shared the footage of me getting fucked by her. It must be that, surely, because nothing else in my life even hints at me being gay. I concede that she wouldn't want her side of things to be known, but maybe the camera was only filming my face?

Fuck, what's the point? I can't escape this.

I put my feet down, sigh, and let all emotion drain away. Why me?

And that's when the sirens hit.

It's a hive of activity, after that. People are screaming, cheering, jeering, howling. A police car follows an ambulance into the school grounds, into the car park near the PE block. Students rush from their rooms, and amidst the human wave I fall in line, curious with excitement.

We don't get far, because police block off the way to the car park. Mrs Maxwell stands to one side, her nose caked with dried blood, crooked to one side. What the hell happened? Nobody's saying anything, and we never get a chance to actually see for ourselves.

The ambulance goes, as does the police car. Everything calms down just as the bell rings, and the school day ends. In the chaos of it all, I forget my worries, but the bell brings them conveniently back. Time to face destiny, I guess. Maybe it won't be so bad? I mean, some people do like sucking dick, right?

But the Coach's…

I resign myself to it, and go to the PE block. His office is the one right at the end of the corridor, around the bend and out of sight of the others. Convenient for a fucking rapist, to have his office out of the way.

It takes some courage to head to that door, with its frosted glass, and finally knock.

No answer.

I knock again, twice this time.

No answer.

Thrice.

No. Answer.

I hesitate to smile because inevitably, as soon as that look achieves fullness, he'll open the door. But I try the handle, and it's locked. I call his name, and there's silence.

Am I…am I free?

Chapter 4: Not Gay, Butt

Summary:

Tom has, by a stroke of good fortune, been saved from the gruesome Coach. And Freya, it seems, is kinder than she first appeared. So when the possibility arises that perhaps the two, so enjoying one another, might engage in a consensual tryst, sparks certainly fly...

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Not Gay, Butt

Everyone's caught up in rumours and hearsay the following morning.

My tutor fails to keep us quiet, so the conversations spill over in all directions. Someone broke into the PE block but Mrs Maxwell managed to subdue them, resulting in a broken nose on her part, says one. Another goes that Mrs Maxwell was fucking Coach Bulger, and the fat old man had a heart attack midway, causing him to accidentally headbutt her face, also explaining the nose.

It's generally accepted that someone was hurt enough that they needed an ambulance. It's also accepted that, somehow, Mrs Maxwell was involved. The actual truth, whatever it is, is something the faculty alone have access to.

The day proceeds otherwise as normal, with a midday announcement of a special assembly replacing tutor time tomorrow. Freya's nowhere to be seen, so naturally some of the rumours try to fit her into the narrative. Maybe she was attacked by the Coach, for instance. Maybe she got into a fight – the general portrayal is that she's a brute – with Mrs Maxwell, putting her into hospital in the process. But would a police car come for someone so badly hurt they're hospitalised?

Someone did get taken away. That much, as well, is known.

Freya is back in school for the Thursday assembly.

'We're extremely disappointed to announce that our beloved Leonard Bulger, Coach of the sports teams, has chosen to resign,' Mr Fradley says. I can't help but look wide-eyed with surprise at this turn of events. 'Unfortunately, given his advanced age, he suffered a painful slipped disc while hauling some PE equipment out of his car.

'Police were called on recommendation of the paramedics, who felt that at a school environment it would be best to have some additional crowd-control, as it were, on hand.' His face is lie, but a well-constructed one. 'Naturally, as a member of the school's financial committee, Mr Bulger was vital to funding efforts, much of which he did from his own pocket.

'However, we're very lucky to have the family of one of our newer students, Miss Venyabildt, ready to step up to the plate.' Headmaster Fradley looks around, but fails to find Freya. I swear I saw her, but she's vanished now. 'Genevieve Venyabildt has committed to matching Mr Bulger's donations to the school, and we doubtless have Freya to thank for this…'

Her knuckles are something out of a horror film.

Purple, swollen, bruised. She's put foundation, or something of that sort, over the wide-spread wounds but it's impossible to miss the swelling. Two seats away, in English, and I can't stop staring. When Freya catches me she glares, and I avert my eyes only to find myself watching again.

There's a picture forming, but it doesn't make sense. She's involved in all this, without a doubt, but how? And more importantly, why?

I find her at lunchtime.

She always sits in that spot, out of the way, far from everyone else. At first I suppose I thought it's because she views everyone as "lessers", but now I'm not so sure.

Freya Venyabildt, six-foot-tall, bodacious beyond belief, one of the most beautiful girls – women, by all accounts – in the world, surely…she could lead any clique or girl-gang yet chooses not to, for reasons I don't grasp. Okay, sure, she's got a massive dick. But what impact does that have?

Today she's eating neat sandwiches, loaded with fillings. Despite her size and strength, she eats them slowly, cleanly. It's a different book now, much bigger – Dostoevsky's War and Peace .

Why does this clever, beautiful, wealthy girl sit by herself against a red-brick wall every lunchtime, avoiding contact with her peers?

More importantly, why would that girl – if I'm correct about my assumption – go out of her way to put a man in hospital when it wouldn't have any impact on her life one way or another?

'I don't understand you,' I say, coming to a halt just inside that little corner.

'Did I ask for company?'

'You put a guy in hospital.'

'Did I?' she says, deadpan. Freya shrugs. 'Well, if that's what they say. But it doesn't explain why you're still bothering me.'

It's like talking to a brick wall. Even now, if she did something nice for me – deserved, surely – she's got no interest in actually communicating. Why bother, if she won't? Let her be lonely, fuck it.

'Right, sure. Well, have a nice life.'

Sighing, I turn away.

'I saw the footage,' Freya says. 'That fat pig had no right to see the film I'd made of you, but that dumb bitch Vicky thought to make some money and showed it to him. Modified, of course. It looks like a man was fucking you, not me.'

She looks thoughtful now, studying a piece of sandwich between two fingers, keeping her gaze away from mine. Guilty, maybe?

'What I'm saying, Tom, is that I had no right to do what I did.' She drops the piece into her lunchbox, and frowns. 'You won't understand and it's not fair to say to someone who's experienced what you have, but I get so caught up in hiding what I am at times that people get hurt unnecessarily. It won't happen again. I'll take adequate precautions, and not trust imbeciles like that Vicky Maxwell with private footage.'

'All of that and you don't say sorry,' I say, facing her head-on. 'You raped me, too, you know? You did it because of a reason, sure, but rape is rape. You'd sooner blackmail someone than ask nicely, and honestly Freya, that's fucked up.' Something about her neutral expression, her lack of basic decency, riles me up. 'It's pretty fucking clear why you sit alone at lunch.'

And that suggestion, to someone I barely know, seems far too cruel. 'Freya, I'm sorry, that was too–'

'It was perfectly fair, as comments go.' She smiles strangely, and actually looks at me. Her eyes are brilliant sapphires, intelligent and a little scary. 'You say you don't understand me, but I don't understand you . Of the twenty-something men I've humiliated, you're the only one who doesn't go out of his way to avoid me.' Her eyes narrow, and she pauses a moment. 'Do you really still think of me as a girl, Tom? Knowing what you do?'

I shrug. 'What am I meant to see you as? If you saw that footage, you'll see how different my face was with him as opposed to you.' A heat creeps onto my cheeks, at the implication of what I'm saying. 'I mean…'

Freya chuckles, but it's not a mocking sound. She blushes faintly, and stifles her laughter with a curled hand. 'Sorry, that's just–it's kind of funny, to me,' she says. 'You're weird , Tom. Boys are meant to be scared , when they cum on my cock. They're meant to be emasculated, meant to be ashamed.

'But you aren't, are you? Doesn't it seem odd to you, that my dick is bigger than yours? Doesn't it seem a bit pathetic, that you shot a load because I was stuffing your butt?'

'That's just biology,' I say with a shrug. 'You hit my prostate, right?'

'Sure, but I hit it with my penis .'

'And?'

She opens her mouth, but fails to make sounds. Freya closes her full lips, then glances side to side, eyeing concepts rather than things. After a moment, she affixes me again with her blue-eyed gaze. 'You aren't worried that you're gay?'

'I, uh, don't think any gay man would want to ride your cock, Freya. Maybe you were a boy, and had all surgery and stuff, but–'

'I never was,' she says firmly, a bit testily. 'Don't assume.'

'Fine, but that just makes you worse , for gay men. I mean, if your boobs are natural, those alone are gay-repellent. Not starting on your face, or smell, or hips, or…you get the idea.'

Freya is blushing now, solidly if not overwhelmingly. 'You pay attention to all that stuff? Even now?'

'What's that mean? Yes, even now. Men think you're a smoke-show, for Christ's sake.'

'Well they'd be blind not to, but again, Tom, I have a fourteen-inch dick.'

That seems to be a real point of contention for her. It's odd seeing someone so otherwise smart being so, well, rigid . A male body with a vagina would be gross, right? But a female body with a dick? I just…it's just different , rather than bad.

'So? I guess that makes it a pretty girly dick?'

Freya's eyes go wide, her cheeks redden, and she bursts into the first kind of honest, normal, human laughter I've witnessed from her. She lifts her knees and clutches them, rocking back and forth, sniggering and chuckling, wet-eyed and with a smile so true it looks like it's going to ache.

It's actually somewhat infectious, how natural that smile is. I can't tell if she's mocking me, or laughing at what I said, but I don't really mind. As much as I want to hate this girl…I can't seem to manage it.

After a few moments, she manages to get a hold on her humour, but her smile is still going strong and her eyes are wet with good-natured tears.

'A girly dick, huh?' Freya says. 'You're really, really , weird.'

I shrug aimlessly. 'Yeah, I guess.'

'Do you want to see it again?'

'What?'

'My dick. Do you want to?'

I don't know. I want to see more of Freya, and I guess that also includes her gender-incorrect genitalia, right?

I shrug, again. 'I don't know?'

She rolls her eyes. 'Look, idiot, did the fat fuck ruin anal for you or not? Because if he didn't, and you're open to the idea…well, I've never had a willing boy before.'

'I guess there's only one way to find out, right?'

Freya grins. Her teeth are perfect, pearly-white. 'Quarter past three, knock on the girl's changing room door – the outside one.' She waves her hand at me, shooing me away like one would a child. 'You can go now, Tom. Go to the changing room or don't, 'kay?'

'But–'

'I said go ,' she says, picking up her sandwich. 'I don't eat lunch with anyone, let alone you.' But despite her words, her tone is…somewhat sweet. 'See you later, or whatever.'

Am I really going to do this?

'Ughn, shit. You're so fucking tight.'

'Fuck.'

'Yeah, bitch, take it.'

'Ugh.'

'Slut. Fucking slut!'

It's not romantic, but it's passionate enough. She practically dragged me into the changing room and threw me into a corner. The whole thing started off without so much as a word, just the snap-click of the lube bottle's cap and the opening groans of a sordid, forbidden, secret tryst.

Yeah. Whatever the Coach did, it had no long-term effect. I can't even remember what it was like with him but being with Freya brings back memories, and fond ones at that. The pleasure is immediate, without a moment of doubt or regret. The cold lube gives way to searing heat, the warmth of being taken by a veritable Amazonian.

'God, it's better than–mhm–pussy.'

I can't comment on that, but it's like electric fire on my part, a creeping pleasure that radiates hotly out from the undeniable presence of her enormous erection. Freya grips my hips with vice-like strength, the softness of her skin contrary to the firmness of her muscles.

She slams those weighty curvaceous hips against me again and again, performing deep measured strokes, hilting herself up to her fat fucking balls every two or three thrusts. Her nuts slap noisily, wetly – from sweat and lubricant and whatever else – against mine. The big warm shapes engulf my smaller ones in their loose scrotum, and sometimes she holds herself buried deep, waves of pleasure causing her testicles to rise and fall, as if massaging my own.

'Ughn…Freya.'

Freya chuckles. 'Mhm, say my name, bitch-boy.'

'Freya.'

'Louder.'

'Freya!'

She slams with such force that I shudder, palms almost slipping against the white tiles. In the dimness of the girl's changing rooms, I'm being ridden like a girl, but our beauty and characteristics are oddly reversed. This whole thing should be unbecoming, but I can't help enjoying it. Freya knows exactly where to hit, what to do, how fast to move. Her penis's raw dimensions do the rest, that huge mushroom head splitting my arsehole in the most divine of ways.

I never thought an arse could feel out such things. The broad shape of her smooth helmet, the thickness of the veins running up and down her shaft, the heavy protrusion of her urethra on the underside, the coiled-back band of foreskin behind her glans. Her tool is profoundly good at prodding my prostate it seems, because with every thrust the sensation builds in my loins, the urge to blow my top.

'God, that slutty butt is so hungry for my cum.'

'Ughn.'

I wince, almost cry out as she slaps my right cheek with enough force to make me shudder. The pain mixes with the pleasure, sweet-sour, the heat left by her strong soft palm at once distorting my attention and affirming it, making real by creating a comparative sensation.

'Always wanted a slut like you,' she says. 'A bitch-boy to fuck.'

'Ugh, yeah…'

'What are you, Tom?'

'…a bitch-boy.'

'Whose bitch-boy?'

'Yours, Freya,' I say, wracked with pleasure. 'I'm Freya's bitch-boy.'

She laughs, and slaps me again. 'Yeah, you fucking are. Such a dirty little slut, and you're all mine.'

Freya buries herself deep, her balls coming to rest behind mine, dwarfing them. Slowly but surely she gyrates her hips, not thrusting but shifting around her erect presence, pressing firmly against my innards and stirring them up with thick fat dick.

'Cum for me, bitch-boy. Cum for Freya.'

'Ugh, I'm so close…'

'Good, I wanna feel you milk my cock again. It's all that a slutty loser like you is good for, anyway. You should be–ughn–grateful to take my seed in your boy-pussy.'

'So grateful…'

Another solid slap, and I wince. 'You're a fine plaything, bitch-boy.' Freya digs her fingers into my scalp, gently running them through my hair from front to back. 'If…' But whatever she intends to say is left unsaid. 'Just fucking cum, slut.'

It doesn't take long. Her gyrations build that orgasm to its peak and I spray the white tiles of the girl's changing room with my seed, a veritable eruption of the milky-white goop.

'F-uck!'

The sheer strength of the orgasm threatens to topple me, but Freya is effortlessly strong. She giggles over my grunting, my moaning. The musical sound of such pretty feminine humorous lust is lost on me. The pulsing, searing, quaking pleasure that rocks my body prevents any such high-level appreciation. My cock empties my balls of their seed and Freya keeps thrusting, keeps gyrating, keeps battering my prostate.

'Pathetic,' she says, whispering in my right ear. Her breath is hot, sweet-smelling, like bubble-gum. 'Aren't you ashamed, bitch-boy? Cumming on a fucking dick ?'

I shake my head, but the words don't form. How can this be shameful? Freya's the hottest girl in school. So what if she has a dick? When she leans this close to speak such mocking sweet nothings into my ear, her immense chest lends its cushioning weight to my back. Hers must be sublimely strong, given how heavy those divinely large breasts happen to be. Freya really is Amazonian.

'I'm not stopping 'til I cum, slut.' Her lips beside my ear is absurdly hot. 'Keep shooting those paltry little loser loads.' She chuckles, then momentarily – so momentarily – brushes my ear with her lips. '…fucking idiot.'

Immediately she's upright again. I nearly buckle under the force of her powerful hips, muscular and determined in their thrusting. My tongue twists in my mouth, my vision blurs, the heat in my bowels is all-consuming. Freya is ploughing me like a demon, suddenly unrepentant, suddenly almost unkind. I wince, but the pleasure is far greater than any discomfort.

'You won't walk straight,' she says, punctuating the point with a powerful slap. 'Explain that to everyone who notices, you slut. Mhm. You tight little bitch.' Another slap. 'God you're such a fucking loser…riding a fat dick in the girl's changing rooms…so fucking gay.'

'Ughn, shit.'

'Tell me how–ugh–pathetic you are, bitch.'

'I'm–ughn–fucking pathetic.'

'Louder!'

'I'm so fucking pathetic!'

And she, bigger and stronger, seizes the front of my throat with a firm yet softly sculpted hand. Freya flexes and straightens me up, slamming me forwards against the wall, thankfully missing my spilled load. She flattens my head side-on against the cool tiles, ravaging my backside with upwards-aiming strokes that seem to lift me to my tip-toes with every back-forth motion.

It's harder to breathe, harder to focus. Her weighty balls bully mine. Her breasts push me harder against the wall for their immensity, and her hips don't quit. Something about this is wrong, aggressive, unpleasant. The tone of it has changed, has become somehow violent. And yet…another orgasm is building, wrong or no.

'Getting tighter,' she says. 'Another shot coming, huh? Mhm. You're so easy. Is being broken-in by my big dick really that great, slut?'

'Y-eah.'

'You wanna cum on it, don't you, bitch?'

'S-o bad.'

Freya stops entirely. 'Beg. Beg to cum, slut.'

'Please…please make me cum, Freya.'

'Not enthusiastic enough.' She sighs. 'Shall I jerk myself off instead?'

'Freya! I need to fucking cum! Please, goddamn it please, fuck my arsehole until I cum! Fill me with your dick, breed my butt!'

She chuckles. 'Good fucking slut.' The slap that follows stings, beautiful and terrible. 'I'm gonna knock-up that slutty boy-pussy, you lucky little faggot!'

Her powerful hips resume their battering of me. She thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, plumbing my depths, ravaging my innards with her immense hot length of veiny throbbing cockmeat. I feel it building, building, building, and then a second orgasm spills out another, smaller load, this one spurting and shooting less powerfully though the inner pleasure is vastly greater.

'Ughn. Fucking take it,' Freya says, grunting. She starts to blow, glans flaring, heat rushing out and splattering my guts with thick, heavy cream. 'Milk me, slut. Ughn, fuck yeah, you're…mhm-hm. Jesus. Shit!'

She's claiming my bowels again. It's such a dirty, naughty, wonderful sensation. Freya grunts, moans, thrusts, squeezes down, all the while shooting an enormous, incredible amount of hot, thick, messy semen straight from her fat balls into my arsehole.

We buckle against each other, momentarily entwined, orgasming in unison, each of our bodies assisting the other's in reaching the sweet summits of pleasure. It's strange, fantastic, weird, wonderful.

The really weird thing happens when Freya, out of the blue, kisses my cheek. It happens once, twice, and then I turn to meet her blushing gaze, and…we kiss. We kiss, my lips, her lips. Our mouths merge, her sweet-salty spit, her lovely tongue, going at mine while she continues to pump the last bursts of her semen inside my arse. It's almost…romantic?

'Not a word,' she says, pulling back. Still blushing, smiling funnily. 'It's just sex, okay? Nutting builds oxytocin. I'm still a girl.'

'Y-eah. Sure.'

But she kisses my cheek all the same once more before pulling away completely, softening cock slipping messily out of my arsehole. That solitary plug gone, her thick seed threatens to leak out, inevitably must at some point soon.

I clench and shakily turn, fascinated by her beauty. Freya saunters over to her discarded shorts, ignoring me, and bends down to pick them up. Her butt is bronze and fat, clearly muscular but lacking tension. When she reaches down my eyes go wide, catching a glimpse of protruding pink lips nestled behind the hanging sag of those heaving testicles.

'You've got…'

She immediately straightens up, tensing her strong body, looking around to watch me cautiously. Any hint of a womanhood is hidden in an instant. 'That's not for you, okay?'

I shake my head. 'Sorry, I'm just…surprised, I guess.'

Freya softens. She begins pulling on her shorts. 'Futanari,' she says. 'That's what they call us. Women who have this condition.' The shorts catch on the fat roundness of her butt – I'm sure she must be making show of it, or would be, if it wasn't Freya – before she pulls them up and over. 'I have to go in for tests, now and then. Just to see that everything's working.'

'So you have both sets of parts?'

She smirks, a little cocky, more herself. 'Very motile sperm and plenty of eggs, yeah . Best of both worlds.' Freya sets about containing her dishevelled hair, wiping the sweat from her brow. 'You're weird, Tom.'

I roll my eyes. 'So you tell me.' I shiver as her copious load drools down my arse. 'Fuck.' She laughs as I try to stop it from spreading all over the bench. 'It's not funny, man!' But despite myself, I'm smiling.

'Get a butt-plug,' she says, finishing up. 'It's your fault, anyway. That arse of yours milks me like nothing else.'

My cheeks are hot at the shame and glory of such a notion. 'Yeah, well, it's easy to milk something as thick as my wrist…'

Freya sets her eyes into me, blue and beautiful, dark and dominating. Even now, having shot her load, there's fiery lust in those expressive eyes, in the curves of that full-lipped mouth. Freya Venyabildt is insatiable. I should be grateful, really, that someone so perfect looks at me this way.

'You're way too comfortable with this,' she says. Her voice is odd, a little uncertain.

I jam my hand against my arsehole, stemming the worst of the leaking semen. 'Am I?'

'What kind of a man lets himself get anally fucked, Tom?'

'You know it's not that simple.' I shake my head, blushing all the same. 'You're not just anybody, and you're not just a dick.'

Freya goes to speak, moves her lips, says nothing. Does she blush? She turns about so quickly I miss it. 'See you tomorrow.'

And like that, she storms out of the changing room.

I'd get up and follow, but she's got me well-pinned. Did I do something wrong?

Chapter 5: A Momentary Victory

Summary:

Tom and Freya grow closer, their simple acts of lust proving, in a grander sense, to be the foundations of a particular flavour of kinky affection between them. And Tom, beating her at Street Fighter, has little time to relish his victory, but a long time to contend with its pleasing results...

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: A Momentary Victory

A pattern emerges. A way of doing things.

Freya will find me, often out of the blue, and tell me to go to the girl's changing room. Always at quarter-past-three, always to knock on the outside door. And there she'll pull me inside, force herself on me, ravish me as she has done so before. It's passionate, thoroughly primal, hardly a matter of civility.

What do I get out of it? Well, the orgasms from being fucked by the bronze-skinned beauty are something special. I can't compare them to what it must be like to cum from a vagina, or even from a mouth, or even from someone else's hand…but they're way, way better than masturbation.

The thought always carries with it a kind of shame, but I feel like I should be grateful. Grateful for her interest, grateful for her attention. That someone so beautiful, so drop-dead gorgeous, is willing to do this to me, with me.

'You're so fucking dirty,' she'll say. 'You're such a fucking faggot.'

I'll moan, groan, and squeeze down on her thick bronze penis. And Freya will kiss my cheek and bite my neck and slap my arse, treat me like her bitch, her plaything, and I'll nut so easily. Then she'll climax, she'll flood my arse with hot, sticky muck, her big bloated balls rising and falling against mine.

Freya will leave me to it, a mess of a man. She'll readily tidy herself up and depart, leaving me stinking of our combined sweat, of our filthy sex, and of her potent, musky semen.

Is this my life, now? Her anal sex-pet?

'What's the matter?' she says one afternoon, while tidying herself up.

'What?'

Freya glares at me. 'You keep looking so gloomy. This past week's been that same sulky face. You're bringing me down, Tom.'

What can I say? That as much as I enjoy the sex, I'm starting to…starting to want Freya herself? To want more than just this passionate-yet-loveless rutting, hidden behind closed doors, at her beck-and-call?

'Forget it,' I say, shaking my head. 'It's nothing.'

But she crosses her arms beneath her weighty chest, in the process pushing those incredible breasts upwards. 'It's clearly not though, is it?' Freya walks over to me and takes hold of my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Those icy blues scan me, study me. 'Oh, no. No, no, no. No way.'

'What?'

'You're catching feelings, aren't you?' She groans, rolls her eyes. 'Don't do this to me, loser.'

I reach for that arm. 'Look, Freya. Doesn't it make sense that–'

She slaps my hand away, steps backwards. Her eyes are aflame now, her mouth tense. 'What we do, what I do, is just masturbation, okay? That you get off, that you have that luxury, is just that, a luxury .' Freya grimaces, turns about and steps away, curling and uncurling her fists. 'Don't you dare do this, Tom. Don't you fucking dare.'

My heart hurts, when it shouldn't. I'm always like this, a fucking loser, not noticing some signs, misinterpreting other ones. Fuck my life.

But if those past fuck-ups have taught me anything, well…

'I can't keep doing this,' I say. 'It feels good, you know it does, but I want…I want more.'

She falls still, like a statute. 'No.' The word is not especially loud, but especially firm.

'No?'

Freya shakes her head. 'No. We're not stopping. Be grateful.'

I did take her advice on the butt-plug. It allows me the chance to stand up. Stand up, four inches smaller than she is. 'So what, you're going to force me in here? You're going to rape me every other day?'

'No, because I don't need to,' she says. 'You'll turn up when you're told to, and I'll mount you like the little bitch you are. Understood?'

'Freya, I–'

Freya is quick, tall, strong. She sets herself upon me and throws me back against the wall, hands seizing about my throat, pushing on my Adam's apple. Soft hands, incredible strength. It's unsurprising that she can out-bench even the biggest boys. Her arms bulge, well-defined, but she doesn't throttle me. Not quite.

'You want me to hurt you, is that it?' Freya growls. 'You can't let me claim your bitch-arse and then take it back, faggot. I own you, okay? You're my property .'

'Freya…you're…fucking…nuts…'

And terribly, awfully, I'm still attracted to her. Maybe even more so, somehow.

'Say it, bitch. Say who owns you.'

I somehow, boldly, stupidly, shake my head. 'Freya…you're…hurting…me…'

She digs her thumbs into my throat and actually throttles me. Freya slams me back against the wall, banging my head. The pain of it activates some survival reflex, making me do something I'd otherwise never even think of.

I throw a punch. As best a punch as I can manage, but a punch all the same. It connects, but only because Freya doesn't expect it. It gets her right in the left eye and she releases me, stumbling backwards, going so far as to fall on her arse. All the wind goes out of her, all the fight replaced by shock.

'Freya, I'm so sorry,' I say, on reflex. Why? Why be sorry when she was actively abusing me? 'I shouldn't have done–'

'I deserved it,' she says, pressing a hand to that eye, hissing softly. 'That was a good punch. I guess you're not a total loser.'

I rub the back of my head. 'You could've killed me, man.'

Freya frowns, good eye wet as it takes me in. 'I don't want this to end between us, okay? I…we're compatible, like really compatible, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'So you thought to fucking strangle me?' I meet her frown with a perplexed glare. 'You're a psycho.'

She shakes her head. 'I'm not sharing you. End of.'

'What?'

'I've always preferred boys, okay? But boys…have never preferred me.' She makes a rough downwards gesture, and then rolls her shoulders. 'You can't have a girlfriend. Not unless you find someone like you, but better, as your replacement.'

My head spins. This is nuts. She's insane. She's possessive, sexually aggressive, and somehow I'm still madly attracted to her. If anything, the way my heart flutters, I might be more attracted now than before. Has anyone ever wanted me so badly as Freya does?

'Look, there's no-one else,' I say, 'but I thought you didn't want me to develop feelings?'

Freya blushes, glances away. 'I saw you looking. Saw you picturing it. It's not for you.'

'Wait, what? This all goes back to me asking about your, uh, girl parts?'

'Don't lie, idiot. You want to fuck me.'

I blush. 'Well, uh…'

'You can't .' Her voice grows firm. 'Don't you get it? My cock is twice the size of yours, my balls twice as big. Fuck, I'm stronger than you, taller than you. I'm not going to be your girlfriend , okay? The only kind of man worthy of fucking me is the very kind of man I've no interest in fucking.'

'I just…I just wanted to, like, hang out, and cuddle, and kiss.' To say it makes me tremble, makes me hang my head, blushing like an idiot. 'Sorry. I'd never disrespect your wishes like that.'

She's up instantly, upon me again, only this time sat beside me on the bench. Freya urges me forwards with her easy strength, tilting my head down to stroke and inspect the back of my head. 'It's not bleeding,' Freya says. 'Just in case, don't sleep anytime soon. Stay up and alert if you start to feel drowsy.'

'Where'd nurse Freya come from?'

My heart trembles when she throws her arms around my shoulders, burying her face into my neck. 'I like you, Tom. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry about my temper, but I do like you. I was only angry because of how much I like you.'

'So if I promise not to make any demands of how you use your body…will you be my girlfriend?'

She pulls back slightly. 'Didn't I just say that–'

I squeeze my arms around her back. 'I mean girlfriend like someone I spend time with, and kiss, and cuddle, and eat lunch with, and see outside of school…and who I let fuck me in my arse because I'm her slutty bitch-boy.' I blush to say it, and chuckle softly into her long blonde hair.

'You don't want that, trust me.' She shakes her head, still against me. 'Men don't exactly do well in my household. Let's leave it at that.'

'I'm not hearing a no, Freya.'

Freya kisses my throat. 'I want it. I want you, but…'

'But your family?'

She nods.

'What of them?' I say. 'They can't be that bad, can they?'

'Tom, the futanari thing is a gene . A strong gene.'

'Meaning what?'

'I have two mums, but you'd probably call one of them my dad,' she says. 'An older sister. And though she doesn't live with us, my grandmother. They're just like me. Well, one of my mums isn't, but the other is.'

'So?'

She pulls back enough that our noses brush, eyes upon each other's. Her left eye is clearly yellowing now, hooded shut. If it hurts, she shows no sign of caring.

'My Mum-Dad is trustworthy, okay? But Morgan, my older sister, is pretty sketchy with guys. And she takes after my gran, who is probably the worst for it.'

For Freya, who treats me the way she does, to call anyone else "sketchy with guys", provokes a pang of fear. The fear is softened by the mental image of what must be, surely, a family of beautiful pseudo-women, but there's still an undercurrent of unease.

'Sketchy how?'

'Men are less than we are, okay? Not in a bad way, not in an evil way, just that's how it is.' Freya studies my features, teases an earlobe with a finger. 'I'm bigger and stronger and smarter than you are. My genes are better. And that's the philosophy, in my family.' She runs the finger down, stroking a line upon my neck. 'Persephone – easier than saying Mum-Dad – will accept that you're mine, but Morgan – my sister – and Genevieve, my gran…I'll have to keep you away from them. But we can't exactly proceed without me explaining this, because those dickheads are pretty cunning. Morgan especially.' She glares, but not at me.

'You sound awfully comfortable with the idea of your family, uh, forcing themselves on me?'

Freya leans a bit further back, smirking, and rolls her one good eye. 'Because, so long as you accept that you're my property, that you're my bitch…I'll deal with them.' Something bordering on evil, raw mischief, passes her lips. 'Do you accept that, Tom?'

Her property? Her bitch? God, how weird I've grown. The idea of being hers, belonging to her, is somehow exciting. I nod, blush. 'I do, Freya. I trust that it's a good thing.'

'It's the best ,' she says, leaning in. For the first time out of sex, she kisses me. Her lips are hot and full, ideally feminine and yet powerful in the way they press upon mine. Sweet spit, her pleasant smell of sweat, and that perpetual bubble-gum note. Freya tastes my lips with her tongue, kisses me again, and then withdraws. 'Friday. I'll take you to my place.' Her cheeks take on a redness. 'We'll have a lot of fun, you dirty slut.'

Her absence is cold. Freya rises, kisses my head, and goes to the door. 'Don't look so sad, idiot. I'll be inside of you tomorrow afternoon as well, obviously.'

I can't help but smile. 'See you tomorrow, Freya.'

She winks at me, smirking awkwardly when she realises the one-eyed handicap. 'And you.'

Freya makes no effort to hide me on Friday, when we go to her car.

People watch us. Lisa Darrow stops and stares at our passing, her and other familiar girls, all of them looking an admixture of shocked and disturbed. As much as I feel a pang of concern, a worry that everyone is soon to know about us, Freya's hand is on mine and we're walking together. The tall blonde leads and I move alongside her, the lesser party, the submissive to her dominant.

Freya drives an aggressive-looking BMW, a top of the range coupe ill-suiting a college student. I suppose really it must be peanuts to her family's wealth but still, it feels strange climbing in beside her and smelling the fresh interior, all fancy leather and upmarket upholstery.

Just like with everything else, she knows what she's doing. Freya is – somehow it surprises me – a very good, if slightly fast driver. The speed makes a little more sense when we get off the main roads and out into the countryside, where the narrow lanes are all national speed limit crazy bendy things.

'A few rules,' Freya says, gaze not leaving the road. 'If Persephone is around, you address her as Mistress Venyabildt. If my Mum, Alicia, is around, then you address her as Mrs Venyabildt. They probably won't be but even so, I don't want any faux-pas. If you come in all casual, they'll mock me for ages.' She must see the smile I crack, because Freya smirks. 'I'm dead serious, Tom. They don't act upper-class – we're new money – but they are vicious behind closed doors. So just be formal, and polite. And…I'll reward you for it.'

'I'll do my best,' I say, then pause, and add – mind abounding at possibilities, 'What kind of reward?'

She smiles coolly. 'A handjob.'

I stifle a chuckle. 'Uh, thank you?'

The glare she gives me, a slight tilt of her head paired with those terrible blue eyes – the left all but healed now – is hard to determine as serious or playful. Even now, she's scary. I…kinda like it.

'Not hugely grateful-sounding,' Freya says. 'I can always drop you off here.'

I smirk as I dip my head. 'Uh, I'd relish the chance to have your beautiful hand on my sorry excuse for a penis, Lady Venyabildt.'

'Better.' She looks fully to the road, which weaves between hedges on either side. 'We're almost there. At least try to hide that tent in your pants, you pathetic little slut.'

I feel like I should tell her how that language will produce the opposite effect, but I'm half-convinced that Freya knows all too well. Humiliating me, mocking me, making a show of me, seems to excite her – and me, I am realising – like little else. Even so, I try to flatten my erection – sizeable, if less than half of hers – into my trouser leg.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be,' she says. 'You wouldn't be here if you didn't react the way you do. Keep being your usual bitch-boy self, Tom. I wouldn't have it otherwise.'

It's an interesting feeling, this admixture of warmth and shame. To be treated this way in any sane situation would make me angry, but with Freya it's as natural as breathing. She has this air about her, this commanding aura, that makes it feel right, makes it feel fantastically lucky to be this lesser male in her presence. It's a feeling that's been building for some time now, an awareness that I am completely okay with being the bitch in a relationship, so long as I'm her bitch.

I don't get any time to raise the idea, however. The Venyabildt Estate – one of them, at least – materialises around the next corner. We drive through great spiked iron gates and along a gravel concourse to this palatial manor of modern design with great glass walls in places, flat roofs in parts, massive grounds and plenty of annexes.

There's little time to take in the manse, so huge as it is. I'm left with wide eyes as Freya pulls the car to a halt before the main house, where a servant is waiting for her arrival. We climb out and the man bows to her, then gets into the car and drives it out of sight – an easy thing, given the scale of this place – towards what must be a detached garage.

Freya leads me into the main house, and thankfully we're alone. The thought of meeting her family, even passingly, is a little bit terrifying at this moment in time. I can't imagine anyone is quite as fierce as Freya but even so, the path of least resistance is the most appealing one.

We go to a large room on the first floor, pretty much the scale of the entire lower floor of my house. There's this immense flatscreen TV on one wall and a long sofa before it, a few bookshelves on a side wall, and two plate windows looking out over the verdant lusciousness of the well-kept gardens, where sprinklers are firing off and in the distance a woman rides a lawnmower at the side of a glistening lake. I don't even realise it's Freya's bedroom until I see the king-sized bed to my right. Shit, she's rich as fuck. Shit, she's got a mad-looking gaming PC besides.

'Are you any good at Street Fighter?' she says, sitting herself down on the sofa before the TV. 'The latest one.'

I shrug. 'I can try, I guess?'

'Fetch me the remote, and the controllers.'

No please, but…I don't hate her telling me what to do. I go to the shelves beneath the TV and collect up a pair of Playstation controllers, and the TV remote is sat there beside a few other remotes, all neatly lined up. The whole room is neat, in fact. She's not outwardly pristine and then slobby by herself.

'Here,' I say, giving her the remote and a controller. No thank-you, of course. Freya busies herself with setting things up, so I sit down beside her. 'You brought me here to play Street Fighter?'

'No,' she says. 'I brought you here to suck my cock.' A devilish smile creeps across those perfect lips. 'But I wanted to make a game of it. If I win, you get on your knees for me. Simple as that.'

'And if I win?'

Freya snorts. 'You won't.'

'But…if I do?'

A look, almost embarrassed, a flush of arousal, passes her gorgeous face. 'You can eat my pussy. Let that be enough for you to actually try.'

I should want my own blowjob. I should want something substantial. And yet…

…I am not going to pass up this opportunity.

Freya glares at me, but the look has a lusty warmth to it.

'Go on, then,' she says, lifting her skirt and spreading her legs. Her panties are white and straight-forward, oversized at the front to handle the additional equipment. 'If we must.'

The victory on the screen – my victory – has me smirking like an idiot. I don't even know how I did it. Button-mashed with a kind of frantic abandon I've never before managed. Maybe she was disheartened to see my eagerness. Maybe she just gave up.

But the point remains: I won.

'You'll really let me?' I say.

Freya's glare grows darker, her eyes becoming hooded. 'It would be better for us both for you to get good at blowing me, but fair is fair.' She sighs. 'You being mine also necessitates me being honest, and keeping my word.' Nervously, completely uncharacteristic of her, she tentatively thumbs the waistband of her panties. 'Get me out of these, Tom. Don't you dare disappoint me, or I won't fuck your arse for a week.'

As if I needed such to encourage me. My mind races as I slip onto my knees between her lovely shapely legs, and I surprise myself by not being completely terrified of the fat lump(s) in her pretty underwear. My eyes meet Freya's perfect blues, finding in them less dominance than usual, a hint more awkwardness. She's really, really weird about having a vagina.

'Freya, look…if this is making you so uncomfortable–'

'God, stop being such a loser!' She shakes her head and furiously stands, digging her thumbs into the sides of her panties. When she sits again they nestle between her knees, and that ungainly flaccid monster sits atop its two fist-sized bollocks, spread across the sofa between her parted legs. 'Well? Do what you're going to do, idiot. Eat my fucking pussy.'

I stare at the golden wilderness of her pubes, at the thick, pretty cock. 'Do…do you mind moving it out of the way?'

She sighs, this time more playfully. 'Is it that frightening?'

'I'm just a bit…I don't know.'

'Shy?'

I nod.

Freya reaches forwards and cups my chin. Her delicate skin is such warm pleasantness, all the more so when she rubs her thumb across my lips. 'It's been inside you loads of times, Tom. Looking far scarier than it does now, besides.'

'I…I suppose it has…'

It's interesting , isn't it? A girl's penis. A pretty cock. Bigger than mine is right now, hard as rock in my trousers, despite being soft, or mostly soft. I reach for it slowly, right hand finding silky skin and familiar floppiness, left hand – and more cautiously – touching upon the smooth bronze skin of her ball sack.

Freya continues to hold my chin, to run her thumb across my lips, as I take hold of her flaccid cock and barely manage to scoop up her fat balls. Lifting them, her nuts sag over my hand – with their sheer size, her scrotum is easier to grip – but I do manage to get a good look at my reward for winning. In fact, I'm stunned, stopped dead in my tracks.

'Well?' Freya says. 'Are you going to just stare?'

Surprise, surprise. Freya's pussy is beautiful. I suppose given her odd physiology it makes sense that there's no hair here, but the bronze skin is a constant, changing to the prettiest of pinks where it meets her faintly puffy lips. It's practically something out of porn, neat and photogenic, suiting the rest of her.

'God…you're mad hot.'

She chuckles and gives me this playful pseudo-slap which becomes a stroking of my cheek. 'You're the first boy to actually be looking at it. I hope you realise how big of a deal that is.'

I nod awkwardly, stupidly. 'Y-eah. Thank you.'

Freya inches her hips forwards, angling her crotch a bit more upwards. The cleft of her plump buttocks is obvious now, the tiny distance between her pretty cooch and the neat dark pink of her arsehole impossible to ignore.

'Go on,' she says, a note breathily. 'Make me feel good. Do your job.'

It's all she has to say. All I care about doing, in the heat of the moment.

I drop my head and push up on her junk, keeping them out of the way. Freya's smells are strong, vaguely tangy, this thick muskiness that makes sense given her sheer potency. The heat grows smothering as I inch closer and closer to the prize, a welcome and pleasant feeling of engulfment. Her neat folds make a pretty shape around the top of her vulva, a faint bulge outlining her womanly pearl.

The smell makes me salivate. It's a good smell, a clean smell, if faintly tinged by the sweat of the day. So long as it's Freya's sweat, I don't care. So long as it's her I'm dirtying myself for.

She makes a weird sound, a distinct type of moan, when I kiss the puffiness of her outer lips. It's almost cute, weaker, not her usual – still-feminine – grunting or groaning. Her shyness around this is actually really, really sweet. I'm struck by a powerful urge to really make this mind-blowing, to ensure she doesn't regret it.

I am a lucky bastard.

'Mhm. Keep kissing,' Freya says. 'And I'll handle the dangling bits.'

One of her hands takes away her fat balls and the other takes away her cock, leaving me to focus on her lady parts. I eagerly put my hands on each of her full thighs, the smooth skin such a pleasant resistance, soft and giving against my palms and fingers. Happily, I kiss the puffy lips, the bronze skin, teasing at the demarcation between tan flesh and pristine pinkness.

That musky girly scent fills my nose, and I want nothing more than to taste her, but I do as she says. It feels ever so good to press my lips to her lower ones, to lick mine and taste residual hints of this salty tanginess, this newfound flavour of the woman I am falling madly for despite the asymmetry of whatever this relationship happens to be.

'Like that, bitch. Kiss away. Kiss the thing you'll never get to fuck.'

Dirty words that create dirty thoughts. Her meanness is a sweetness of its own, and such insults from her lips are music to me. My tongue inevitably slips out, the kiss becoming passionate, like snogging a lover.

'Oh, shit. Fuck.'

The incredibly velvety wet softness of her inner lips meets my tongue, and I'm smitten. Her taste is strong but clean, salty and tangy, not at all unpleasant. There's movement above my head but I don't pay it any notice, too lost in the gentle exploration of her beautiful vulva with my eager tongue.

It's such an interesting place, so new to me. The smells and the warmth and the taste of it. These textures, such silken skin contrasting with the firmness of the outer skin, and the way that every single shift of my tongue or my breathing provokes gentle sounds from the gorgeous Amazonian who dominates my thoughts with or without words.

'Schlup. Mhm-hm.'

I take a slight looseness of inner lip between my lips and tease it with my tongue, then kiss and smooch her opening, producing slick noises in the process. Freya's hand finds my head, her fingers tracing circles and patterns of indistinct purpose on my scalp through my hair. I'm instantly aware of the weight and heat of her heavy balls, which begin to gently bounce up and down just above my forehead.

'Don't stop,' Freya says. 'All that matters is–ugh–making me happy. That's all you're good for. All you need to do. Just serve me, like the object you are. Like the property you are.'

The sloppy sounds of my lips are joined by the slick fapping noise of her masturbating, stroking her monster cock above my head. I realise that I've no idea how this all works. If I make her cum with her pussy, does her dick cum too? Or is she just ensuring that the two line up?

I'm all-too-aware of how messy Freya's ejaculations are. The load that – had this been any other day – would've ended up in my backside is still churning around in those bloated bronze lumps that are bouncing about on my head. And if she cums…

…but I push down the worry. What happens, happens.

I just…I just need to make her happy. That's my job. That's what I love doing.

So I ignore the fapping sound and the weight of her nuts, and instead run my tongue up along the inside of her cooch. The pretty lips part and shiver around my tongue, glazing my tastebuds with her womanly nectar, a little sweet to go with the salty tang. Freya continues to moan, to tussle my hair with her playful fingers.

'Mhm. Go on. You're–ughn–doing so well.'

Her pleasure urges me forwards. I press my lips to the opening of her pussy and extend my tongue, digging it into that hole that I would so love to penetrate but perhaps – if I take Freya at her word – will never feel around my cock. My tongue instead is clenched around, velvet wet skin engulfing it and bathing it in that sweet nectar, the salt and tanginess growing stronger as well.

'That's it, bitch. You slut. Oh, fuck.'

'Schlup. Slurp.'

I thrust my tongue as best I can, punching it in and out, rolling it around, making patterns of irregular nature. Freya trembles against my hands, squeezes herself down on my tongue. Her breathing quickens and she digs her fingers into my hair.

'I…I got an idea,' she says. 'Up. Get your head up. Come up for air.'

Freya seizes me by the back of my head, tugging on my hair. Her easy strength and my own obedient retreat make the process smooth and before I know it I'm sitting back on my haunches, one of her hands atop my skull, the other madly stroking her thick bronze serpent. For the first time I'm face-to-face with it, another penis, something hugely thick and long and veiny.

Her glans is out, a shiny pink helmet with a singular eye staring at my face, angled to be a little above my nose. God, it's fucking big. Almost…almost sexy, how powerful it looks. Something about it is weirdly appetising. Suckable.

Where…where is my head going?

'Head back,' Freya says, commanding in tone. 'Eyes shut. Stick out your tongue.'

I know instantly what she's doing. I'm a man, I know how this works. 'Freya…'

'Do it. Do it for me. Let me mark you.' Her stare is beautiful, terrible. 'You belong to me. I can do with you what I want, so do what I say. Head back. Eyes shut. Tongue out as far as you can stick it.'

Maybe before all of this, I would've frantically resisted. Before she took me from behind in that changing room. I'd have screamed and ran, terrified. But I'm not who I was. For the better? I think so, but still.

I'm…I'm actually weirdly excited, even though I know what's going to happen.

I go with the push of her hand, shutting my eyes. Freya angles me how she wants me and pushes herself up from the seat, rising before my face. My hands are still on her thighs as I stick out my tongue, mouth slightly ajar. In some dirty primal instinct, I widen it, make an easy target for what's about to blow out of her cock.

'You're such a filthy fucking slut,' she says, chuckling, then groaning. 'But–ugh–you're my fucking–mhm–slut!

She brings a hot, slick, throbbing shape down upon the tip of my tongue. I have no time to feel it out, to make sense of it beyond its weight and bulk and heat before my dutiful tongue is covered by a spurt of something hot and gooey. Freya grunts, almost primal, turning even my momentary victory into an assertion of her superiority.

'Ugh. Fuck!'

She deposits another heavy shot upon my tastebuds and then slaps my cheek with her weapon, spraying a rope of dick-milk across my left eye. Holy shit, I've never been so turned on without her cock being inside of me. The heat which she covers my face with splatters across my eye socket, and then upon my forehead. It's insanely erotic.

And…and the stuff on my tongue – Freya's semen – tastes like…like not what I expected. I don't even realise I'm doing it, but I slide my tongue back inside my mouth and start to chew on the thick nut-cream, rolling it around, doing my utmost to taste her faintly sweet, quite salty spooge. God, it's thick like cream. God, it tastes so dirtily wonderful.

'Ughn. Take it. Stink of my fucking load, you dirty slut.'

Freya paints my face, dropping ropes and shots all across my cheeks and forehead, over my closed lips, not remarking on the fact that I've hidden my tongue. Her jizz is all sticky and chewy in my mouth, clinging and tangling, but I manage to gulp down her weirdly delicious flavour and then lick the stuff from my lips.

'God, you're fucking great, she says, and my heart flutters. 'You're such a good bitch-boy.'

'Mhm-hm.'

She laughs as she slaps her dick against my face, against my mouth when I clean my lips. Freya shoots a little more across me and then lets out this magnanimous sigh, slapping her cock against my lips again. 'I bet you want to eat all that cream, huh?'

In my stupor, shameless, I nod.

Freya clicks her teeth. 'Not today. Today, you're going to wipe it off, and you're not going to wash your face for the whole weekend. I want to sniff you on Monday and if you don't stink of my jizz, then I won't fuck your arse for a whole month. Got it?'

I nod again, more frantic.

'Let's go clean you up. And don't you dare try eat even a little more, you filthy fucking bitch. Today's just been a taster. I'll…I'll train you how to get it the proper way.'

I'm smiling as she grabs me by the back of the throat, helping me on my feet with her other hand. My brain is a mess. My cock is sore with need. I stink of thick, musky, potent seed.

But…Freya's marked me.

I am her property, aren't I?

God, it feels like it. Feels fucking good.

She's gentle in the way she wipes my face, only with tissues.

Periodically Freya will lean in and sniff me, and once my eyes are free I get a good look at her face during those moments. The sheerest of glee crosses her gorgeousness, something that makes me feel hot and bothered, desired as I've never been. By the end of the process she's simply stroking my hair, playing with it.

'Tom,' Freya says, cupping my chin. 'Here.'

She pulls me in close, until our lips are tangled. Her kiss is forceful, passionate, a series of efforts to dominate my mouth with hers. Freya's tongue fights with mine and flattens it, and she tastes my teeth, my cheeks, and explores my mouth with every motion of her sweet-tasting pinkness. I swallow her spit, eager to taste her.

For the first time, in some mad bid of courage, I bring my hands up to her breasts. I need to touch them, need to hold them, even if only through her shirt. Freya's response is to break the kiss, but she's smiling.

'Next time,' she says. 'But you can squeeze them a bit through my shirt.'

'You're so perfect,' I say, smitten, love-mad. Her breasts are so full, so heavy even with her bra and clothing upon them. Big warm squishy things, fingers finding faint firmness beneath the exterior as I gently dig in my hands.

'Don't get all loser on me, slut.' But she kisses my mouth again, all the same. 'I better get you home. Remember: no washing that face. I mean it.'

I nod, and smile. 'I won't. I promise.'

One last kiss, a fierce and possessive thing, one of her hands on my chest and the other behind my head. 'Good,' Freya says. 'You know your place.'

We don't talk much on the way back. I've got this dumb smile on, no doubt, and Freya is comfortable with the silence. We're both riding on a high, I suppose. Weird as she goes about it, there's something good here between us.

I lean in to kiss her when she stops outside my house and Freya doesn't hold back. God, it's so good to kiss her. To taste her sweet mouth and smell her bubble-gum aura and touch her face while she touches mine.

I lay up that night, smelling her dangerously pleasant load whenever I make an effort to sniff it out. There's the faint worry that someone else will smell it on me, but the more important thing is what it represents. The more important thing is that, strange as this relationship with Freya is, I wouldn't have it otherwise. She's blown my world wide-open.

Is this my life, now? Freya's bitch-boy, her fuck-slut pet? Her…her boyfriend?

Having it be this way would've worried me before. Now it makes me smile, and stroke myself off into merciful release, to imagine all the pleasure we've shared up until now, and all the pleasure we're yet to share.

Roll-on Monday.

Chapter 6: The Younger Mistress Venyabildt

Summary:

Tom finds himself all the more smitten with Freya as time passes, culminating in an offer. Freya Venyabildt wants a particular relationship, one of Mistress and Slut. Tom can wear the collar she offers, or go his own way, but he must choose...

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: The Younger Mistress Venyabildt

Freya's seed is strong.

Its musky tang is there when I wake on Saturday morning, and follows me throughout the day. I'll forget it entirely, get lost in something else, and then inhale a whiff of it. That richness, that animal potency. I go so far as to lay down on my bed, under the covers – to concentrate the smell – and masturbate while daydreaming of her.

I'm hers , so says the musk. I am marked, the property of this daughter of billionaires, the personal plaything of this modern Amazonian princess.

On some level it's a bit, well, gross. I mean, it's cum , isn't it? It's dick-milk.

But on another level, on so many others, it's at once arousing and weirdly…affectionate? I like the idea of being hers, of belonging to her. It's so fucking kinky, sure. If I were to explain it to some third-party, I don't doubt they'd question it or even be troubled. Yet it's mine and Freya's thing. Our dynamic. It's – at least, I hope it is – her way of showing affection.

And God, as hot as she is, the fact that she wants me for herself just makes it far too fucking easy to bust a nut when I wank myself off.

I'm left with a dumb smile as I lay in bed that night, in that vague realm between dream and reality, fantasising about my dominant… girlfriend ? It sends a rush of electricity through me, chucks me out of the easy path towards drifting away. That's who she is, isn't she?

Wow. I'm actually going out with Freya-fucking-Venyabildt.

The dumb smile manages to last all through Sunday, into Monday. A few of my closer friends remark on it, but I say nothing. I'll wait on Freya for any such call to publicise what is for the moment private.

And the smile, naturally, peaks when I see her for the first time.

I say the "first time", referring strictly to "on Monday", but…it is different. There's a novelty to it, because today she's not just this sex-friend who keeps an emotional wall up between us. Today, Freya smiles at me when she sees me.

She approaches me as I walk to my first lesson, looking resplendent in the college uniform. Her white top clings to that womanly body, large breasts impossible to hide, all the more so for her open buttons. Freya's long legs show their defined muscles as she walks, adding further fullness to already thick thighs. Her blonde hair is long and straight, eyes crystalline blues, skin bronze with that natural-seeming tan.

With sheer, almost boyish casualness, she slings an arm across my shoulders and leans in, sweet warm breath tickling my ear. Bubble-gum sweetness permeates, mixed with that girly musk I'll never forget. Her shapely body is cushioning, radiant, such a welcome weight upon my side.

'Good boy,' Freya says, sniffing at the side of my face. She is way past giving any fucks, isn't she? 'What's the stink, Tom? I want to hear you say it.'

There are people everywhere, walking in both directions along the pathway between the English and Science blocks. A whisper might as well be a shout, because someone will overhear us. And it's hardly like we're not obvious, hardly the case that our peers aren't watching intently at what might as well be a visual scream, our strange bond made undeniable by the presence of Freya's voluptuous body boldly pressed against my own.

'I…'

A pause. A pause that must only be a moment long but feels like ages. Because if I say this, whispered or not, that's it. It's out. Even if just a rumour, people will talk.

But why do I even care?

Freya is watching me, taller than I am, obscenely good-looking. Her smirk is criminal.

'I think it's semen ,' I say. Not quiet, not loud, just…said. Just spoken. 'The semen of this really gorgeous futanari I keep seeing.' Freya's eyes twinkle, her cheeks faintly redden. It eggs me on. I make an almost exaggerated effort to sniff the stuff. 'It's a great smell, isn't it? I've been inhaling it all weekend, I've hardly been able to keep my hands off of my–'

Oh, yep, she's still mad strong. There's this part where the English block recedes, allowing for a concrete clearing before it juts out again. And Freya practically throws me around the corner of it – still in full view of the passing students – and begins eating my face. One hand pins my shoulder, the other squeezes my hip.

And all the world is her mouth, hungry and lascivious. Her sweet spit, her bubble-gum haze, her neat blonde hair dangling against my face. It all happens so quickly that I just stand still, straight as a pillar, arms at my sides. Her tongue bullies mine, her full girly lips smother my own, and then she giggles, lovely cheeks all red, as Freya pulls back from the ever so momentary snogging session.

'You're a fucking good boy,' she says, stroking my flank. 'I'll see you in Science later. We'll have lunch afterwards.'

A kiss on the cheek, a kiss on my forehead – easy given her height – and then she's off, leaving me blinking like an idiot. People are talking, and I don't care. I just don't give a shit. How could I ever care?

I don't know if I'd even be bothered to have Freya fuck my arse in front of them.

I'm hers . I cannot believe how much that pleases me.

Wow.

She sits with me in Science, the last lesson before lunch break.

People stare again. Why wouldn't they? Freya is a loner who hates everyone, who keeps her distance. But not with me. Not anymore. She sits beside me and plays this game beneath the table where she'll flick my groin without warning or jab me in the side with a sharp finger or simply settle for stroking my leg, on the inner thigh, with meandering affectionate gentleness.

Whenever there's a lull in the work, a quiet patch, a time where I ordinarily would get lost in daydreams, I'm instead fighting this overwhelming battle with the urge to stare at her face in profile. It feels guilty, almost, to just, well, stare . It's like looking at the Sun. That lovely shade of tan flesh, those shapely cheekbones, that beautiful nose, that incredibly curvaceous mouth.

Freya glances sideways, gorgeous mouth all the more so for the half-grin it makes. And when I look away, she leans in close and whispers, 'Stare all you want. I like how you look at me. The hungrier the better, you little fucking slut.'

And I resume my ocular inspection, enjoying the golden paleness of her long straight hair, the elegance of her throat, and the prettiness of those collarbones. Freya slides a hand down the front of my trousers just as I work up the courage to feast my eyes on the sensual eye candy of her perfect cleavage.

'Freya, don't.'

But she starts to stroke me. We're at the back of the class, at least – her demand – but even so, I'm being masturbated. I…I didn't think she'd ever touch my dick without there being some trade or whatever, and now she's just–

'Ugh.'

The train of thought derails in an instant. I bite down on my lips, but the sound escapes all the same. One of the girls on the row of desks ahead turns back and gives us a deeply uncomfortable look, her cheeks suddenly bright red. But Freya must pull a face, because she immediately turns back and ducks her head down.

'Quiet,' Freya says, speaking low and sultry into my ear. 'You're such a loud and dirty little slut, aren't you?'

I just nod, teeth dug into my lip. Shit, her skin's so soft, her fingers are so playful. Freya will tug and tug, then tickle my balls, then go back to tugging. All the while the teacher stares at their screen, and the other students chat quietly or have their heads down working.

And amidst this, in public, surrounded by others, Freya is wanking me off.

'Nice dick, by the way.' She stifles a mocking giggle. 'It would do me a disservice for my cumslut to be completely hopeless.' Freya kisses my throat, goes so far as to run her tongue up my skin. 'Besides, it'd be no fun to size-shame a cock small that anyone would think small. You're such a good little bitch, Tom.'

It says a lot about me that this positive degradation, spoken by the sweetest tongue and fullest lips, in the sultriest voice I can imagine, sends me over the edge. I know I'm going to regret this, know that the sensation of cooling semen in my boxers will bother me until it finally fucking dries, but holy shit there is something to be said for being wanked-off by the hottest girl in the world while surrounded by other people.

I grit my teeth hard and suppress all but my trembles, and a bit of forceful breathing. It necessitates that I shut my eyes, as if to focus on the one sensation allows me to corner and dispose of it, but somehow I manage. All this under Freya's devious gaze, her bright blue eyes alight with mischief and merciless joy.

Was I always such a fucking pervert or did she make me this way?

'Naughty boy,' Freya says, momentarily resting her head on my shoulder. 'You've made a real mess of my hand.'

'S-orry.'

'You can make it up to me later. I'll make sure that just by watching your gait alone, everyone will know how severely you got fucked.'

I nod along, blissful, a little dazed. Freya slowly milks the last dregs from my softening shaft and then pulls out her pretty hand, all tainted with my sperm. In the depths of this eager submission she so easily stirs in me, I've half a mind to protest. It seems to violate some law of the world that my inferior seed should grace such lovely bronze flesh.

She does something that, from psychological intensity alone, threatens to pop my top a second time, stimulus-free.

With a devious stare, attention fixed rigidly upon me, she runs out that beautiful pink tongue across the back of her palm. The pretty muscle is dirtied with my white produce, the sight of which elicits a throb in my apparently unsated cock.

I'd imagined that anything involving oral sex, and especially anything involving cum upon tongues, surely necessitates some submission on the part of the giver. Just as I'd never imagined that I'd enjoy being ravaged by thick bronze girlcock. Just as I'd never imagined that I'd relish the sensation of a heavy load spilling out upon my face. Just as I'd never imagined that I'd be sitting beside Freya Venyabildt, face all taunting and teasing, as she cleans her seed-dirtied hand with a series of progressively more sensual tongue strokes.

And if any part of me yet doubts the dominance of her stare, the powerlessness of my own role in this, Freya fixes that with a quick phrase. She leans in, breath tinged by the male stench of my semen, and says into my ear, 'Is there even any sperm in this, you little bitch? Do your balls even fucking work?'

She elbows my ribs and chuckles to herself, getting back to work and periodically lapping up another wayward bit of my jizz. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but I think Freya likes it. The way she moves it about, the way she makes a show of waggling that tongue at me, revealing the last goop upon her tastebuds for a moment before chewing and swallowing.

I don't think I've ever been so aroused by something so simple.

I'm hers . Hers to tease and hers to please, and hers to fuck and hers to suck. Hers . Freya's.

I want to speak, but I don't think I can control my volume right now.

Thankfully, there's not much of the lesson remaining.

Freya leads me to her spot at lunch break, taking me by the hand and walking quickly.

Something comes over me, a little stupid, a little too emotional. I throw myself at her the moment we're alone, get my arms around her, and – though it's not the intent – rest my head against her pillowy chest. She smells so good, is so warm and comfortable.

But then Freya clears her throat. I lift my head, meet her half-smile, her amused eyes.

'Are you going to be a clingy little bitch now that we're serious?' she says. 'Because that'll get really annoying, really fast.'

There's a pang of anxiety, a worry that I'll be too much. 'Sorry, it's just–'

I pull backwards but she holds me in place. 'I'm just fucking with you, you idiot.' Freya kisses my forehead, smells my hair. 'You do realise it comes with the territory, yeah? Little bottom bitch that you are.' She strokes my back, nuzzles my head. 'Sit down, okay? I made extra today, if you want some.'

I'm smiling nervously as I sit myself against the red brick wall, where not so long ago Freya sat alone. She sets herself down against me, leg to leg, arm to arm, and starts unpacking her lunch. It's impressive, the size of it. A varied selection of sushi, the little rolls and the pieces of fish upon rice, and slivers of fish by themselves, alongside a couple of containers that look like soy sauce, pale slices of ginger, and what I imagine is wasabi.

Then she hands me a container, much smaller than the one which produced the spread laid out before her, containing a shrunk-down quantity of the same selection and three smaller jars of the condiments.

'For you,' Freya says. 'Because I fucking hate sharing food.'

In my giddiness, to have my beautiful futanari dominatrix go to such lengths, I stuff one of the little rolls into my mouth before thanking her or checking first what exactly the ordinary custom is with eating sushi. The rice is perfect, the fish salty and delicious, a faint fire of wasabi present somewhere in the mixture, almost non-existent.

'Mhm-hm.'

The tall blonde raises a neat eyebrow at me, halfway into retrieving two pairs of chopsticks from her bag. 'I knew you'd you like it,' she says. 'There's two big loads of my sperm in yours.'

I stop chewing and look to her, not quite sure of what I'm going to find. To be tricked into eating jizz is one thing, but for it to be hers …

Freya bursts into laughter, and messes up my hair with a hand. 'Your fucking face. "Do I smile or do I spit?" God, you're such a funny boy, Tom.' She leans in, kisses the side of my head. 'There's no cum in them. You have to earn that, remember?'

I nod, chew a little, and swallow. 'It's really good, man. Who made it?'

'I did,' Freya says, rolling her chopsticks together. With sublime dexterity she gets them in a hold and fetches up a piece of greyish fish, dipping it in her soy sauce. The wolfish way she eats is attractive, but then at this point I'm worried that she could stab me and I'd somehow find beauty in it. 'Have you had sushi before?'

I shake my head. 'No. My family don't really eat, uh, exotic things.'

'Being poor must suck.' She picks up a roll with her fingers, dips it in the soy sauce for a moment, and devours it between those perfect lips. 'In the nice way. Not judging.'

'It's cool. I suppose everyone seems poor to you, right?'

She shrugs her shoulders. 'I never really think about it. The dick thing is more of a worry than being too bratty with my inheritance.'

'Not with me.'

Freya kisses my head again. 'Cutie.' Her face hovers, and she prods me with the rear tips of her chopsticks. 'Want me to show you how to use these?'

But my thought is something else. Somewhere slutty and submissive and lovestruck.

'I really like being your property,' I say, some subconscious urge, what I wanted to say in science, spilling out of my mouth. Freya guffaws, falls silent.

Oh, shit. Stupid. Too soon, or too eager, or too pathetic, or–

'You mean it?' she says.

'Yeah. So long as…so long as it's just me, and just you.'

She uses her chopsticks to fetch up a piece of fish of mine, dips it in my sauce, and brings it up to my lips. 'Eat.'

The fish is good, the soy sauce adding to it. While I chew, Freya loops her arm over my shoulders, and rests her head atop mine. 'It's just us,' she says, and my heart soars. 'I'm going to be really mean to you, I'm going to absolutely rail you, I'm going to turn you into the most obedient little cumslut I can imagine – and my mind is a filthy fucking gutter – but…there won't be anyone else.' The way she rubs her face against my hair makes me smile dumbly as I chew away. 'Not that I imagine boys like you come around so often.'

I swallow, and say, 'Why me?'

'For starters, you actually accept me for who I am,' Freya says. She tussles my hair, and adds, 'Plus, you realise you're actually pretty good looking, right? Among other things?'

'Yeah, but you're…'

'I'm what?'

'The hottest girl in the world.'

She giggles, the slightest, sweetest thing. 'With a fourteen-inch dick , and balls that could knock you out.'

'A beautiful dick. Beautiful balls.'

'Holy shit,' Freya says. 'If there was cum in those rolls, you'd have guzzled them down.'

'So long as it's your sperm, I'll take as much as you're willing to give.'

The blonde Amazonian chuckles and leans against me, her weight welcome but obvious, big girl that she is in muscles and height and figure. She hooks her arm around my throat and kisses my head repeatedly, still laughing a little, still in the throes of what was completely not a joke.

'You mean it, don't you? Look at me.' Freya pulls back a little and she urges me to shift my head, to look upon her grinning countenance. God, she's so gorgeous. Even with a little bit of seaweed stuck between her front teeth, I can't imagine someone prettier. 'You are so fucking cute, you know that?'

'I'm being serious, man.'

'I know you are,' she says, stroking my chin with lovely fingers. 'Do you wanna skip English with me?'

'Uh…I'm not going to get bailed out if I get in trouble, Freya.'

'I'll handle that, okay? Persephone can talk to Grandma if needs be.'

'What…what were you thinking?'

She licks her lips. 'Well, I was going to destroy you on Street Fighter on Friday, but I didn't expect you to be so eager. And you did behave yourself over the weekend.'

'Meaning what?'

'Finish eating,' Freya says. 'Then we'll find a quiet spot. I'm going to teach you how to suck out that sperm you're so desperate to guzzle, you little fucking slut.'

She starts eating again, watching my face with salacious joy. I'm left smiling, a little nervous, a lot excited. When I try the chopsticks, Freya takes hold of my hands and starts guiding me. It's harder than it should be, because I keep peeking at her skirt.

I keep imagining the amazing things hiding underneath it.

After lunch Freya leads me to the PE block.

She goes to Mrs Maxwell's office and has a few brief words, prompting the teacher to tremble on the spot and to vacate her private room without so much as a panicked look. The once-so-tough PE teacher is completely different, in the wake of the situation with Coach Bulger. Funny how little I care about that now. I guess the brain does a good job at pushing away trauma and hurt, however brief or intense.

Or maybe I'm just lucky. Or…or maybe I've got Freya.

She locks the door behind us and kisses my head, then sits herself down on Mrs Maxwell's chair behind the desk. Freya slips her bag off and smiles at me with familiar lustiness, parting her legs in readiness. Without a word I go to her and drop to my knees, and she chuckles to herself.

'What?' I say.

So often now that person I first met isn't present anymore. That Freya would never have blushed so openly, never have grinned so stupidly, never have reached down and mussed up my hair with the most affectionate of gestures.

'Just you,' she says, in that wondrous voice. 'Just how fucking eager you are.'

I cock my head at her. 'Shouldn't I be?'

Freya does nothing, says nothing, as I lean in close and kiss her inner thigh. Such smooth skin, such beautiful flesh, warm against my mouth. Bubble-gum sweetness on the nose and something else, something funkier, something carnal. Her skirt rests on her lap, halfway down her thighs, and I can just about make out her bulging lacy white panties beneath the shade it casts.

'You do all the right things,' she says, stroking behind my ear. 'Say all the right words.'

I rest my chin upon her full bronze flesh. 'Is that a problem?'

Freya shakes her head. 'It's just…' She trails off, stares at the wall, away with her thoughts.

'It's hard to believe,' I say, and she comes back to me, eyes all wet and aquamarine blue. 'I know the feeling. I feel the same.'

'Do you?' The tone isn't off, it's not a doubtful question. There's a vulnerability about her, heart exposed to the elements. 'I know my desires and demands are weird, Tom, but I might actually fall in love with you at this rate.'

But she's strong, to say something like that. To cascade my soul into a fluttering frenzy.

'R-eally?'

She nods, pats my head. 'Really. But…I don't think you'll be easily replaced, so I need to know if you're serious.'

'Serious how?'

Freya opens her bag and pulls out a little black box, a square a bit larger than a palm. 'I bought this on Saturday,' she says, presenting it to me. 'Open it. It's serious.'

I sit upright and take the box, and its contents widen my eyes, put a lump in my throat. Freya is blushing as I remove the choker, a simple loop of silvery metal a bit suitably large for my neck. At the front is a little heart-shaped pendant hanging off. It reads, in engraved letters: "Freya's Slut."

The meaning, the perverseness, clicks together in my head. I tremble, blush, and smirk.

'I have the only key,' Freya says. 'If you put it on, it won't come off until I allow it. And if you put it on, I want you to call me Mistress , going forwards. And I want to train you to be the love of my life. I want you to come and live with me. I want you to sleep in my bed. I want you to devote yourself to me, to belong to me, to live for my pleasure and happiness. I want you to do this until the day one of us dies. Do you understand?'

Daunting. Forever. Time from now, this second, this moment, until the end of my life. And yes, I imagine I could get it removed by a specialist, but…Freya began with the operant word, if . So…I have a choice.

I…I don't know.

'Freya,' I say. 'What if…what if I refuse?'

'Then I don't want this to continue. We're over.' Not harsh, but even the possibility of that is unpleasant on the ear. Freya herself keeps a stony face, but her eyes tell it true. She doesn't want that outcome. 'I understand that this is a big decision. You don't have to decide right this moment, if you'd prefer to leave it.'

I can quite easily see myself loving this woman, this futanari, but what if I change my mind? What if I decide I want to be dominant, or even just to mix things up? What if I want to actually experience vagina , as a straight(ish) man, for once in my life?

'You're asking a lot,' I say. 'Like I think you're amazing, but…there are certain things I want. A certain type of affection, maybe, and if everything is on your terms, then–'

'I will do things with your dick, okay?' Freya looks even prettier with her cheeks all red. 'I will, at the very least, put it between my tits. And I will – when I feel like it – put it in my mouth.'

'And…?'

She crosses her arms over her breasts and glances away, cheeks aflame. 'I will, at some point, need to think about my legacy, and it's…it's clear to me that my genes are so much stronger than yours that, should you be the father, people will likely think I impregnated myself.' Freya shoots her gaze, awkward and almost shy , back at me. 'I will ride you – I'm always going to be on top – once a week, in addition to our other activities.'

Once a week? Once a fucking week?

No way. What?

'Once a week?' I say.

She glares at me. 'Twice if we must. But you will have to learn to last. The show in Science today was pathetic, even for you.'

I drop the box on my lap and sit backwards, almost toppling, catching myself on my palms at the last moment. Freya Venyabildt lifts an eyebrow, studies me with bemusement. I just blink, dumbstruck, staring up towards her but not really at her.

'Well?' she says.

'I thought…I thought you'd never…'

Freya frowns. 'Yes, well , I realise that you have needs of your own, and I'd be a pretty crappy owner if I didn't take good care of my favourite pet. But don't you dare get ideas above your station and become demanding. You're already pushing your luck here.'

'Once a week is plenty,' I say, rising up onto my knees. I rest my hands on her lovely thighs. 'It sounded like a lot, that's all.'

'Once a month, then?' But Freya chuckles at whatever minute change occurs on my face. 'Once a week is fine,' she says, uncrossing her arms and stroking my cheek with an elegant finger. 'Maybe twice if I find myself really liking it.' That same finger shifts, and she flicks my nose. 'You do have to become mine, though. I do want an answer.'

I pick up the box from my lap and pull out the choker, unhinging it at the back. In the weird way that we do things together, this might actually be romantic. 'I think you should do the honours, Mistress .'

Freya's blush deepens as I hold up the choker. 'You're a very good boy, Tom,' she says, sultry and delicious. My Mistress takes up the silver and opens it fully, pressing the cool metal to the front of my throat. 'I'm going to treat you extremely well.'

The click of the lock puts a thunderbolt down my spine that culminates in an almost instantaneous erection. I'm always kind of popping a half-chub in Freya's presence, but the physical culmination of our kinky ownership play puts things into overdrive.

She stands up then and undoes her skirt, stepping out of it when it reaches her shoes. When Freya sits back down I'm face-to-face with her overstuffed lacy white panties, her heavy balls and thick cock threatening to spill out of the edges.

'Well?' she says. 'Take care of your Mistress.'

Lust and unearthly joy are a tantalising fire through my mind.

I take hold of her womanly hips and pull myself forwards, shoving my face against her bulge, rubbing it against my cheeks and mouth and nose and forehead. Such a potent smell, Freya's virility, musky and pleasant. Such warmth, from her perfect body, from her perfect dick.

She chuckles, almost giggles, as I massage the flesh of her hips and ply her curves with my hands, all the while sniffing her junk and kissing the outline of her impressive male organs through the opaque white of her undies.

'This brings me back,' Freya says, stroking my head. 'It was that dumb bitch Maxwell blowing me in here that put you in my sights.'

'Mfyes,' I say, muffled by crotch. 'Mhm.'

'I never imagined a boy would suck my dick in here.' She chuckles. 'And yet here we are.'

'Mhm-hm.'

It's not just me who's quick to stiffen today. With kisses and the rubbing of my face, Freya's large flaccid cock rapidly transforms into its full hugeness, poking out the top of her panties and then swiftly achieving its proper breadth and length.

She stands again and pushes me backwards with a thrust of her hips, knocking me onto my backside. The bronze Amazonian towers above me, enormous cock disappearing up beneath her tight shirt. Freya begins opening the buttons with frantic need, in the process losing her cool and tearing a couple of them off.

When the last one goes, I have no time to admire her divine belly or to gaze upon the cleavage of those bra-bound breasts. Her throbbing bronze member drops down under the weight of its fat crown, slapping my forehead, giving me a wet kiss with its shrouded tip. Freya giggles and jams her thumbs into her panties, pushing them down her thighs, freeing her heaving nuts to dangle and bounce away.

'You exist only for me, Tom,' she says, taking her monster in hand. 'You are my personal slut. You are a vessel for my pleasure. You are a dumpster for my cum.'

She brings her cock down on my face, the slap hot and sloppy, precum splattering my cheek. Freya puts her other hand behind my head and thrusts herself forwards, grinding her erection against my lips and nose, hips rising and falling as she lowers and raises herself to achieve the maximum amount of contact.

'Yes, Mistress,' I say. 'I am your personal slut, I am–'

I'm cut short by the imposition of her heavy balls, which she slams with intent against my lips. The warm damp sack is smooth, mostly hairless, but it stinks divinely of her potency, and when she lifts her hips a little further and sandwiches my nose between her fist-sized bollocks, I'm struck by how badly I want her sperm.

She chuckles playfully as she gyrates her body, bouncing her nuts about my face. 'I love marking you,' Freya says. 'Making you all smelly with my dick and balls.'

My Mistress leans away and digs her fingers through my hair, tilting my head backwards. She's smirking, voluptuous lips hinting at perfect teeth. Her immense manhood hovers above my face, held there by a lovely hand. I can't help but smile, blushing and out of my depth as I may be.

'I love how you smell, Mistress. I love everything about you.'

She releases her cock, which comes to rest across the length of my face. 'Prove it,' Freya says. 'I know it'll be clumsy, but you're a man, submissive and slutty as you are. You know instinctively how to worship cock, Tom.'

Freya sits back down, dick trailing a sticky rope of precum as its tip crosses my face and drops off my chin. She's so hung that her penis has to rest against those giant nuts, even at full hardness. 'Worship me, slut. Worship your Mistress.'

What else needs to be said between us?

She does, admittedly, make a little yelp of surprise when I ravenously latch onto her hips again and throw myself at her. I kiss that toned stomach, that bronze flesh, beginning at her belly button and getting lost in the golden wilderness of her pubes, stinking of her, musky and feminine and virile at once.

'Oh shit,' she says. 'You're fucking filthy.'

If I weren't so fucking horny I might laugh. Freya actually looks shocked. Shocked at what she's created. She did want a slut, didn't she?

I dig my nose into her crotch, kiss her pubes, bury my face into that deliciously-scented region above her fat monster of a cock. With one hand I massage the inside of a thigh, with the other I take hold of her heavy length, which pulses angrily against my palm and beneath my fingers.

Freya is actually speechless for a change. She stares, blue eyes wide and wet with lust, as I masturbate her and smooch around the hairy base of her cock. I smirk a little, pleased at myself, pleased with her response, pleased to just fucking be here.

And the little trembling moan she makes when I slip down further, giving a tentative kiss to her left testicle, is priceless. The blonde-haired bronze Amazonian chews on her lower lip, makes a face at me that eggs me on while being thoroughly needy, wholly out of control here.

But she allows it to continue. Because I think in that same way that I as a man take the greatest of pride in the mere thought of someone loving me such that my cock is included in the process, it must be the same way for Freya.

Freya, who likes dudes, who before me had resigned herself to raping them.

Freya, who is on the cusp of receiving a very clumsy but very affection attempt at a blowjob.

She must be in heaven right now.

'Oh,' she says. 'Ooh. Uh. Tom…'

The kiss on her left nut turns into an out and out snog, lips and tongue fully engaged as I rub my mouth about beneath her shaft. Her big balls, like everything else, are beautiful. I love the way they bounce, the weight they possess, the cute little golden hairs that sprout here and there on the silky loose skin of her sack.

' Tom .' Her tone is fiercer, still cute. I glance up at her. Freya is flustered, cheeks red, eyes wild. 'Suck it. Please. I…I want to cum in your mouth and…and…' Guilty, shameful, this lovely side of my Mistress rears its head again. 'This is exactly what I wanted but it feels too good, okay? So just…just blow me.'

Something in her voice tells me in no uncertain terms that she is not going to last if I continue the plan in my head. Freya wanted worship, but honestly, this seems like her Achilles' heel. Is she seriously weak to blowjobs? The idea of them? Or is it just a particularly horny day?

Whatever the case, I retreat from between her legs and line my mouth up with her needily straining cock, which twitches away in my hands. 'Anything for you, Mistress,' I say, and Freya chews on her lip again, a throb running through her. I restrain the urge to comment.

God, she's fucking cute. But her dick is anything but.

Not in a bad way – I genuinely think it's beautiful, all the more so as I begin to pull back the hood from its tip – but the thing is monstrous . Fourteen inches, she says. Fourteen inches of bronze veiny meat, culminating in a pretty pink glans like a German army helmet. Jesus, the head alone looks like it might fill up my mouth, let alone the other eleven inches.

There's a wet pop, and I lick my lips when her bell-end shows itself. It drools, glistening in the overhead lights. Such a fat prominence, narrower at the eyelet, thickly crested around the base of the mushroom. Her male smell, her futanari smell, is primal and sticky in my nose and my thoughts. Musky, salty, bitter.

And I look her dead in the eyes, conjuring a sentence that, if any woman were to say it to me, would make my day. Maybe my year. So here goes.

'Please feed me your semen, Mistress Freya,' I say. 'I want to taste your sperm so badly.'

She stares at me, blue eyes wild with lust and raw infuriating desire, trembling on the spot without physical aid. Freya tries and fails to say something, settling instead for gnawing on her lip. I lick mine again and go in for the finale, pressing my mouth to the broad swell of her gooey pink perfect penis tip.

'Ughn. Tom…'

Her eyes shut and open, but I stare up at her. Freya's helmet is so hot, so sticky and slippery. It easily slides past my lips, taking its rightful place inside my mouth. My tongue greets it, showering it with affection, smothering my favourite creature in all the world with the most primeval manner of adoration I can picture myself providing.

I need more time. I need more time to appreciate the way her cock has such a lovely crown atop its gargantuan thickness, the way that lovely crown has such beautifully-defined curves and contours, the way those beautifully-defined curves and contours brush against the top of my mouth and warm my cheeks and flatten down my tongue as if her body is designed to fill my mouth so well.

But Freya isn't herself today. Not that she has to be all fierceness and fire for me to obey her, to respect her, to love her, but she's cute and girly and easily afflicted. Not her usual Amazonian ferociousness.

As much as I might've thought blowjobs to be this kind of submissive thing, there's an immense power in tending to your lover's body. Twice today that thought's arisen. Funny how things turn out.

Such power that Freya, after but a single back-forth of my mouth, shuts her eyes and says, a little too loudly, 'Fuck.'

Then the seed comes, a viscous rope of it, tasting sublimely of the most beautiful being I can imagine. A little sweet, mostly salty, thick like cream, so deliciously hot and fresh from her big productive balls.

Freya, virile as she is gorgeous, utterly loads my mouth. Rope and string and shot and spurt, coating my tongue and forming creamy sticky congregations around my tongue and teeth. Vulgar as it is, the fact that this heavy produce contains her genetic recipe does something for me, transforms an already pleasant experience into something divine. I have to swallow to prevent it coming out my nose, there's just so much of it.

'No,' Freya says, wincing, straining. 'No. Fuck. No!'

And as the orgasm softens she stares at me, frowning. Not at me, it looks like, but at…herself? The situation? The tall beauty sighs, slumping back into the chair. Her body still twitches with pleasure, her cock still drools a heavy stickiness of seed, but Freya's heart and mind are clearly no longer in it.

I kind of wanted to do some sexy thing and show her it, but the mood is gone. If anything, I'm worried about her. Slipping off her cock, cushioning its descent with my hands, I gulp down the bloated mouthful of creamy futa milk and then lick my lips. God, she's delicious.

'Did I do something wrong, Mistress?' I say.

That provokes a little smile, yet even that is a struggle. Freya shakes her head. 'You were perfect, Tom. I just…I was just a fucking quick shot.'

'Wait, that's what's up?'

She folds her arms across her breasts and looks away, mouth twisting. 'Yeah.'

Pouty, sulking, cute and vulnerable Freya is another flavour of my gorgeous girlfriend that I am ever so happy to be experiencing. 'Mistress…Freya.' I reach up and stroke her cheek, cup her lovely jaw, gently urge her to face me. 'I thought you said this wasn't your first blowjob?'

Her eyes wander the ceiling – anything is better than looking at me right now, it seems – and then Freya nods. 'In a sense, it is. My first from a boy . I kind of…I obviously psyched myself up a little too much.'

I don't dare laugh or chuckle, but I lean into her belly and kiss the faint definition of her toned stomach. 'I'm flattered that I can provoke such a response,' I say, resting my head against her warmth. 'And you taste fucking good, Mistress.'

She puts a hand atop my head and strokes me. 'Thank you, Tom. I just wish I'd–'

'Dude, I will literally suck your dick as often as you want. I don't care if it takes you a minute or an hour to blow, I'll do it.' I nuzzle her stomach, kiss the beautiful bronze skin. 'I'm yours, okay? You put a collar on me to prove it. I only want to make you happy.'

Freya pushes forwards and topples me easily, dropping down upon me such that her face is inches from my own. Her brilliant blonde hair falls like a curtain around us, a private booth with just myself and my gorgeous Mistress.

'I love you,' she says. 'I mean it. You're the slutty boy of my dreams.'

I reach up and wrap my hands around the back of her neck. 'I love you too, Mistress. You're the deliciously hung dickgirl of mine.'

And then we're kissing, snogging madly, the wonderful weight of her shapely form sandwiching me against the floor. A free hour that was meant to be dedicated to servicing her fantastic cock, but it doesn't seem like it's going to go that way.

Freya rolls off of me and onto her back, using those sublime muscles to pull me atop her. She brings my head down on her chest and we lie there on the floor of a teacher's office, her hand upon my head and stroking me, and occasionally she'll dip down to kiss my scalp, while I hold on in blissful comfort.

I…I can't believe that my head is pretty much jammed between her ridiculous boobs and the only thing passing through my mind is the lovely awareness of being here with her.

Being with Freya. My Mistress.

I'm fucking smitten.

Chapter 7: Mistress Freya's Beautiful Boobs

Summary:

Tom's behaviour, his willingness and dutiful submission, pleases Mistress Freya greatly. In a show of affection, and a desire to reward him, Freya does something that Tom had before now only dreamed of. And it involves those big beautiful breasts...

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Mistress Freya's Beautiful Breasts

I take far, far too much pleasure in the way the little "Freya's Slut" tag bounces against my collarbone.

The sound it makes is meagre, a pitter-patter of metallic wobbling. A rattle of the tiny chain-link, the dull thud against my flesh and bone unheard against the backdrop of Mistress Freya's laboured breathing and my own barely-suppressed groaning.

God, I'm glad she didn't want to stop ploughing me.

'Little fucking slut,' my Mistress says, digging her fingers into my hips. 'Cumslut. Cumdump. Ughn. Mine. All fucking mine.'

Mistress Freya, for all the vulgar viciousness of her words, practically sucks on my neck as she leans in to kiss it. Her bountiful breasts bounce against my back, such heavy cushioning weights that I'm ever so honoured to support. Her lips are slick, passionate in the way they grip and nibble, teeth periodically joining the play.

Bubble-gum sweetness and post-PE sweatiness mingle, pairing with the sticky tang of our filthy changing-room copulation. My nose is thick with her, my world engulfed by her. Freya Venyabildt, the most beautiful woman in the world. And I'm hers. Hers alone.

'Yes, M-istress. All y-ours.'

'Louder, slut. I can't–ughn–hear you.'

'I'm yours! I belong to you, Mistress F-reya. Mind and b-ody and–ugh–soul.'

She spanks me, a wallop that continues to echo long after the initial shockwave of pain merges and becomes subsumed within the overwhelming pleasure of being royally reamed by the tan blonde Amazonian futanari. My eyes roll upwards and my eyelids flutter, mouth falling open, fuck-sozzled spit glazing my lips.

'Such a good, good pet.'

Mistress bites my throat, a beast more than a girl, applying only enough force to make me wince. And just as happened with the slap upon my arse, the sensation of having her teeth pressed into the skin of my neck undergoes that same electrifying transformation into the realm of the bizarrely enjoyable.

Her rough affection, so forceful and vigorous, nonetheless yields to gentleness where it matters the most. When Mistress Freya slams me against the painted cinderblock wall, she makes sure to hook her elbow against my Adam's apple, taking the brunt of the impact upon her arm. And in the same movement she kisses my cheek, nuzzles my ear, nibbles my earlobe.

'I love you, Tom,' Mistress says. 'I fucking love you, you perfect little slut.'

To find those brilliant blue eyes looking straight at me, staring to watch the minutest of reactions on my face, is one of life's simple pleasures. And to be kissed by her, the taller dominatrix, is one of its finest. Sweet saliva and the fullest, softest lips in all the world. A tongue that, with playful enthusiasm, wrestles my own.

Snogging with eyes open is just a little unusual, but we're each smitten with the gaze of the other. As Mistress ploughs me with slow deep pumps of her voluptuous hips, she studies my eyes, which instinctively flutter and fall hooded, resulting in obvious sensual satisfaction in her own. She breaks the kiss, nuzzles against my face, licks my lips.

'Submission is just your nature, isn't it?' Mistress says, voice husky, breathy.

I nod, move to restart the snogging, but she retracts with a look of beautiful malice. 'Don't forget your place, slut. Ugh. All things, but on my terms.'

'Y-es, Mistress.'

She chews on the curve of her lower lip. 'Fuck, I love it when you say that.'

I almost topple when she slams with such force that my knees quiver, drilling my backside with that mighty length of throbbing hot cockmeat. Even now, even so used to it as I am, it's still so big . I've been broken in by her, had my body taught its place by her, and yet all the same those fourteen fat inches of futanari are so effortlessly capable of blowing my mind.

'Ughn. Fuck.'

She laughs mirthlessly as I lean into the wall for support, cheek pressed against it. Mistress picks up the pace, spanks me again, impales me upon her searing skewer. I'm drooling, mind blank, all the world non-existent beyond the sweaty sex-musk confines of the girl's changing room, our favoured haunt for these not-so-secret trysts.

Thwap, thwap, thwap go her big meaty balls, slamming against mine, dominating me as much as every other aspect of her does. In relinquishing, in some sense, the idea of being the superior male between the two of us, I almost bust a nut. The thought of Mistress Freya being above me, being better than I am, taking what is undeniably hers , gives the little rattling wobble of the "Freya's Slut" tag all the more importance.

'Mhm. Such a fat arse. Such a tight butt.'

Slap. Crack. I shiver, groan, strain. The pressure is building, always building, but I'm getting better at holding out. Cumming a lot is no bad thing, but when I ride the wave for as long as possible, effectively edging myself on Mistress's big bronze dick, the resultant climax is something practically supernatural.

The constant fleshy thup thup thup of her flesh on mine, and the thwap thwap thwap of her balls as they swing, and the occasional schlick-schlup as my lubed-up backside receives her cock at an angle conducive to producing the sloppiest of sounds, sometimes broken by the crackle of her palm against one of my bum cheeks, all makes undeniable what is happening. What always happens. What I keep, with increasing regularity, reflecting on.

If I were a girl, Mistress would so easily knock me up. Slut that I am for her, I doubt I'd ever turn her down, and I'm sure the moment she ditched the condom or told me to get off the pill I'd…I'd be hard-pressed not to accept this superior specimen's seed deep inside of my hypothetical womb.

And I've never, ever wanted to be a girl. Never thought myself girly. Always been one of the lads, always been distinctly male. But…there's something perversely erotic, all-encompassing in its allure, in the idea of…

…in the idea of seeing what we do as some kind of mating .

Because in a sense it is, right? To hear Mistress Freya as she grits her teeth and groans, or whispers sweet affection in my ear, or verbally disparages me, or all three in one grandiose combination of lusty sonority, is to know intimately that I am being ploughed here. Ploughed by a penis twice the size of mine, with balls easily three times as fat.

And before long, my Mistress will ejaculate. She'll pump that thick creamy delicious ooze right out of her body, straight into mine. Genes, not mine, foreign and uniquely and utterly hers, will end up inside me . If she claims me when she cums on my face – and I believe she does – then what happens when she pumps full my arse? What happens when she loads my mouth?

God, what would happen if I just said it? What if I told her to, well, knock me up , or something? She'd know it's just lusty talk, know it's just play, know it's not real…but if a girl told me to do that, if Freya – I mean, Mistress – one day says that…my balls might shoot out of my dick.

My mind is as much of a gutter as hers, isn't it? Well…here goes?

'Breed me,' I say, surprised to hear the sheer filth of my tone. 'I mean, uh–'

It gives her pause. No laughter, no mockery. Sheepishly I glance backwards, over a shoulder, to find a woman utterly besotted with lasciviousness. Mistress trembles, stock-still, half-impaled into my backside. Post-PE, glistening with sweat, her PE shorts dangle around one ankle and her polo shirt clings to those heaving G-cups.

Her hair, platinum blonde, long and straight, is somewhere on the border between casually disturbed and genuinely dishevelled. Those brilliant sapphire eyes, those full sweet lips, that gorgeous face with its sculpted cheekbones and womanly jawline. I'm hers. And she's…she's processing what I just said?

'Do you mean it?' Mistress says.

'What?'

'What you said. Do you mean it?'

I nod. 'Of course. I'm yours.'

'So if I could do it, you'd carry my child,' Mistress says, wetting her lips with a sliver of pink tongue. 'You'd let me wipe out your line because, let's face it Tom, my genes are much stronger than yours.'

I bite my lip, nod. 'Happily. It'd be an honour to end my line on your cock, with your delicious semen.'

Mistress chuckles softly. 'You're so, so dirty.' She looks as though she's going to spank me, then merely settles for a firm squeezing of my bum. 'You're a boy , you know?'

'It's just pretend.'

'I hope so,' she says. 'I like you being a boy.' My Mistress leans atop me again, big sweaty tits pressing against my back. Her lips find my ear, tickle it with sweet damp breath. 'Let's play pretend from now on. From now on, this is mating . From now on, we're trying to breed . Got it, slut?'

'Y-es, Mistress Freya.'

She slowly slides herself fully inside of me, hilting her weapon right up to the point that those curly pubes brush up against my arse crack. With a gentle shudder, her immense testicles wobble against my own, reminding me implicitly of the seething virility of my Mistress and her pseudo-superhuman loins.

Mistress draws herself back, sliding her hands down to grip my hips. And when her glans is the sole remaining presence of her cock inside of me, she says, voice breathy and passion-infused, 'Get pregnant .'

She drives her entire length up into me in a single mighty thrust, repeating that phrase at the peak of impalement. 'Get pregnant .' And then out again. 'Get pregnant .' And in again. 'Get pregnant .'

And with each repetition, with each back-forth limit-to-limit hilting and almost-uncoupling, the urgency of the demand increases. What begins as a whisper, by the fifth stroke, is bordering on a shout.

'B-reed me, Mistress,' I say, pleasuring reaching an inescapable conclusion. 'Take full ownership of your–ughn–slut. My body is–mhm–yours. I'm your fucking property .'

Mistress roars when she slams herself back inside, hefty balls squirming and shifting as they smack against my smaller ones. A searing pulse of heat runs from the base of her cock along its length, cum-vein – I must be imagining it – bulging as it delivers her virile payload deep inside of me.

'Ughn. F-uck,' Mistress says, strained beyond belief. 'You're so–ugh– perfect .'

She clumsily musses up my hair, pumping shot after shot of thick hot semen straight out into my innards. Billions of my gorgeous futanari's white wriggling sperms are flooding me now, her pseudo-masculine potency asserting itself over my body, claiming me as though I wasn't, by the simple way of the world, already hers .

I cum as well, my orgasm mingling with hers, arse tightening down to accentuate her already potent climax. In some mutual howl of satisfaction we each spill our respective seed, but only hers is fated to end up in the body of another. Mine has that lesser fate, as it almost always does. It splatters the wall, white on white.

Fitting, really. And that self-degradation only heightens my happiness.

I wear the collar at all times, well-aware that I'd have to explain it if ever someone sees.

I'm pretty sure, on some level, that people know about us by now. What with Mistress having no qualms about coming up and hugging me in front of everyone else, or the fact that we're always sitting together, or that we eat lunch together when absolutely no-one else is ever around Freya Venyabildt.

She brings me all manner of snacks and tasty treats – the non-semen kind, I mean – when we eat together. It gets to a point where I pretty much stop bringing lunch, or money for it, because I know that my Mistress will do a fine job in keeping me fed. And, as much as she mocks me for so much as hinting at it, it's a rare day when we don't snuggle up together post-lunch.

Mistress is, despite her toned physique, also plenty squishy and pillowy. Tensed, her muscles are rock-solid, but most of the time they blend into the womanly yield of her voluptuous form. Resting my head upon her chest while Mistress Freya reads is the ideal form of relaxation. Smelling her bubble-gum sweetness, basking in the warmth of her loveliness, feeling the steady in-out of her breathing, and listening to the powerful rhythm of her heart. What a life.

Today, for whatever reason, her buttons are all done up. Not that I mind, but it is odd. She's usually quite eager to show off the bounce and jiggle of what might be the world's finest pair of tits. But I must stare, or else forget that I'm looking at the curious change on attire.

'Are my boobs really that interesting?' she says.

'Are you serious?' I raise an eyebrow at her, finding in return an effortlessly domineering mirroring of my gesture. 'I mean, that's not why I like snuggling with you, Mistress.'

'You can drop the title sometimes, silly.' Freya musses up my hair. Her book today – Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra – holds steady in her other hand. 'You're my boyfriend , Tom. Pet, plaything, sure, but it's more than that. We're not just a sub-domme pairing. I hope I've not given that impression. I do actually love you, you idiot.'

She says things like this, and my heart soars. Such a cool head she has, to diffuse my concerns before I even knew I had them. As much as I adore the title myself…she's still meant to be Freya , after all.

'I may have been overdoing it,' I say, glancing playfully aside. 'But for real, man, as amazing as your boobs are–'

'How would you know?' Freya says, cocking her head. 'You've not seen them.'

'I…'

She's too good at this stuff. There's such a subtle teasing to the shadow of a smirk on her voluptuous mouth, the angling and focus of her eyes, even the way she slows and modifies the pacing of her fingers as they weave through my hair.

'Thirty-six double-G ,' Mistress says, smirk deepening. 'God, you're such a boy. Your eyes just shot wide as saucers.' She chuckles, carefully flips the book and lowers it page-down upon the smooth concrete. It's a dry summer day, at least. 'I've been thinking, since our first little breeding session. About just how I should reward you for such good, good behaviour.'

Freya rises and pushes me back against the brickwork. I can do nothing but stare, bug-eyed, as the towering blonde with her sensually-sculpted body moves her legs and straddles me, sitting that plump backside down atop my thighs. Her hands go to my arms, and she strokes me with gentle adoration.

'As much as I find the idea of a grown man sucking on my tits like a little baby just a smidgen weird…if that's what you'd like to do, you can.' Freya tilts her head to one side, smirk now a smile, warm and generous. 'Do you want to see my boobs, Tom?'

I'm pretty sure if I nod any harder my head will snap off. Mistress giggles, releasing my arms and reaching for the buttons of her white shirt. Suddenly the full buttoning makes sense. The best kind of present, at least in those that can be so hidden, is one you need to unwrap .

'I'll take that as a yes,' she says. The first one goes, my eyes transfixed by it. 'I'm guessing this is a good reward?'

'The best. Holy shit, thank you.'

'You're welcome.' Freya flutters her eyes at me. 'I much prefer to keep my cumslut tame through kindness than cruelty, where possible.'

By the third button, her cleavage is taking shape. The upper outline of two full round prominences, curving together to meet in the centre of her chest, is tantalising by itself. That the valley deepens with each passing moment, with every popping of another button, only makes the sight more enamouring.

I have never seen breasts this large up close before. As the shirt comes away I can't help but gaze at how they spill a little over the top of Freya's full-cup bra, a pretty but mundane garment likely chosen for the fact her chest is so heavy as opposed to any aesthetic demands. Her bronze flesh is spotless, youthful and vibrant, maybe ever so slightly glossy from sweat right where the two bountiful boobs meet and press together. I…kind of want to lick it up. Is that so wrong?

It's difficult to look into Mistress's face at the moment, much as I feel as though I should. This gift – and what a gift it is! – deserves some kind of awareness, some ocular appreciation, and yet as her toned belly comes into view I'm too stunned to think of manners.

'Stare all you like,' Freya says, breathy and sensual. 'I'm not so cruel a mistress as to deny you the joys of admiring the body you live to serve.'

Like a fool, like an idiot, like the happiest version of me I've ever been, I shove my face into her cleavage, bra be damned. Mistress puts a hand on the back of my hand and strokes my hair as I slowly wiggle my face about, inhaling deeply of her feminine fragrance, face cushioned between immaculate softness and warmth.

They're not just big, but entirely natural. Is there any part of her that's not perfect? What the hell is up with Freya Venyabildt, to be so effortlessly hot? Breast meat bounces and shudders against my face, springy and pert, abundant in the way it completely swallows up my cheeks and jaw.

Her cleavage smells so good, so much of her, so much of her womanly fertile virility. The bubble-gum of her perfume is fainter here, in this most mystical of crevices. Body scents, sweet and uniquely hers, fill my world. They say that if you like someone's natural odours, you're probably highly compatible with them. And whatever it is about Mistress, whatever this ineffable olfactory flavour happens to be, I love it .

Freya chuckles, flicks the back of my head. 'Christ, Tom, at least let me get my bra off.'

'Sorry, I just–'

'Shush,' Mistress says. 'I'm glad you like them so much.'

I pull away, face still tingling from the contact with her pillowy breasts. They jiggle beautifully as she shifts her torso, that clearly overworked full-cup bra doing its utmost to keep hold of such a bouncy set of boobs. Our eyes meet, and I shiver. Such brilliant sapphires in a perfect face, and they hold me in such peculiar regard.

The affection is strong, almost coming across as protective. But there's possessiveness there, a will to have me to herself, to dominate without a word. Such pristine eyes, peerless, the closest thing to perfect I can imagine.

And when she leans down, pressing her lips to my forehead, my heart flutters and flails, a clumsy bird taking flight. So ripe and raw a thing this is, these feelings. Glorious to experience, yet in a sense, so unseemly. I want to be stronger, want to be less prone to blushing and shuddering. I've never been so haphazard with a girl before, never so ready to put my foot in my mouth.

Yet despite this, Mistress doesn't seem to mind. Beyond the tumult of the earliest days, this entire thing seems…good. Great, even.

'I'm so glad I'm yours, Mistress.'

Even Freya, diamond-minded demigoddess that she is, reacts to that simple title. A thing of play, but then isn't it all? We're language-users. We make up games and obey their concepts. And the concept of being my Mistress , for Freya Venyabildt, provokes a twitch of her long eyelashes and a disturbance of her lips. She shows an unintended glimpse of teeth, sucks in a breath prematurely.

'You'd better be,' Freya says. 'What with such a lucky slut you are.'

The shirt slides off with a roll of her shoulders, the white button-up left clinging to her wrists for relatively easy redressing. Not that Mistress cares much, given her station in the world. Naughty, self-assured, confident beyond confident. But I get the distinct impression that she'd be annoyed if someone happened to stumble in on us.

Because as she tenderly reaches up behind her back with one hand, slipping the other across the front of her bra, I'm well-aware that the show is for me alone.

Words between us fade and our private silence gives way to the distant sound of voices, students and staff going about their lunch break. A faint click brings my inner ear back to the immediate, that being the sound of a brassiere unclasping. Freya presses her arm against her chest, bulging her breasts upwards as the shoulder straps loosen.

She's blushing, all red and cute. Not so badly as she was when I played with her pussy for the first time, but it's still noticeable. To play the girl, to have her body admired beyond her prodigious penis, is obviously something newer to her.

'Because you've been so good,' Mistress says. 'Because I want that behaviour to continue.'

With lusty languidness she rolls her athletic toned shoulders, beautiful arms flexing. The bra straps slide off and Freya dextrously slips out of one side, then swaps the hand upon her chest and escapes the other. All that's left is the bra itself, cups adhering loosely now, only by the presence of a forearm, to her sizeable boobies.

I flick my eyes between her two most (obvious) appealing pairs. Blue eyes, big tits, blue eyes, big tits. Perhaps time is moving especially slowly, but the more likely explanation, made certainly the case by the twisted mischief of a smirk up the left side of her lovely mouth, is that Freya is playing with me. Waiting, watching, testing the waters.

'Mistress,' I say. 'Please. I want to see.'

Her blush darkens, deepens, and she glances away. 'Go on, then.'

I'm vaguely aware that if I were to inhale any quicker, I might rupture a lung. With eyes as wide as they go, with my attention dialled to eleven, somehow such a small – I mean, relatively , compared to the world itself – part of reality seizes the entirety of my attention. Nothing else in this moment matters, beyond the sudden descent of that grey bra.

I don't even see where it lands. Wobble, jiggle, bounce. Holy shit.

Sometimes, some people like to suggest that bodies, male and female both, are a lot more attractive inside of clothes. And this can be true, of course. Scars and stretchmarks, wrinkles and the weathering of years. But Freya Venyabildt's bra, if anything, was hiding one (two, to be precise) of the natural wonders of the world.

She giggles. 'Your fucking face, Tom. Such a boy .'

And I love, love, love the way she says that.

Each is much larger than a handful. Paralysed as I am by the sight alone, such an excessive quantity of plump bronze flesh, that an empirical test in this fashion will have to wait. I knew Freya was strong, but her back must be insanely sturdy, or else I don't envy her the ache such a set must cause.

Two full round shapes that sag only a little, mostly pert, with slightly upwards-angled nipples. Her cute nips are neither especially large or especially small, surrounded by size-appropriate halos of light brown flesh, smooth and silky, the edges of her areolae clearly-defined where they contrast with the richer brownish-bronze of her flesh. I half-expected tan lines for some reason, but I suppose it fits for Freya to be the kind of woman to sunbathe in the nude. It's not like there were any downstairs, after all.

She gives a playful twist of her torso, causing the eager wobbly tits to jiggle about, swaying bountifully, bouncing away. I'm instantly aware that my boner is pressing up against one of her thighs, and Mistress makes sure to give the clothed tip a little tap with a finger.

'Thank you, Tom,' she says, bringing a hand to my chest. Freya tucks her fingers into the collar of my shirt, and tickles my neck. 'You don't just have to look, though. I didn't get them out for nothing.'

She lets out a startled laugh as I throw my hands upon them, fingers finding silky skin and heavy flesh. The roughness of the attack becomes calm, slow, transitioning into tentative movements the moment I'm actually holding them. One in each hand, glorious G-cup flesh spilling through my fingers and bulging beautifully where my palms and digits press into her chest. Freya moans faintly as I rub her nipples, the firm hard points prominent against the surrounding cushioning give of her breasts.

I want to suck them. Badly. To taste her tits.

Mistress does nothing to stop me. I check her face for permission, finding wet eyes, deeply reddened cheeks. Moving a hand aside I bring my lips in close, kissing the nipple of her left breast, cupping the heavy thing with my palm. Freya begins stroking my head, gently pulling me into her body.

'Go on,' she says, low and breathy. 'Suckle on Mistress.'

As if I wasn't already aching. As if it wasn't already sublime. I should thank her, should plead, should know my place, but I'm too eager and her guidance is too demanding. Mistress releases a cool moan as the smooth halo meets my lips, shuddering as I flick out my tongue to taste her nipple.

The skin is firm yet supple, hotter than the surrounding breast. A vague saltiness of sweat, of flesh, graces my tongue. Freya sucks in a harsh breath as I begin to nurse in earnest, getting a seal around her teat, making sloppy, stupid, slippery sounds with my hungry mouth.

'Mhm. Slurp'

To do this to her body, to suck on her breast, is a feast for the senses. My nose is enveloped in boob, my lips in constant contact with the smooth light brown of her areola. All that I can smell is her skin, her feminine musk, the pleasant sweat of the day. The weather is awful for this kind of contact, too sunny, too summery, but neither of us care.

I ply the other tit with my hand, try to glance up at my Mistress, but the angle is too awkward. Not that there's anything wrong about shutting my eyes and nuzzling, releasing her left boob to tend to it entirely with my lips, and slide that arm around her back to stroke her hip and fondle more of her perfect body.

' This is starting to annoy me,' Freya says, giving my cock a squeeze. 'I'm going to deal with it.'

God, I love the way her beautiful breast wobbles when I release it, the whole area around the nipple glistening with my spit. The mismatch, it sagging a little lower than its sister on account of my hand placement, does something for me.

I meet Freya's gaze. 'Can you get me out to do it? I don't want to walk around with cum in my boxers again. Pretty please, Mistress.'

Something about her stare makes me shiver. 'I'd need to get it out anyway, if I'm going to put it between my tits.'

Oh. Oh my. Okay.

'Huh?'

Brain, keep up. Come on. Process! Titwank. Tit-wank. Do you comprehend? No. Stupid lusty idiot engine, slow when I need you quick. Great, and now she's smirking. Now I might lose the chance! Earth to brain! Brain, give words. Give my tongue orders!

But Mistress is in charge. She pushes me, with playful firmness, back against the brickwork. 'Just shut your mouth and be happy that I'm so good to you, Tom. Hand me your blazer'

This can't be real. Can't be happening. I frantically pull off my school jacket and pass it to my Mistress. Freya adjusts herself, pushes my legs apart, and lays down the blazer upon the smooth concrete between my knees, then rests herself down on her front. Her boobs, at this angle, push together in the most uncomfortably divine fashion. Two weapons of mass distraction, plump and round and God they make such a ridiculous show of themselves when the ground and her arms sandwich them together like this.

All I can do is stare as Freya unbuckles my belt. She rips down my zipper with flair, retrieving my needily throbbing cock from inside my boxer shorts. Soft skin, gentle grip. I shiver, smile like an idiot. Like I must always do in her presence. How can I not? This is amazing.

'Don't get the wrong idea,' Mistress says, flicking the tip of my dick. I wince, pleasure and pain dancing together as they so often do. 'I do want to make you cum, Tom. But I want to watch you squirm , as well.'

There's that devilish side to her again, front and centre. I love it. Sweet and sour affection. Her eyes don't bother to hide her love of me, much as her mouth so readily produces petty remarks and eagerly teases, pokes, prods.

'Watch away,' I say, momentarily emboldened. Freya gives me another, softer flick. 'Okay, sorry. Damn.'

'You better be.'

But the way she says it, and the fact she initiates the process of hefting up her big boobs to engulf my dick, makes clear the truth behind the remark. All I can do is stare, eyes glued to the wobbling wiggle of those immense titties. Freya holds them – barely, given that her hands are no larger than mine – at their sides, bringing them apart to make my cock the meaty filling of the world's most wonderful sandwich.

'Oh. Woah. Wow.'

God, they're even better around my member. Freya sniggers, a little meanly, as my dick disappears inside the divine deliciousness of her immense breasts. All of it vanishes into the sea of bountiful boob-flesh, but for the heroic efforts of my throbbing helmet, which pokes out as a little reddish glistening protrusion between them.

'I think we're pretty well-matched,' Mistress says, smiling at me. 'If you were any smaller, this would be pretty awkward. But if you were any bigger, I wouldn't find the little tip so cute .'

She amazes me, pushing her fat tits downwards and in the process increasing the tight warm vaguely damp pressure around my cock to the point that I shiver and tremble, all for the purpose of…tilting her head downwards and…and…

'Mlup.'

Her tongue, perfect pinkness, slips out through those full lips and laps at my bell-end. Just for a moment, just a single lick, but holy fucking shit, Freya Venyabildt just put her tongue against my cock.

'Freya…'

'That's Mistress , to you,' she says, licking her lips. 'You've got a nice cock, Tom. Shame I'm going to crush it with my big bad boobies.'

I can only stare, transfixed, as she chuckles to herself. Stare, transfixed, as she pushes her boobs together so forcibly that the squeeze is like a vice, the most wonderful way to kill a cock. Don't cum. Don't cum. Don't cum!

It's incredible, that a pair of the softest things I've ever felt can produce such a comforting crush around my shaft. The way Freya presses them together makes them seem all the bulkier, bulging as they do out of gaps between her fingers and straining against the shape of my dick.

She lifts them a little and lowers them, lifts and lowers, lifts and lowers. Slow and rhythmic, predictable, and yet something I can't begin to prepare for. How could I? That handjob she gave me the other day was great, but this is something else. This is like my dick has died and gone to heaven. This is cock-pleasing paradise.

'Ugh. Mistress…'

'Good, are they?' I nod, and she giggles. 'They run in the family. Just like my fat dick.'

A passing, fleeting image, of a household of women as attractive and well-endowed – in all senses – as Freya is the last thing I need if I'm not going to just blow my load. But my head torments me. Are they all bronze-skinned Amazonian goddesses?

'Good–ughn–genes.'

She cocks her head, merciless in her mammary movements. 'You would know, cumslut.'

I smirk, submissive pride welling up. 'You–ugh–treat me so well, Mistress.'

Up-down. Up-down. Up-down. No variation, because it's not needed. Just the crush, the squish, the vice-like pressure of her pair of heavy G-cups. And her mischievous brilliant blue gaze, perfect face smirking up at me. Freya takes such pleasure in tormenting me at times, teasing me at others, but…taking care of me, as well.

'It's one of my duties, isn't it? Making sure my subby little slut knows I can be kind as well as cruel,' Mistress Freya says, angelic sultriness a dreamy warmth in my ears. 'Have I proven my point, slut?'

I nod, with such enthusiasm that I manage to bash the back of my head against the wall. Freya immediately ceases, face losing its glee, replacing it instantly with concern. She doesn't overreact, but the change of expression is obvious.

'Are you okay?' Mistress says. 'Did that hurt?'

I smile at her, heart fluttering, mind fuzzy. Her worried look softens, and a deep blush creeps onto her bronze cheeks. Not a response to lust or carnal heat, but something far cuter.

'I'll be fine,' I say. Courage seizing me, pulse racing with joy, I reach for Freya's face. 'I love you, Mistress.'

She glances to the side and away but then, for just a moment, leans into my touch. Freya rubs her cheek against my fingers, then smiles viciously, blush gone in an instant. 'I am going to fucking drain those balls, even if it hurts.'

And my laughter quickly crumples into a grunting groan as she milks my cock with her mammaries, reckless and bordering on unkind in how Mistress so forcefully squishes my dick between her big breasts. I almost bash my head against the brickwork again, subject as I am to the warmth and heft of her perfect tits.

The pressure of her boobs provokes a sudden volcanic upsurge in my crotch, and my penis throbs almost uncomfortably within its cushioning pleasure prison. And unlike every past orgasm, this one feels somewhat special. I don't think I've ever been so intensely thrown to the edge of ejaculation before in my life.

'Ughn, M-istress…'

'Serves you right for getting all–'

But her eyes go wide as saucers when, inevitably, the tip of my dick swells and spits.

Now, I'm not one for those porn-star level cumshots. Mine mostly always comes out as a dribble or a spit, a few spurts at most. But if anyone is to somehow extract the sperm from my balls so forcibly that it comes out as a C4 explosion instead of a black powder cap, it'll be Freya Venyabildt.

Freya Venyabildt, who can only stare up at me in raw shock as a sticky white rope of my cum launches up from between her impressive breasts and arcs in such a way as to momentarily pass her staring-and-following blue eyes until the stuff splatters down across her face. And as she processes it, slow for the first time in what, I imagine, must be her entire life, my eager loins do a fine job of messing up her beauty.

I somehow manage to splatter her forehead and cheeks, layer her mouth in a thick helping of spooge and then, as my orgasm steadies itself and softens, I cover the tops of her breasts in plenty of gooey white muck.

'You,' is all she manages to say. ' You .'

Freya pushes away from me, rising onto her knees, taller and vastly stronger than I am. She wipes her mouth on the back of a hand, caught between despairing and desiring – a frown on her lips, a lusty twinkle to her eyes – the fresh coat of semen upon her immaculate bronze skin.

Her perfect body, stained as it is with my dick-milk, provokes intense pride and concern. But, blessedly, thankfully, she gives me bedroom eyes when she affixes me with a sapphire stare. 'I am going to fuck the shit out of you, you realise that, right?'

'Y-es, Mistress.'

And when she throws herself upon me, kissing me with ferocious feistiness, the stink of my own familiar jizz upon her skin is a curious thing.

I'm struck by a vulgar, foreign, curious daydream.

What if…what if we switched roles, once in a while?

What if…Freya played the slut, for a change?

Chapter 8: Freya's Big Sister

Summary:

Tom's interest in seeing Freya submit, for a change, provokes tensions, but the introduction of Freya's elder (futanari) sister, Morgan, seems to ruin things between them. Yet Morgan, dangerous as Tom first thinks her, is more complex than she appears...

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Freya's Big Sister

There's something profoundly naughty about the idea of switching our roles.

Naughty because, as I suppose all such naughty thoughts are, it has something taboo about it. Something about it suggests a line which mustn't, under any circumstances, be crossed. Is this bratty, I wonder? Or does it transcend even that? I certainly don't know about my D/s terminology. It's a whole new thing in and of itself.

But I know, on some fundamentally profound level, that I shouldn't be fantasising about being the dominant partner for a change. I'm under no illusions about Freya's propensity to take charge, or the clearly powerful part of me that deeply desires her capacity to control me in our sexual and wider romantic life.

Yet I do, little by little, find myself wondering. Daydreaming.

When I give Freya blowjobs at her house on Fridays – Blowjob Fridays is the general rule – there's something about the act that, just as it was before in Mrs Maxwell's office, suggests a kind of submission on her part. And every time she gives me a titwank – more often than I'd have expected, at least two a week – there's something about the way she looks at me, looks at the world when my load is dripping off of her face and across the round prominence of her breasts, that seems at odds with her usual attitude.

Something demure, almost shy, when usually she's so forceful and commanding.

It's not like our usual stuff has changed. Okay, so our anal has become more ferocious and more dominant than ever, with no hint of ever going back to the way it was. All that breeding play, all that talk of wiping out my line, all that degrading meanness mixed with incredible affection, is more front-and-centre to our escapades than it used to be.

But I can't pretend that I'm not curious. I can't pretend that Freya's little hints and tells, suggestive of maybe having a side that would be willing to experiment a bit in the other direction, creates a hopeful story in my head.

It wouldn't have to be always, and I'm pretty sure it'd be boring if it did become a constant. Just, y'know, once in a while? Maybe one day a week, when we switch things up, and Freya calls me "Master" and does what I want. Would that be too much? Would it be so wrong?

It's just a game, right? We're just playing?

'No,' she says, on the Friday. 'Not a chance.'

Or maybe we're not just playing.

Freya glares at me from across the sofa, brilliant blue eyes bordering on something not so distinct from fury . She grips the Playstation controller with white-knuckled firmness, and knowing her strength as I do it's surprising that it doesn't crack or shatter. My Mistress, the tall tan-skinned voluptuous Venyabildt scion, is no less beautiful than ever, but such a meagre suggestion – to my mind – has really ramped up her terrible side.

'But I was just thinking–'

'Don't,' Freya says, twisting her mouth. 'This works on my terms, Tom. I am offering you, if you win, the chance to eat my arse. And if you lose, then you'll blow me. I will not , under any circumstances, blow you .'

'B-ut you s-aid–'

'What I said is on my terms, slut.' She says the word with surprising bitterness. 'Not on yours. Your job, your role, your raisin d'etre , is to pleasure me. To please your Mistress. Not to demand that she pleases you. Are we clear on this?'

Definitely not just playing.

'Yes, Mistress.'

'Good.' And like that, with no further upset, Freya's countenance becomes affectionate and mischievous. 'Don't get silly ideas, Tom. You're perfect just the way you are.'

Maybe she's right. In fact, maybe it's better this way. How would I possibly rein in Freya, after all? She's stronger than I am, taller, fiercer by far. I've seen first-hand how readily she can overpower me. Maybe I wouldn't even like it, after all. Maybe she's right, and I'm just perfect as I am, as her slut and plaything.

And yet those same reasons make the idea no easier to dispense with. It may, in fact, be all the hotter, this dominating dream, because Freya is who she is.

There's definitely a difference between climbing a hill and a mountain, right?

'Loser,' she says, rolling her eyes as my health drops to nothing. 'Another win for Mistress, it looks like.' Freya winks at me, spreading her legs on the seat. 'And I was so, so badly hoping you'd be tongue-tickling my prostate today.'

'Yes, Mistress,' I say, obedient.

Freya isn't, in fact, all that good at Street Fighter. Her combos are pretty clumsy, stifled maybe by her – admittedly attractive – arrogance. But lately, when the choice of "prize" is to eat her arse or to suck her dick, I'll always choose the latter. It's not that I don't want to rim her, not at all. Her bum is one of the most beautiful backsides in the world.

But knowing Freya, and how she mentally constructs these games of ours, I'll be doing it until she cums all over my face, and we'll inevitably play the "don't eat my spooge" game again, which is extremely hot but I also feel that it's unnecessary at this stage, when her salty-sweet cream is something I'll willingly gulp down at every given opportunity.

Knowing Freya, maybe that's why she does it in such a way.

I kneel for Mistress as she rolls her school skirt up to reveal overstuffed lacy white panties. The pleasing musk of her junk, pseudo-male and cloying, creeps up my nostrils. I love her smell, all of her smells, clean or dirty. Freya Venyabildt, my beautiful mistress, and her big bad cock.

It flops out with little effort, panties pulled aside. An unspoken rule of Blowjob Fridays is that we get on with the act fairly quickly because Freya is still dealing with her little, well, quick shot issue. For all her stamina in utterly reaming me, blowjobs are her Achilles' heel. The kind of thing she just can't survive for all too long.

'Mhm. Good boy,' Mistress says, stroking my hair. Even with just the lustrous head of her length inside my mouth, her voice is shaky. 'S-uck that dick. Ugh.'

Which is a shame. A shame of the highest degree. Freya's penis is a thing of perfection, so big and broad, so potent and delicious. Her bulky glans swells and pulses against my tongue, strains against my cheeks where I suck them in upon it. Sticky salty precum splatters out, glazing my tastebuds in the taste of the gorgeous creature that I am ever so lucky to be devoted to.

'Mumph. Schlup.'

Is it wrong, that I wish she could last longer? Wrong that when I meet her gaze, see those sensual sapphires all alight with lust and decadent need, I'm madly and sadly and badly aware that this won't last? I could suck her cock for hours . I'd love to do so! But as much as Freya is getting better at lasting, it's a slow process.

A month of improvement, and a blowjob might last fifteen minutes on a good day.

'C-umslut,' Mistress says, mussing up my hair. 'Such a good little s-lut–ughn–you are, T-om.'

The difference between this Freya, having her cock sucked, and the Freya who mounts me, is startling.

Her cheeks are so red, eyes so wet with lusty joy. It's a constant struggle for her to enunciate any given word without a faint tremor, a modulating volume to her lovely voice. It's such a strange thing, to have this kind of power over her. And I do , don't I? Freya is deathly careful not to take too much control here, to up the pace beyond that suggested by her gentle guiding hand.

'Mumph. Mhm.'

This sole act between us is the one that suggests a weakness in my Mistress. The one dirty deed that, contrary to her bombast and braggadocio, such omnipresent and stalwart traits, highlights a vulnerability in her.

'Ughn. Shit.'

And as her head lulls backwards, I don't want it to end. I don't want her to stop playing with my hair or stroking my cheek while I taste her potency and bob my head, sucking my cheeks in upon the fattest loveliest cock I can imagine. Not because I don't want her to climax, not because I don't want to devour her delicious semen, but because it just doesn't last long enough.

'Is this really the face you pull because of a fucking blowjob?' a woman says, causing Mistress to tense up and shudder. A dark, sultry, husky voice, more mature, precisely enunciated, oozing confidence. 'Cute little blondie, blushing like a tomato.'

Whoever they are they're standing in the doorway, and Freya keeps a firm hold on my head to prevent me from looking away. Although seriousness has dawned on her features, she's still not her usual strong-minded self. Maybe even weaker, in a vaguer sense.

'Fuck off, Morgan.'

A cruel note of laughter. 'Such a rude little sister I have,' the other woman says. Something moves in my periphery, and I'm quickly aware that Freya's older sister is rounding the sofa. 'But what a dutiful little pet she's found herself.'

Morgan puts her hands on Freya's shoulders, showing off a creamy pallor and talon-like nail extensions painted the colour of dark blood. My Mistress trembles in place, holding me steady, not responding to her sister's invasion of privacy with the type of upset I might expect from her.

Instead she simply glances away, eyelids fluttering. 'Just go, will you?' Freya says.

'And if I want to watch you pull funny faces?' Morgan says, nails rising and falling, piano-key finger strokes. 'Or if I want to see how good of a job your pet does?'

There are some uncomfortably good genes in the Venyabildt line, it seems.

Morgan, the big sister, is a little taller than Freya. An inch or two, perhaps. She is unmistakeably a goth, with onyx-black hair that hangs in a neat straight back-length waterfall, its front a neat forehead-veiling fringe. Her lips are the colour of blood, full and rimmed in black. Dark mascara painted into arcane shapes and obsidian eyeshadow both do their part in making the icy blues of her eyes pop. Her breasts, visible where her black lacy top and its many interweaving straps opens up to reveal them, look even larger than Freya's, though her body is more traditionally feminine and if she has anything in the way of muscles they don't make themselves known.

'Tom's mine,' Freya says. 'I'm not sharing.'

'Come on, Blondie. You know it's not that simple.'

If I were to talk like that to Freya, I'd be treading on very thin ice. But Morgan gets away with it. She slowly massages her younger sister's shoulders, athletically defined where her own are smooth and subtle. Mistress gives me this look, a trembling thing. It's not like her. Not like her at all.

'What do you want, Morgan?'

'Like I said, Blondie. Just to watch. To see how this pans out.'

Morgan lowers her head to rest her chin atop Freya's scalp. The statuesque gothic woman – a futanari , I know too well – smiles darkly at me, her teeth all white behind her full ruby-black lips. It's one thing to give Freya head, but to have an audience is just a bit disconcerting.

'I'll tell Persephone,' Mistress says.

'Go on. Ensure that your cute little boy-toy is blowing her, as well.'

Freya groans. 'Fine. Watch.' She meets my eyes, her own fluttering. 'Go on, Tom. Keep going. Just ignore her.'

The firm hand on my head says, in no uncertain terms, that I have no say in this.

'Mumph. Slurp.' I begin bobbing my head again in earnest, keeping my gaze locked upon Mistress's. And yet as easy it is to focus on those brilliant blues usually, the crimson-black smile of Freya's older sister is periodically distracting. 'Mhm. Schlup.'

Freya is visibly flustered, and not just because of the awkwardness of our being imposed upon. She bites down on her lower lip, trembling, curling and uncurling her toes, doing everything possible to last , to restrain herself, to make sure that in the wake of her sister's invasive presence nothing appears any less dominant and controlling than it should.

Her fat cock throbs, swells, spits tasty precum. More of it than usual. More of all three things than usual. Is Mistress…excited by this turn of events?

'Ugh. Good c-umslut.'

Freya's face is not her voice. Where the former is steadfast yet obviously strained, the latter fails her. The flutter to it is not as defined as it was before, but is sufficient all the same to reveal her inner truth.

'Is this it?' Morgan says, stroking her little sister's arms. 'You let him do it himself, and throw out little words of affectionate degradation?'

Freya's eyelids tremble, and she grits her teeth. 'Tom is an o-bedient slut, Morgan. He knows just h-ow to please me. Mhm.' Her little exhalation at the end, and the brief hooding of her eyes that accompanies it, would be cute if not for her obvious discomfort. 'Satisfied?'

'I just thought that, knowing you as I do, you would be a little bolder , Blondie. All those silly little boys who run away from you in fear of having their hips shattered and yet you can't seem to bring yourself to face-fuck this apparently collared cumslut?'

Morgan lowers her head down upon Freya's right shoulder, her curvaceous blood-red lips brushing the younger futanari's ear. Mistress almost shuts her eyes, shivering against her sister's breath and touch, not to mention beneath my dutiful oral pleasing.

'If you want to be the big bad Blondie,' the gothic Venyabildt says, 'then I hope you'll appreciate my interest in ensuring you, dear sweet sister, actually maintain that image.' Her cool blue eyes, pale frosty things, bore into mine. 'Cumslut, is it? Then do right by your Mistress.'

Freya doesn't stop her big sister from reaching out and putting her pale hand atop my Mistress's bronze one. Freya and I lock eyes, aware of the worry. Aware that, if she's going to do what it seems she will, then this is over. Whatever cruel game Morgan – and I understanding, explicitly, Freya's concerns about her – is playing, it's about to end in the worst possible way.

I suck in a big breath, knowing that I'll not get another chance for a little while.

'Morgan–'

But Freya is cut off. The taller, older futanari applies great force, despite her lack of obvious musculature. I'm sent forwards, driven face-first onto the beautiful bronze length jammed inside my mouth, and it punches painfully against the opening to my throat. Glugp , goes the single loud note, escaping the sloppiness of my lips.

'Ughn. Shit.'

Mistress breaks upon the momentary tightness. This act of ours, this thing done so carefully to work around her intrinsic sensitivity – psychological or otherwise – has its delicately applied confines ripped away and replaced with sudden harshness, thorough forcefulness.

And Freya bucks, her thick load erupting straight into the opening to my throat, some of its viscous output flying clean out of my nostrils to my great discomfort.

Morgan chuckles, beautiful voice transitioning via my immediate disdain of her into something like a cackle, suiting her witchy appearance. I shut my eyes, bear the searing tang of fresh cum bulging out of my nose and the double insult of being held in such a way as to miss all but the faintest hints of Mistress's creamy flavours.

'Guh. Fuck. God, n-o.'

Freya yelps, whines, trembles ferociously against me. I can't bring myself to look at her face, to see the shame on it, the defeat. This private aspect, this part of her soul that she bares only to me and even then with great reluctance, is now known to another mind.

'Look, pet,' Morgan says, sharp nails grating against my scalp, 'look at your Mistress.'

That voice has something about it, at once alluring and commanding. Like Freya's, only more refined, honed, dangerously weaponised. And maybe I open my eyes just on reflex, or maybe I do, on some level, want to see Freya at her most vulnerable.

'D-on't!' Mistress says, face a mess of contradictions. 'S-top, Tom. Don't l-ook.'

There's some darkly erotic about witnessing these two insanely beautiful women, face beside face, and see the one I call Mistress so out of sorts. So thoroughly rocked by pleasure, dispensing such an enormous quantity of jism straight into my gullet, and yet not dominant here. That same removal of power I noted when I first blew her, and on each successive blowjob – tailored as they were to mitigate the loss, to an insufficient extent – is writ across her features without fail.

In the presence of Morgan Venyabildt, Mistress Freya struggles to be my Mistress.

The mask – revealed as a mask – is torn away.

'The thing about Blondie, Tom,' Morgan says, addressing me with her eyes, 'is that she hasn't really come into her prime. She's not quite, not compared to we older Venyabildts, the woman she might one day be.'

'Guh. Don't l-isten.'

And Morgan does something that provokes a vile kind of lust in me I never knew I had. She kisses her sister's cheek, and uses her lips with such controlled passion that I cannot, not for a moment, confuse the kiss with something platonic or familial.

Especially when, at the moment of contact, Freya's cock strains and her cheeks darken.

This family is…weirder than I know it to be, isn't it?

' Do listen, Tom. Because I'm not saying this to be mean, or cruel. Only that my sweet little sister recognises how much bravado she acts with, and how little that act matters if she can't follow through with it.'

Morgan finally rises, releasing us both, as if it matters. As if Freya isn't still trembling and straining, as if my nose isn't still stinging with badly-received jism. The tall gothic woman, practically vampiric with her pallor, with that mix of reds and blacks, gives me a wink as she straightens herself up.

'Enjoy yourselves, sweethearts. I do so appreciate the opportunity to witness young love at its very finest.'

She slams the door, and Freya slams a fist against the sofa.

Nothing is said between us. Not a word leaves her lips, no matter what I say.

Not as I clean myself up, not as Freya forcibly takes me by the hand and pulls me from her room, not as we get in the car. Not for the entirety of the journey home, my efforts to ask even the slightest and softest of questions coming up against a wall of solid stone.

She doesn't even say goodbye, sending me away with a glare when we arrive at my house. I step out, turn to wave, and with uncharacteristic speed Freya is gone. Zooming around the bend at the end of the road, leaving me with a dreadful thought that this might be the last time I see her.

A silly, stupid, anxiety-induced concept but it's there all the same. Worsened, of course, when she doesn't respond to my calls or texts over the weekend. Made worse still when she doesn't arrive at school on Monday. Or Tuesday.

Wednesday. Thursday. Friday.

No means of contact seems to work. It's as if Freya Venyabildt has dropped from the face of the Earth, leaving me back as I was before meeting her, only with a Mistress-shaped hole in my heart (and arse, and mouth.) It's no wonder then that I seem to fade into a pit of gloom, all the world seeming hopeless.

But as I'm walking home on Friday, a black Mercedes pulls up. One of those sporty models, extremely expensive. And when the window rolls down, the face that looks out at me might as well be ghostly. A terrible unwanted lifeline.

'You and I need a word,' Morgan says. 'Regarding my sister and her current mood.'

Her voice, such a thing of refinement and allure, freezes my blood and affixes me to the spot. The summer brightness is at odds with her car, with her outfit – revealing, all gothic and witchy – and her aesthetic generally, so much crimson and black. The pale woman, the older Venyabildt sister, is by no means a creature of the bright world. She is, quite fittingly, a spectre suiting my forlorn inner darkness.

'It's your fault,' I say, managing a glare. The strongest outward emotion – beyond bouts of nocturnal crying – that I've managed this week. 'You ruined a good thing.'

'It's not ruined, sweetheart. I simply miscalculated.' Morgan leans over, popping the passenger door. 'Get in, would you? Let's iron this out.'

Beyond the moroseness of my spirit, I'm struck by a thankful burst of self-preservation. When Freya spoke of her family, what little she explained made key reference to two rather unwelcome figures. Her grandmother, Genevieve, the futanari progenitor of sorts, and Morgan, her elder sister, who now is offering me a ride and a conversation. A ride, and a conversation, with a futanari who is doubtlessly stronger than I am and can do, I imagine, just about whatever she wants.

Alarm bells ring, some echo of the past. Freya took what she wanted, and Freya thinks Morgan is bad news. I've no chance of surviving the predations of this older, wiser, and – as I've already seen – crueller woman.

'Say what you need to say. I'm not getting in that car.'

The darkly beautiful goth rolls her icy eyes at me. 'I'm going to be blocking traffic, you realise? And it may take a while. What exactly are you afraid of?'

'You can easily overpower me,' I say, glaring.

Morgan's face, oddly – much as I can't trust her – suggests sympathy. 'Is that what my little sister did, Tom? Is that how you two began?'

I recall Freya's words. Those dickheads are cunning. Especially Morgan. 'Gaining my trust isn't something you can do. On two accounts.'

She sighs. 'Fine. I'm going to pull up down the road. We'll be in public. If you care about Freya, you'll talk to me.' Morgan quickly pulls the door shut and revs the engine, the metal beast purring as she accelerates. The black car goes around the corner ahead and I'm left standing in bright sunlight that feels oddly chill where it should in fact warm.

Morgan Venyabildt is waiting a little ways down the road beyond the bend, tall and statuesque, all blacks and reds. I can't help but look, guilty as it makes me feel, at the sheer Venyabildt-grade splendour of her figure. Wide hips, long legs, immense breasts. All pale as milk, the opposite end of the spectrum to Freya's bronze tan. She's taller even than my Mistress, by an inch or even two, even without her height-enhancing heeled buckled-up black boots. Her black hair, its straight fringe and long waterfall sides framing her gothic beauty, is a stark contrast to the frosty blues of her eyes and the creamy white of her flesh.

She leans against the car, crossing her arms beneath her chest as I approach. 'You,' Morgan says, 'are in the same boat as I am.'

I note, guiltily, in passing, an attractive beauty spot on her left breast, on the inside of her voluptuous cleavage. The single mark or distortion upon otherwise perfect pale skin. Her mouth, that same – characteristic, it seems – crimson rimmed in black, suggests vampiric predation. Even outside, with room to run – and those boots look awful for chasing – I'm wary of being close to her. Keeping three or so strides back seems the ideal.

'What do you want, Morgan?'

'I want to talk to my little sister again,' she says. 'Which, I imagine, is a goal we share, given that you're here.'

People pass by the pavement that swerves around the little clearing by the woods, each and every conversation halted as the passers-by inevitably gawp at the tall and exquisitely attractive gothic woman. Would they be so eager if they knew about her cock, I wonder?

'You made the mess,' I say. 'You can fix it.'

She sighs, and rolls her eyes. 'I'm not quite sure I can, actually. A sisterly tease may have gone too far. Blondie does, in fact, have plenty of nerves running just below the surface, and their endings are deeper than I'd fathomed.'

'Don't call her that.'

Morgan tuts. 'She's my sister . Should I call you your pet name, Tom?'

Slut likely isn't the best thing to be called in public. I glance away.

'Just say your piece.'

The towering goth rattles her slicing nails upon the roof of the Mercedes. 'My family, as you know, are different. And beyond that, we are natural dominants,' Morgan says. 'Freya is every bit the dominant she wants to be, but she's…unrefined, let's say. As I'm sure you're well-aware.'

I nod. 'She's still young.'

'She's also brash, and reckless, headstrong, over-emotional – as shown by her responding to embarrassment by stonewalling the both of us and spending a week unwashed, binging video games in her room – and stubborn to a fault.' Morgan smiles as she speaks, a thing faltering between humour and sadness. 'She needs to understand that being a domme is not about absolute power, is not about violence, is not about control. My little sister needs to realise that it's okay to relax a little bit.'

'So you decided to embarrass her in front of her sub, her boyfriend, and her big sister?'

The gothic Venyabildt twists her mouth. 'Those are my sins, yes. I miscalculated.'

'Miscalculated? You were playing with her feelings!'

I don't mean to raise my voice, but it tickles my throat. And Morgan, clearly, is not Freya. Not anything like Freya. Treacle-slow, she eyes me from the tips of my toes to the highest hairs of my head, and prompts a chill up my spine – and a guilty twitch of my cock – when she gently licks her lips.

'You're a wonderful pet, that much is clear,' Morgan says. She steps away from the car, icy gaze paralysing me. Firm footsteps are all that separate us, the tall woman growing taller still as she nears. The proximity grows intimidating. 'Blondie is very lucky to have you, and I wonder if she knows it.'

It's slightly uncomfortable to meet Morgan's eyes, given that my default view is of her milky and bountiful cleavage. The pendant dangling around her throat, a thing of dark silver culminating in a ruby, is no help at all as some mundane distraction, given that the gemstone itself hangs between those utterly insane breasts. An odour, of dark fruits and something that must, as it is with her sister, be her dense sexual musk, teases my nose.

'F-reya's my Mistress. O-nly her.'

'You're very sweet,' Morgan says, smiling, all black-rimmed ruby lips and porcelain teeth. 'It's precisely that sweetness I aim to weaponise. But it does require you trusting me enough to get in my car, and visit Freya with me.'

'Meaning what?'

'Meaning that I have a plan,' she says. 'Though it's falling on deaf ears if you won't get in the car.'

'I'd rather hear it first. Before I decide.'

Morgan lifts a neat black eyebrow. 'Oh? That's all it takes? If I sculpt a convincing sounding plan you'll get in the Merc, be at my mercy, and I can fuck your sorry little brains out?' She rolls those icy blues. 'I'm not wasting my breath. You're either in or you aren't. I'm sure Freya will come around sooner or later, but this is a good opportunity for the both of you. You, to prove your subservience, and her to prove her dominance.'

'And…and if we fail?'

The gothic Venyabildt shrugs. 'If the plan fails, I don't think anything will fix it. It's fairly cutthroat to begin with.'

'Freya did say that you're cunning.'

Morgan grins. A predatory yet alluring look. 'I did get the biggest brains of the family, yes. Though like recognises like, don't you agree?'

It's not, after all, as if Freya hasn't shown a certain amount of willingness to be devious with me in pursuit of her desires. But I still don't understand why, if this older sister is so willing to help, that Freya warned me against her.

'Freya said you and Genevieve were the really dangerous ones,' I say, more readily meeting the tall woman's eyes. Fear suppresses, quite readily, lust. 'That it was you two I needed to watch out for. You two she'd keep me from.'

'Granny Gen isn't allowed near the house,' Morgan says. 'Dad-Mum Persephone got a restraining order against the – and pardon my French – "psychotic raping cunt of bitch."' The humour that begins with the word "French" is gone by the enunciating of "raping". 'As for me, yes, I'm dangerous. Don't misunderstand. You, sweet Tom, are prey . I would gladly tear off that collar and replace it with one of my own, but that's not my intention here. I do, believe it or not, value my relationship with my lovely little sister. Stealing and dominating friend's boyfriends, or Dad-Mum's toy-boys – when she's meant to be married – is another matter. And if it's any consolation, I'm thoroughly of the belief that my cock was put on this Earth to be sucked, and that the best blowjobs are never the result of force.' She wets her lips. 'I've seen your mouth, sweetheart. Tempting as its affections are, I'd only want them given freely. So unless your true concern is that by getting in my Merc, you'll instantly desire a mouthful of me, you've nothing to worry about.'

No matter what, if Morgan truly is so cunning, nothing she says helps. I am stuck between this possibility of helping Freya and the risk of being, well, taken by her sister. The question becomes this: is it worth taking that risk on the chance that I'm going to help Freya?

I shut my eyes, realising that I'll never have a truly good answer.

'What's the plan?' I say.

And Morgan takes hold of my shoulder. 'To the car, sweet Tom. I'll spill every juicy detail.'

If there's some trick, it's a slow-burning one. Despite being in her power, Morgan begins driving us right along the same route Freya takes when heading from school to her house out in the countryside.

'You two are much louder than I imagine either of you think,' the intimidating goth says. 'That little game you're always playing? We're going to take advantage of it.'

'Street Fighter?'

She gives me a side-on glare. 'I really hope you're joking.'

Maybe. I might've just said what popped into my head. 'The "winner gets sex" game?'

'That one,' Morgan says. 'Only today, I'm going to join you both. And I'll challenge Blondie for ownership of you.'

Now that is an unnerving thought, and a possibly cunning one. What if the whole aim of this is to take control of me, in some roundabout fashion?

'Freya's terrible.'

Morgan suppresses a chuckle. 'That aside, the point isn't to win or lose. It's to get her to rise out of this funk she's fallen into. What we want is for Blondie to believe there's a risk of her losing you, and realise that the truly important thing isn't that she's a bit of a quick-shot softie when it comes to being blown, but that she has such a dutiful and loving pet in the first place.'

I can see the logic. It does provoke a hope, a fleeting fire in my heart. Freya's funk is a result of being embarrassed, about looking the fool. And this might work twice over. To remind her of my place – and my desirability? – and to give her a chance to beat Morgan, perhaps regaining some of her lost pride.

But what does the gothic Venyabildt get out of this?

'Why do this?' I say, watching her in profile. She's uncomfortably attractive. Part of that is guilt for even thinking such a thing, but part of it is just how vampiric she looks. I know it's just a style, but still. Tall and dark and composed is surprisingly frightening. 'What do you get for helping us?'

'Helping you?' Morgan rolls her eyes. 'You're barely a part of this. Don't misunderstand me, sweet Tom. This is about me and my sister, and you're just a useful tool toward that end. I made a mistake, I'll fix it, and you'll help me.'

'So you're just doing it to fix your image? You fucked up and hurt Freya, and you don't want to loathe yourself?'

'Don't pretend to understand me,' she says. 'You know nothing of me.'

I glance away, her tone disconcerting. 'Sorry.'

'Good pet.' Morgan smiles darkly. 'Oh, and stop pestering Blondie to do things for you.'

'What? How much are you listening in on us?'

'Enough,' she says, smile hinting at teeth. I can quite readily picture fangs. 'Your role, Tom, is to serve . You serve. That's all. That's it. What my sister wants from you, she will have from you. If she does, on some whim, decide to pleasure you, you will be very grateful, but you will never ask anything of her again. Are we clear?'

'But I think Freya is–'

The car stops dead, and the seatbelt bites into me. Nothing ahead, nothing behind, but Morgan turns to me. 'You think she's what?'

I can barely look at her. 'More submissive than she thinks?'

'Has she told you this?'

'No.'

'So you're basing it off what? Her vulnerability to blowjobs given by someone she – and I do not say this lightly – well and truly loves?'

'I…'

'Have you any idea how selfish it sounds, to be so lucky as you are, to land someone from my family as a mistress, as a lover, as a partner?' Morgan says, neat black eyebrows raised in exasperation. 'You will never want for anything in your life. You will never have to work if you choose not to. If Blondie has done things for you, sexual acts, and made promises to such, then I don't think you begin to grasp how mad she must be for you. Sweet Tom, Freya has never had a proper boyfriend, and not for lack of trying.'

Is that it, in a nutshell? Have I just been selfish, wanting more than I've already got? It's not like Freya doesn't take care of me. She just does it in her fashion, and not necessarily on my terms.

And yet, isn't that what I liked about her in the first place? That she took control?

That she's the one in charge?

'I just thought she'd enjoy herself, as well.' I hang my head, and Morgan promptly cups my chin, forcing me to look into her frosty eyes. 'Morgan…'

'Men are submissive to futanaris,' she says. 'Women, too, are submissive to futanaris. And that look of recognition says you've heard this before. So why haven't you taken it to heart?'

'Is it…is it wrong to fantasise?'

She smirks. 'If you have to ask, then you have your answer.'

'I…I think I need to get used to that.'

Morgan squeezes my jaw, gently but suggestive of sublime strength. 'What's the real problem, sweet Tom?'

'What?'

'Blondie is a harsher domme than the rest of us – inexperienced, mostly – and yet you choose to stay,' she says. 'I've seen you with her, besides. You clearly enjoy serving her. I saw no resistance. And that you keep losing your little Friday game suggests that you are, in fact, eager to please my sister.'

I hadn't thought of it like that, but Morgan's right. I was under no delusions about how this dynamic works, and it's not like it changed along the way. There's something wonderful about seeing Freya happy, and pleasing her, and yet the most intimate thing of all is–

'Oh.'

'Hmm?'

My cheeks are burning as I think it. 'What if…what if I like the way she looks when she's a bit out of her depth, and I don't get enough of that?' I say, while Morgan watches my face intently. 'What if I'm…what if I'm not very good at pleasing her?'

The statuesque goth smiles. 'Now that's a thought. A lack of intimacy.'

I shake my head. 'We're really intimate.'

'But sexually speaking? I've heard Freya with boys before, and it is the last thing from intimate.' Morgan strokes my cheek, and teases a talon-like nail across my lips. 'You're quite the softie, sweet Tom. And Blondie is…confused about what it means to be dominant. As you saw today.'

'Weakness is the enemy,' I say.

Morgan nods. 'You're a bit of a cocksucker , aren't you?'

And now my cheeks are an inferno. 'It's…it's very loving.'

The goth wets her lips with a sliver of pink tongue, and I shiver at the sight. 'A shame she got to you first, young though you might be,' the goth says. 'I've little interest in men's bottoms, but I'll happily be worshipped for hours. We're of one mind, regarding the affectionate appeal of fellatio.'

'Morgan–'

She leaves me in a flourish, quickly setting the car in motion. 'Something to talk to Blondie about. If we can iron that fear of weakness out of her, you might get more of what you want. And perhaps she'll realise that anal intercourse doesn't intrinsically require a lack of eye contact and a hip-bruising pace.'

That thought lingers, infusing with the little hope returning. I can't think of a time when Freya didn't take me from behind, to a chorus of grunting and borderline choking. And those little moments of slow affection – me blowing her, her giving me a titwank – are few and far between. My favourite faces aren't necessarily of her looking submissive, but her…looking vulnerable.

Looking unbearably sweet. My Mistress, with her guard down. Really, truly, honestly and utterly enjoying her time with me. And I can see how, then, I'd desire her to submit, because all it would require is vulnerability. All of the time!

But if Morgan's right, and she certainly knows her sister better than I do, then…

…maybe I've been completely missing the point?

The room of Freya Venyabildt is disconcerting. Curtains pulled closed, a variety of wrappers and empty food cartons hanging around. There's a bin utterly packed to the point of overflowing with what can only be wank tissues, and the still-beautiful blonde futanari is a dishevelled thing in a baggy t-shirt that goes low enough to cover her junk, perpetual bed-head a mess around her face.

Thankfully, Morgan leads. 'Right, you,' she says, strutting past me, clearing a space on the sofa. 'I've brought your pet along, and it's time we resolve this mess.'

'I can't pause,' Freya says, not so much as looking at me. 'Do whatever.'

Gunshots, and someone screaming over their mic – something about being beaten by a girl – reverberate out of the television. Hood-eyed, Mistress manages a self-assured smirk.

'I was going to suggest I play you on that Street Fighter game,' the elder Venyabildt says, 'and that whoever wins takes ownership of sweet Tom. But if you're busy–'

Mistress growls. 'Stupid piece of shit.' But then she mashes buttons on the controller, and utters something inaudible. 'Cheap fucking shot. No-scope fucking loser.'

' Blondie .'

Freya glances sideways. 'Yeah. Take him. Fuck it.'

My heart sinks. To mean so little, even if she's just saying it in anger or disillusion, hurts more than I imagined it would. That fragile hope gutters out.

'Even if that means he'll be coming round daily and blowing me?' Morgan says. ' Worshipping me, Blondie, for hours at a time.'

There's a creak, a faint crack. Teeth grinding. 'Just go. Do it.'

'So I could send you the videos then? All his little words of praise? And those big loads I'll cover his tongue in, day after day after–'

Mistress chucks the controller so hard it shatters against the wall. 'The fuck is your problem?' She stands, cheeks red, eyes strained from darkness and screen-staring. Morgan is as cool as a cucumber. 'First you fucking humiliate me and now this? Now you want Tom, too? I said take him, didn't I? Why are you rubbing it in?'

The elder sister rises, taller than Freya by a few inches, but she might as well be smaller given how confidently, how furiously, my Mistress stares at her. 'If you really don't care,' Morgan says, 'then the details won't matter, will they? And it can't hurt to have something kinky to wank to, surely?'

Freya's eyes begin to water, and she shivers. Those brilliant blues, muted today, set upon me. 'Just go with her, Tom,' she says. 'Be happy.'

I shake my head. 'I love you, Mistress.'

And Mistress chokes back tears, trembling on the spot. 'Just go.'

But I run to her. Throw myself at her. Ignore the body odour and the dirty clothes. And slowly, surely, Freya puts her arms against my back, softly stroking. 'I smell,' she says. 'I look like shit.'

'You're still you, Mistress,' I say. 'And I'm still yours.'

Morgan chuckles. 'Go clean up, Blondie. We need to talk.'

'About what? I'm not playing for Tom. He's mine.'

'Good,' Morgan says. 'But we still need to talk about your behaviour this week.' She must turn about, dull thud of her footsteps moving away from us. Nestled as I am in Freya's stinking t-shirt, holding on as if I could lose her at any moment, I don't see quite what she does. 'Alone. When the pet's gone.'

'Fine. Go.'

'See you around, sweet Tom.'

And then the door shuts, and I'm alone with Mistress.

'You can let go,' she says. 'I…I need to wash.'

'Please don't shut me out again,' I say, clinging tighter. 'You're the best thing to ever happen to me, and you can't do this again.'

'Can't? I can do–'

'It's not fucking dominant to hurt me!' My voice comes out louder than I'd like, but comes all the same. 'To pull away, to hide your feelings, to disappear on me. It doesn't make you strong. It's the opposite, and I know you're not weak, so cut it out. Okay?'

'Tom, don't you fucking dare raise your voice at me.'

But I dig in tighter. 'You're not just my domme, Mistress. You're not just my Mistress! You're my girlfriend , and…and I'm pretty sure you're the love of my life. But you will lose me if you don't open up, especially about fucking bullshit like cumming quickly from a blowjob.'

I wince, expecting something fierce. Awful, to think that I might expect something bad. Anger, upset, shouting, anything. But Freya cries. Sobs. Buries her face against my head and shivers, holding me just as tightly as I hold her.

'I'm sorry,' she says. 'I just…Morgan was…and you like me when I'm…'

'I like you , Freya. But you're not solid stone.'

Her eyes are all wet, the cute and gorgeous and amazing thing. I'd kiss her mouth but…well, her cheek will do for the moment. Until I'm sure she's brushed her teeth. And Mistress pecks my forehead, nuzzles against me.

'It's embarrassing, Tom. I shouldn't be so…so easy .'

'It happened before, loads of times, and I didn't care,' I say. 'Why's this time matter?'

'Because Morgan is…because I wish I was like her. Cool, all the time. Never fucking up. Older. Better.'

'You're cool to me, all the time. And I don't care how often you fuck up, so long as you make it right. So long as you're my Mistress, and I'm your slut.'

Her tears are drying, and her mouth is a blissful smile. 'I legit haven't washed in a week.'

I make a show of sniffing. 'I'm well aware.'

Freya blushes faintly, sweetly. 'Let me go fix that. Could you open the curtains? And the windows, and…I'll fix the rest when you're gone. Fuck my life.'

I do as asked when Freya disappears out into the hall. The level of mess produced by a single person – albeit a biologically energetic futanari of sufficient vigour and horniness – is quite astounding, especially given how clean Freya usually is. My small efforts towards actually tidying up – for her sake – make little impact by the time my futanari Mistress returns, hair wet, a towel clinging to her curvaceous form.

Her eyes are still not quite their usual boldness, the hit to her ego a thing that'll take time to mend. But Freya is, all the same, back. And unreasonably, incredibly, stupendously beautiful.

'Missed me?' she says, strutting over. Midstride she lets the towel fall into a bundle around her feet. Her big bronze dick sways freely, jiggly parts somehow less mesmerising than that much-desired member. 'Or have you just been lusting after my cock, slut?'

I wait for her to come over to me, standing inches taller, not so towering as Morgan but submission-inspiring in her gorgeous height all the same. Mistress takes me by the hips and pushes me towards the bed, turning my body about. 'We'll fix that.'

'Freya,' I say, and she pauses. 'Can we…can we be more intimate?'

There's a long pause, and I'm both glad to be looking away and, at the same time, aware that it allows the mind to run riot. A request, and I'm not meant to ask. I'm not sure Morgan meant that, of course, but still.

I have needs as well. And I want loving.

'What's more intimate than being thoroughly bred by your Mistress, Tom?'

I put my hands on hers where they grip me. 'I want to look into your eyes. I want to lay back and be…be able to kiss you, and…wrap my legs around you.'

'Tom, that's…'

'I shouldn't have presumed anything about our dynamic,' I say, still reticent to face her. It's easier this way, to talk to the bed, to avoid her beautiful but sometimes troubling face. 'You're only dominant, and I'm only submissive. But dominance doesn't mean it always has to be rough. And I've missed you, really, really badly, so could you–'

She wraps her arms around my chest, easily pulling free of my hands. Big, warm, faintly shower-damp boobs press into my back, and Freya kisses my hair, breath clearly minty from brushing. 'I'm really sorry,' she says. 'If I've not been enough. Why didn't you say?'

'Because you're so, well, shy sometimes.' I put my hands over hers, relish in the contact. 'Like with blowjobs. I'd want to suck you every day, but it's only on Fridays, because you're scared of looking silly. As if it's not dominant just because you're really into it.'

Another pause, and then Freya says, 'It doesn't make you think less of me?'

I shake my head. 'Neither did the Morgan thing. You're my Mistress , Freya.' I give my collar a jingle. 'It says so right here. I'd have your name tattooed on me, if I had proof that this'd last forever and I'd die first.'

And then she pushes me, almost violently, right onto the bed. Mistress is upon me in an instant, flipping me onto my back and hungering for my lips, sweet and faintly minty spit mingling with mine. I cup a shuddering breast, bask in the way her tongue rides roughshod across mine, pinning it down, two wrestlers and one is so much stronger than the other.

And when she pulls back a little line of spit connects us, a glistening link that I collect up with my tongue. Her eyes are still wounded a little, but the brightness is building. Maybe they'll never be truly how they were, or maybe they'll be bolder than ever before.

'You mean it?' she says. 'Really?'

I nod. 'My soul's yours.'

'I don't think they exist.' Mistress smirks. 'But I love the thought.'

I reach down between us with my other hand as she kisses me, seizing upon that instantly-readied erection. God, I've missed it. Missed her. The heat and the taste and the smell, though her bubble-gum distinction is absent, replaced by simple clean body smells, post-showering.

'You want me to take you like this?' Freya says, gesturing with her eyes, highlighting our position. 'On your back. On my bed.'

Biting my lip, I nod a little too eagerly. She chuckles, and kisses my head.

'A moment, Tom. Hold still.'

It's like a weight is lifted, and all my troubles, helium-filled, float away. She still wants me. I'm still here. Morgan…helped? Hindered, made the mess, but at least she solved it. And, worryingly, I'm quite certain that if she did ask me to, I might've…might've been willing to do perverse things to get Freya's situation mended.

I'll have to ask, about her. About them. It's a weird dynamic, sister and sister, made stranger for them both being futanaris.

But I get little time to ponder, given how quickly Freya returns, lube in hand. 'Going forwards,' she says, cracking the bottle and applying some to her cock, 'you need to tell me things like this. I might need reassuring, sometimes.'

As she lathers up her cock, making it shine spectacularly, I extend a hand. Mistress takes it, squeezing down on my fingers. 'And you need to be able to ask. I can't have you disappearing into your room for a week.'

Guilt – which is a good sign, vulnerable as it is – flashes across her eyes. 'Yeah. I'm sorry, Tom.'

'Then make it up to me, Mistress.' I tug on her hand. 'Breed me. Nice and slow and loving.'

She chews her lip, blushing, that same species of look that her face wears in the midst of blowjobs. Freya Venyabildt, not just having sex, not just using me – much as it is my place to be taken, and hers to take – but loving me, as well.

There's a cool splatter beneath my balls as she squirts some extra lube there, down my arse crack, and Mistress climbs onto the bed, upon her knees. She pushes my legs aside and lines herself up, stroking my belly with a slightly oily hand as the searing plump tip of her member brushes up against my bum hole.

'I'm so glad you're mine,' she says.

I wince as she enters, a week without being fucked is far, far too long. Our bodies, reuniting, are clearly made for one another, because my backside welcomes her home, right where she belongs. The burst of heat, the fat throb of her helmet, the breadth of her veiny lance, all conspire to send me ridiculously close to cumming within a moment of entry.

But I clench my teeth, squeeze down with my butt, and hold on. It's best when it builds.

'F-uck, Mistress.'

She descends upon me, breasts brushing against my collarbone and the base of my neck, nipples pointed and tickling. Freya kisses my forehead, slowly applying those powerful hips, going further and further into me with every languorous and affectionate thrust. God, she's big . So fucking big. I grit my teeth, whine, vaguely aware and vaguely worried that Morgan might hear us, just as she's suggested that she does.

'Let it out,' Mistress says, clasping at my throat, stroking my Adam's apple. 'Cum for me, slut. Show me how much you've missed me. And squeal like the little bitch you are.'

To tilt back my head and stare up into her brilliant blue eyes is to hurtle the intimacy factor by some cosmic degree into an interdimensional realm of blissful satisfaction. Freya Venyabildt is perfect, and I'm hers. She chose me, claimed me, took all the important firsts from me. I've been moulded by her body, clay putty in her hands transformed not merely into a tool for sating her needs but, and so fucking fantastically, tailored into some object of awe-inspiring affection.

'Guh. F-uck.'

Because her smile, as I groan and writhe, is all love. All care. All wanting me to be happy, some return for my efforts, for fighting for her happiness. Her massive cock, a rod of molten brilliance pulsating as it lovingly pummels me, is as much a part of driving me to orgasm as her embracing gaze and caring contentment.

'Mistress, I fucking–ughn–love you!'

I cum hard, ever so hard, and Freya chuckles softly. She rests an arm beneath my head and leans her body against mine, pumping away at me, big heavy balls thwap thup thwapping as they bounce against the underside of my bum.

'Good boy,' Mistress says, stroking my hair. 'Mhm. My good, wonderful, lovely Tom.'

No masturbation, not even her tantalising titwanks, can match up to the blossoming reverberations provoked by being mounted by her. Freya hits all the right places, knows my body so well, does this thing for both of our sakes but clearly has me in mind with every gyration of those full womanly hips and every poke and prod of that immense erection.

She must arch her back a little, all so that our foreheads can press together, eyes enveloping eyes. They swallow me, take me to a place of perpetual pleasure, a realm where I am hers eternally. Such brilliant blues she has, and yet there remains sadness, remains notes of concern.

This incredible creature, who I am ever so lucky to belong to, has her own demons. It only makes me want her more, to somehow be closer to her than I already am.

'I–ugh–love you so m-uch,' I say, stroking her back, plying her lovely flesh. 'You're–guh–all I want. All I n-eed.'

Freya kisses me, slow and tender, making such an effort to taste me, as though this might be the very last. And though her own admissions are difficult to come by, this entire performance tells me more than any poem or song could ever manage.

She, too, has longed for this return.

'Legs,' Mistress says, breathy, needy. 'I want to breed you. To put myself–mhm–inside you.'

I grit my teeth, attempt a nod, much to her humour. In the throes of a prolonged, pelvis-paralysing climax, I manage to just about lift my legs and lock them around her hips, tops of each foot clasping against one another to maintain my grip.

'Good boy.' Freya smooches me, licks my lips. 'Time to get you–ughn–pregnant.'

She's magnificent. Able, somehow, to accelerate her thrusting, to make that thup thwap thup of her heavy testicles all the louder, and yet do so without making things at all rough. And as much as the rough is divine, as much as that game is fun, this is what I needed. In my very core, the depths of my heart, just as Freya is doing a fine job of excavating the depths of my butt, I know that this is the kind of loving carnal primal mating which was absent.

'M-ake me p-regnant,' I say, stroking her back, tracing out her developed curves. 'Breed me, Mistress. Guh. Fuck, you're so p-erfect.'

And Freya's eyes blaze, searing blue, electrified with lascivious need. The drive to dominate, to take, to claim. But I'm hers, and she knows it. Every word I speak, no matter the complexity or variation or form, should be at its base a simple notion:

I am yours.

'So good,' she says, eyes fluttering. Sweat beads beneath her brow, and she grinds her lovely teeth. 'Shit, Tom, you're so–mhm–fucking tight.'

And I squeeze down, provoking a glorious groan from her lovely lips. Freya gasps, trembles, shivers, and yet somehow holds on, continuing to drill and impale, to skewer and spear. That huge weapon goes in and out, back and forth, a presence of such potent heat that it suggests something angelic about this woman, that she is not merely human but some archangel lust goddess capable of uplifting one so sorry as myself to heights that sleepy Everest can only dream of.

'C-um in me.' I stare into her eyes as I say it. 'I want your genes.' Licking my lips makes her eyelids hood and twitch. 'Breed me, Freya. I love y-ou so much and I'm yours and I–'

She slams herself into me and bites my mouth, tongue a demonic thing, full lips violent in their seizing. Her balls flop against me, grind up into me as her hips quake. And that fat helmet, deep within me, in its rightful place, explodes. A spray, a river, thick as treacle and blessedly hot.

And then we're both cumming, my seed splattering down my cock and perhaps marking her belly while she breeds me, thoroughly claims me, rides on that illogical and illicit dream of impregnating a boy with her sublimely superior seed.

I pull down with my legs, urging her to fill me, to load me, to spill every last drop of sperm-rich semen deep inside my guts. I'm unworthy of such perfection, but I have it. And so long as I please her, so long as I accept my place – as Morgan has given me such insight into – then I can have a lifetime of this.

An easy lifetime as Freya's love, as Freya's partner, and as Freya's pet.

'So hot,' she says, nuzzling my face, brushing her nose against my cheek. 'That leg thing. Good thought, Tom. Ughn. So good.'

Her hips ease, and I squeeze. I'm milking her, milking her loins of their produce, pressed beneath her voluptuous weight atop her big bed. And the sun is shining, and the day is good. All is well with the world, because I am Freya's, and full of Freya, and Freya is filling me.

'Anything f-or you, Mistress,' I say, gasping, fading into bliss. 'My l-ife for you.'

'Your life with me.' Freya kisses me again. 'At my side. I love you. More than anything.'

Spent as we are, we lay like this, bodies slightly sweaty and our smells mingling, hers the dominant. Freya doesn't pull out, leaving me plugged even as she softens, my arsehole keeping a good grip against her lovely cock as if it would be the most tragic thing of all to release it.

No. I don't need her to switch places. I just need her to love me like this sometimes, to show her heart to me, to be okay with being who she is. My lovely, cute, gorgeous, tempestuous Mistress.

Her eyes shine now, in the daylight. Bolder and bolder, but softer too. Warmer. As if something about this was sought by her, as well, and yet unfound. Two stupid apes, struggling to find the words, when we're the only fucking animals to even use them.

And then she says something wonderful and terrible both.

'I want you to move in with me. As soon as possible.'

And what else can I possibly say?

'Yes.'

Freya smooches me with untameable glee.

Chapter 9: The Venyabildts

Summary:

Tom deals with the moving-in situation, and meets the Venyabildt family, including Freya's lascivious mother, Alicia, and her dominant "father", Persephone. Things look as though they're going to get very interesting, being "one of the family"...

Notes:

A futa-on-male story initially involving dubcon/noncon, transitioning to D/s romance. Chapter 3 does involve male-on-male rape, in far less detail, for the sake of the plot. Otherwise, no particular fetishes beyond futanari. The male is not effeminate, and this is not a sissy story! Oh, and now it's got some "family" stuff going, and will have some male-on-female (with a Mummy vibe) and has multiple futas!*

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: The Venyabildts

How can I possibly refuse the opportunity to live with Freya?

I'd have to be insane. To look the love of my life in her bright blue eyes and choose the lesser option, to keep ourselves separate when an alternative exists, would be utterly daft. To choose to stay with Dad and Mum, instead of with Freya in that fuck-off big house, wanting for nothing, needing nothing, would be foolish.

So of course, I jump at the chance. But it involves, from the very beginning, introductions.

Because my parents want to meet Freya's. Because, unsurprisingly, this offer of an "all expenses paid young couple moving-in together" situation provokes questions.

And what better way to introduce everyone than have my family visit the Venyabildt Estate.

Not Freya's idea. Not mine. The whole process is awkward, to say the least, given that parents can be embarrassing at the best of times, when all is profoundly normal, and Freya and I are deeply aware that our situation – her situation generally, in fact – is the farthest thing from "profoundly normal."

I have the luxury of suffering parental inquisition on the car journey there. "Why haven't we met this girl yet?" and, "Are you sure you've not been confused about what's happening here?" and, "I don't want to lose my baby boy to anyone less than perfect, and if–"

It takes some heroic effort, but I tune it out. It's not that I don't appreciate the worry – they're just trying to help, to be protective – but I don't have any answers to offer that they'll actually take into consideration. They love me, sure, but legal adult though I may be, they still treat me as though I'm a child when it comes to anything so life-altering as this.

Dad and Mum marvel and mutter, upon reaching the house. A cacophonic commentary trails alongside us as we walk up to the main house, two fundamentally regular people in a fundamentally irregular environment.

Alicia – Mrs Venyabildt – welcomes us in. It's my first time meeting the actual "Mum" of Freya, and it's more than a little uncomfortable. She smiles at me, and I shiver. Shiver, because I should not, in meeting my girlfriend's mother, immediately think "God, it's no wonder that Freya and Morgan are so fucking hot."

But Mrs Venyabildt clearly contributes her fair share, especially in Morgan's case. 'Mr and Mrs Olsen,' she says, stepping to one side of the opened door. 'Please, come in. Freya's waiting inside, and Persephone – my wife – is just preparing dinner.'

Dad gives me a look, when Alicia moves ahead of us. A kind of old-fashioned, "ooh, lesbians!" look. And I smile, not because I get the outmoded male humour – I mean, I understand it I guess, but it's not funny or interesting – but rather because if Dad knew quite what goes on in the Venyabildt line he'd be as pale as a ghost.

Whereas my real issue in the heat of the moment is this vague worry that I'm going to struggle to talk to Freya's mother, what with her seeming to be some mature older shorter non-futanari fusion of both my Mistress and her sister.

Alicia Venyabildt is tall, but not Amazonian. Especially curvaceous, with womanly, motherly hips and a prominent backside that shifts as she walks ahead of us, a knee-length black skirt clinging to her shapeliness. Her raven hair is similar to Morgan's, though she keeps it up in a ponytail with a parted fringe. When she turns and smiles, lips full and glossy chocolate, her breasts – easily as large as Freya's – are impossible to ignore given how they visibly shudder and seem wholly unsupported.

'Sit,' Alicia says, gesturing towards the downstairs lounge. A large room, as they all are, with several sofas and a vast flat-screen television taking up one wall. 'Would you like anything to drink? I make quite a mean cocktail, alcoholic and not.'

My parents are all thankful, on their best behaviour, tripping over their words. And all the while Mrs Venyabildt smirks at me, her pale blue eyes a contrast to the olive tan of her skin. Everything about her face is neat, carefully assembled. A flat beauty spot sits beneath her left eye, a point of darkness amidst the bronze. At a glance I'd think her thirty-five or so, though she must be older, given Morgan's age.

And when Dad and Mum have put in their requests, given the vast range of choices, Alicia sends them into the lounge to meet Freya. But she stops me, taking hold of my wrist, when I attempt the same.

'A moment,' Mrs Venyabildt says. Her voice is warm, sweet, easy on the ear. Posh without being grating. I don't resist when she pulls me aside, out of sight of Freya and my parents. 'Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? And here I was thinking I'd be the only non-futanari living here until the end of time, at the rate Morgan goes through partners.'

She straightens up, form-hugging white buttonless blouse failing to hide the heaviness of her breasts. Are those…her nipples ? Is she not wearing a bra? Don't look. Don't stare. Jesus what an awkward–

But Alicia takes hold of my arms, stroking my biceps with gentle up-down motions. 'You don't need to be so shy around me, Tom. Stare all you like. It's rather flattering, really, being able to produce such an effect in so handsome a young man despite being forty-five.'

I meet her pale blue eyes, so much like Morgan's, and blush. 'Mrs Venyabildt, I–'

She puts a finger to my lips. 'Tom, we're going to be living under the same roof. Call me Alice, Alicia, Mummy , whatever, but please, don't be so formal about things. We're in the same boat, aren't we?'

Alicia pulls back the collar of her blouse, revealing the pretty bronze of her throat. And there, dangling from a black leather collar around it, is a little tag which reads: "Persephone's Slut."

So…it's not just Freya and Morgan. It's a family matter.

'Woah.'

She smirks, and wets her lips with a pretty sliver of pink. 'Woah indeed, sweetie. Doubtless my dear daughter hasn't quite explained how things work around here, but satisfying our Mistresses doesn't mean that we can't have our other needs met.'

My eyes bulge slightly as she cups my groin, doing it with such irreverent nonchalance that I'd almost think this fake. A strange fever dream. This is Freya's mother , birth-mother, and she's…molesting me?

'You're making me uncomfortable,' I say, yet find myself paralysed. 'Freya's next door.'

Alicia immediately removes the hand, smiling with all the cheek of a schoolgirl. 'I take it you've not discussed how exclusivity works here, Tom.' She moves past me, peering into the lounge where my parents are. The pair of them sat together, meeting my girlfriend-Mistress for the first time. 'I'm just going to take Tom away for a little while, to meet Persephone. We'll return with drinks in a moment.'

I catch a glance at Freya's face, finding on it something remarkably familiar. The awkwardness of family, especially one's parents, though I don't know how I'm going to raise the matter of her mother's crotch-groping in a way that doesn't sound terrible.

Mrs Venyabildt takes my wrist and leads me through the house, towards a thickening odour of restaurant-grade cooking. Something distinct yet impossible to place, a fusion of familiar scents mixed into something that goes outside the boundaries of my grasp.

And there, slicing vegetables with apex preciseness, is Freya's "Father." The futanari matriarch, Persephone Venyabildt. The older Mistress Venyabildt.

'Mistress,' Alicia says, grinning from ear to ear. 'This is Tom. Freya's pet.'

I'm not sure what I expected, but a naked woman in an apron was certainly not it.

Persephone is, much like Alicia, some contributor to the qualities that her two daughters possess. Mistress Venyabildt is a blonde, like Freya, but pale as milk, like Morgan. Her hair, the colour of spun gold, is luscious and full, flowing down around her shoulders like a regal auric mane. The same height as Morgan, the pale futanari is closer to Freya in terms of musculature, though with a larger backside and plumper breasts.

And when she looks my way, full ruby lips faintly smiling, I'm struck by a pair of eyes that are the spitting image of Freya's. Distracting to the point that I don't even focus on the immensity of side-boob presented by the apron that lewdly covers her front.

'Tom Olsen,' Persephone says. 'Or is it Thomas?'

'T-om's fine, uh, Mistress Venyabildt.'

Both women chuckle and the tall futanari puts down the folded-steel knife, wiping her hands on her apron. 'No need to be nervous, boy. I don't bite, unless you explicitly ask me to. And even then, I'm not prone to honouring requests from submissives.'

She struts over to me, opulent hips swaggering, peeking out from the sides of the apron. Her cleavage is insane, all of this is insane. All these beautiful women, in one family. Persephone Venyabildt, the head of house, the tallest of the futanaris, appears in many ways to be some older rendition of Freya. Her age is obvious, matured like fine wine. Youth fades, but to mistake youth with beauty would be foolish. Persephone is no less beautiful than her daughters. Her allure is regal, noble, gorgeous.

'I'm Persephone,' she says, extending a long-nailed hand. 'Whatever silly ideas Freya's filled your head with, they can die a death here. Unless – and until – I have my name on that collar, I'm no Mistress of yours.'

As I take the hand, out of politeness, I'm struck by a powerful notion. That I am, in this place, prey . A feeling felt before, at times. At the best of times, even, in the most erotic bouts of fucking with this woman's younger daughter. But in those brilliant blue eyes, it's clear where I stand.

Freya, as troublesome as she can be, is the safest of the lot.

'Um, thank you?'

Persephone smirks, and says, 'Definitely a submissive.' Alicia chuckles, and strokes my back. 'You're welcome, Tom. And it'll be good to have you around. Freya's been dramatically better since you entered into the picture. You're a good omen.'

'Better?'

'Freya is prone to bouts of bad behaviour,' Alicia says, moving around to my front. She drags her hand in the process, fondling me in passing. The "mundane" woman stands beside Persephone, who idly hangs an arm around her waist. 'Or was, anyway. Her grades are up, and she's not been in a fight for months now.'

They smile at one another, and then at me. There's something touching, about the idea that I've been good for Freya. She always seemed to be, well, doing me a favour. But maybe it's a lot more complicated than that.

It does, however, make things a lot more difficult when her parents are giving me eyes that suggest an undeniable degree of voraciousness. Alicia alone is enough to be problematic, without the addition of the motherly futanari beside her.

'I'm…glad?'

Persephone cocks her head at me. 'You're all nerves, boy. What's the matter?'

Alicia smiles up at the taller woman. 'I may or may not have introduced our dear Tom to the possibility of being shared, Mistress.'

Perhaps my eyes deceive me, or I've simply got the imagination for such, but there's a subtle shift in the angle of the drooping apron. Is that…is that what I think it is? Persephone…might actually be bigger than Freya.

'Is this true, Tom?' Persephone says. 'Would you be interested in such an arrangement?'

'I…um…'

'Where are those drinks, you cretins?' Freya saves me. She barges in and halts behind me. 'Oh. No, you don't. You utter perverts.' My Mistress puts her arms around my shoulders and draws me against her body, a show of safety and possessiveness all at once. Bubble-gum safety. 'What've you said to him? And why're you cooking in nothing, Dad?'

The older futanari winks at me, smiles at Freya. 'We simply were suggesting to Tom that there's the possibility of him being shared, given that he's going to be living with us. What's yours is mine, darling daughter.'

To my surprise, Mistress's grip softens. 'Oh. Well, uh. I don't know about that.'

Wait, what? Alicia finds something in my face particularly funny. God, she won't stop looking at me, eating me with those pale blue eyes.

And Freya? Freya…she's meant to be angry, right?

'He is going to be family, darling,' Persephone says. 'He's yours, obviously, but you know the place of men in this household.'

Mistress squeezes my shoulder. 'I…I don't know.'

'Morgan told me that the two of you were talking about this. She seemed to think you were coming around to the proper way of things.'

The proper way of things? Freya talking to Morgan? What the hell's going on?

Alicia clears her throat. 'Sweetie, shall I take Tom back to his parents with those drinks, while you and your father hash this out?'

Freya's grip on me fades into nonexistence. 'Yeah, sure, Mum. I…need to work this out with Dad.'

I've nothing to say. Nothing to add. All of it's weird. Strange.

Mistress gives me a funny look as her mother guides me away, taking me by the wrist. Not a look of upset, or anything malign. I can't quite put my finger on the meaning of it, all the same.

Like she's viewing me in a different light, somehow.

The introductions go swimmingly, at least.

I'm left with a low-level foreboding throughout, wondering about so many things that will have to wait until I can sit in private with Freya, but at least she's beside me. At least she touches me regularly, each rub of my shoulder or pat on my thigh ensuring a prolonged feeling of being safe and wanted.

Alicia rarely takes her eyes off me, throughout the wonderful dinner. Persephone – now in a form-hugging black dress – occasionally smirks my way, but mostly eyes her daughter. My parents are too busy being brown-noses to notice anything amiss. But they come away with a deep enthusiasm for my decision, with nothing but good words and high hopes.

Partly, I imagine, because they hope for some degree of financial assistance if I'm to be the long-term partner of a scion of the Venyabildt billionaires.

And when they leave, my moving here agreed upon without reservation, Freya and I slip away to her bedroom.

'What the hell's going on here?' I say, sitting down on the sofa.

Mistress hesitates. Freya looks divine, especially in her burgundy dress. It clings to her curves, a selection of criss-cross cut-out sections revealing her hips and her bounteous cleavage while otherwise being fairly tame. At the very least, in his vulgar outmoded fashion, Dad approves.

'It's complicated,' she says, lingering by the door. She folds her arms across her chest, stares out of the windows behind me. 'You know how I said that men don't do well here? This is what I meant.'

'You didn't seem all that bothered, though?'

Freya affixes me with a brilliant blue stare. 'Because I shouldn't be. Because Persephone isn't exactly wrong, and…Morgan's been very forthcoming about how things are. Or should be.'

'You're listening to Morgan now?'

Mistress nods as she approaches the sofa, sitting herself down beside me. She casually puts an arm around my shoulders and brings me in close, filling my nose with that tell-tale bubble-gum perfume. The warmth of her body, her beauty swallowing the world, isn't enough to stem the tide of concerning concepts.

'We talked, okay? Made up a little. And…she's teaching me to become more dominant. More in control. Like I should be, given what I am, and who I am.'

'Meaning what?'

Freya blushes. 'Meaning that it's no threat to what we have for me to share you with the others. Just like they always do, not that I ever wanted to take them up on it.' She quickly takes one of my hands in hers and squeezes. 'It's like I said, Tom. Futanaris are superior. Men and women both exist to cater to our needs, and if I've found a good pet, then that pet should serve Persephone and Morgan as well.'

I stare at her face, in profile, because she can't seem to look at me right now. 'You sure they're not just trying to have a shot at me without consequences?' I say.

And Freya shuts her eyes. 'Yeah. That's pretty much the first thought.'

I lean into her, nuzzle her throat, kiss the silken bronze of her skin. 'I'm yours, Freya. Nobody else's. You don't need to share me because your Dad-Mum and sister want a piece.'

Mistress strokes my head, tussles my hair. 'But then aren't I admitting that I'm not so confident in my ability to control you? That what we've got only exists in the absence of competition? Dominance is about confidence, Tom. And if I can't confidently believe that you'll pick my bed every night, even with the offer of Persephone and Morgan, then how can I claim to be confident? My behaviour would tell it true. I'd be scared of losing you to them.'

'You'll never lose me to anyone. I don't want anyone else.'

'Tom, that's bull.' Freya's tone is soft, though, and she smiles warmly at me. The blonde beauty kisses my brow. 'It's okay to fancy other people, you know? You're not the only man in the world I notice, after all. Just the only one I want as my slut.'

'A slut you're thinking of sharing. And what about your Mum? She made her intentions way too clear, Jesus.'

Mistress giggles. 'Alicia's no threat, because she's not a futanari. It's a bit weird, but as I'm sure you're discovering, this family is fucking weird.' She rolls her eyes. 'Do you know that Morgan sometimes blows our Dad ? And gets blown by Mum ?'

I did notice something off about Morgan's kiss, that day when it all kicked off. It certainly wasn't a purely platonic thing. 'I…get the impression that Morgan's into you, as well.'

Freya shudders a little, blushing brighter. 'Yeah. Me too.'

'That doesn't bother you?'

She shakes her head. 'It's a kind of fucked-up coping mechanism. Because of what Genevieve did. To Dad and Morgan both.'

'You don't mean she…?'

Freya shuts her eyes, wincing. She nods. 'Yeah, Tom. It ended before I hit puberty, but from the little I've been told, Persephone was exposed to some seriously messed-up things. Morgan was on the tail-end of that.'

Psychotic raping bitch, indeed.

'Shit.'

'Yup. Partly why we're so close. Why this idea of sharing doesn't seem so bad. I love my family, weird as they are. I was too young to suffer the darker stuff, and end up involved in the resultant incestuous shit, but even so.' Freya opens her eyes, looking exhausted just from talking about it. 'The whole "futanaris are superior" thing stems from the mess they went through. If we look out for each other, and view ourselves as deserving only of the finest treatment, then the mess with Gen won't repeat itself.'

'What happened to your gran? Morgan said she's not allowed here, but beyond that?'

'Too rich to go to prison,' Mistress says. 'She's still, de facto, the head of Venyabildt Industrial. But she's nothing to worry about. Lives in California, hasn't been in touch for years. Persephone put her in hospital. Like, badly.'

'Coach Bulger badly?'

Freya grips me a little tighter, smirking proudly. 'Worse. I heard they reattached it, but Gen had her cock cut off. Almost became some Cronos and Ouranos shit.'

I smile at the reference, at her unassuming cleverness. Where her sister and parents are so overtly intellectual – at least by their manner of speaking – Freya can seem rougher around the edges, with her casual speech and easy dialect. But this is the girl who reads Dostoevsky and Nietzsche during lunchtime, after all.

'I love you, Mistress.'

She ruffles my hair. 'Where'd that come from?'

'Just thinking, is all. How easy it is to imagine that you'd have no real issues because of your money, but then you've got this psycho rapist for a grandmother. Money doesn't cure that. Makes it worse, even, by the sounds of it.'

Freya nods. 'I do , for the record, have it easier. Way easier. If I don't want to work, I don't have to. I see your point, as well.' She kisses my forehead. 'But we got off-topic. If you want to be shared, Tom, then I…I think I need to be confident enough to allow it. But this is up to you, okay? I'll command you in all other things, but I can't command this. You'd be doing me a favour, keeping Dad and Mum and Morgan happy, but it's wholly optional.'

'Do you want this, Mistress?'

She stares at the wall, and shrugs. 'I don't know. But then, I've never had a boy to share like this. We could start easy, right? See if it works?'

My cock twitches at the thought. This can't be real.

'Freya…'

Mistress smooches my head. 'Sleep on it. In our bed.'

I put my hand between her thighs, feeling out the clear definition of that big burly dick. 'Shall we get tired out, first, Mistress?'

Freya's member thickens in response.

She slips out of the dress and throws it aside, revealing sweet nakedness beneath.

Mistress and I have had much better sex, since I actually began communicating my needs and wants to her. Funny, how that works. Sure, we still have plenty of rough animalistic screwing, but just as many encounters involving lots of eye contact and intimate moments.

Freya smiles at me as I undress. She climbs atop the bed and lays herself down in the middle, head resting atop the pillows. Her body, curves so weighty and divine, jiggle and shift as she relaxes against the covers. That beautiful bronze cock, already erect, stands to attention.

'Sit on me,' Mistress says. 'Be a good little slut, Tom.'

I kick off my boxers and smile brightly at her. 'Yes, Mistress.'

She slowly strokes herself as I fetch the lube and join her atop the sheets, applying the cool fluid to my arse both inside and out. A few fingers, testing the waters, easily slip inside and come out again without difficulty. Though, of course, a few of my fingers is hardly the equivalent to the mighty member of my Amazonian Mistress.

It's a little awkward, straddling her hips. Being somehow the centre of things, rather than some passive player. Freya releases her hold on her cock and lets it rest against my cheeks, putting a chill up my spine. The sheer heat of it, the way it throbs, is wondrous. Silky skin and a rigid, potent core. Such noticeable weight and heft, crudely wedged between my butt cheeks.

'So cute,' Mistress says. 'So sexy.'

She moves suddenly, taking hold of my throat in a possessive manner. Those blue eyes swallow me up just before her mouth hungrily takes control of my own, lips moving sweetly, tongue tasting my teeth. 'Mhm.'

I'm struck by the severity of my appreciation for this woman, and at the same time, the guilt presented by the possibility of being shared. Shared, if I want to be. And I do want to be. I…I shouldn't, but I do.

I want to fuck her mother. To suck off her sister. To ride her "father."

'Tom?' Freya draws back from the kiss, vaguely troubled. 'You're not doing anything?'

'Sorry, Mistress. I was thinking.'

She squeezes my hip with her other hand. 'About what?'

I blush. 'I…can't stop thinking about the sharing thing.'

Freya's cheeks quickly match my own, colour for colour. 'You want it, don't you?'

I suppose if anyone is going to see through me, it's going to be Freya. If anyone knows me as well as I know myself, or even better, it'll be my Mistress.

'It feels wrong,' I say, glancing away. 'To want…to want it.'

She reaches beneath me, between my legs, brushing my balls where they sag against her. 'Up. Get me inside you.' I obey, of course. For a moment the situation is all business, purely mechanical, but when the fat tip of her prodigious penis slides into my lubed-up backside, things become pleasantly organic. 'There's no guilt, Tom. Ugh. Not if I'm allowing you to do this. Not if you're still going to be mine, in every sense that matters.'

Mistress's big beefy bell-end barges its way into my depths with such casualness. A lump of spongy solidity, hot and lustrous, reverberating with risqué energies. It's distinctive, even after having felt it so many times. Distinctly Freya, hung like she is. A shape that's made my bottom into its own private pleasure palace, a rectal retreat for it to relieve itself within.

I belong to Freya's cock as much as I belong to Freya herself.

'Even if–guh–I'm attracted?'

' Especially if you're attracted,' Mistress says. She nuzzles my throat, kisses my collarbone, all the while guiding my efforts with that strong hand on my hip. 'If you weren't, why would you consent? It's–mhm–more of a test, if you actually want them.'

A test, of which the failure state would be ceasing to be Freya's. To be Morgan's, instead. Or Persephone's. Or choosing to spend time with Alicia instead of Freya.

None of which seems likely. All of which require an active limitation in place, to force my hand. And why would any of them do that to family, a daughter or a sister?

'Ughn.'

I grunt, groan, as I swing my hips. Up and down, the angle making the whole act so much more perverse. I can't simply sit and take it, much as Freya is gently pushing herself into me. To get what I want, what I need, requires active effort. To lift myself up and then lower myself, all in pursuit of sliding that fat fucking cock back and forth within the gripping tightness of my sphincter. I take hold of Freya's shoulders, strong and athletic, to keep myself steady.

'You won't fail the test. I know you well enough.'

'But–'

She lifts that hand from my throat to my jaw, cupping it. Mistress puts a silencing thumb across my lips. 'Tom, I know you. And I know my family. I'm giving you this–aah–chance to play with them, and you're guilty. That says it all.'

'Guh. It…d-oes?'

Freya smiles at me, cheeks red, eyes bright and blue. 'Of course. Even when you can have something, you still–mhm–care. You're mine, Tom. My slut. Doesn't it say so on that collar?'

The thing shifts, the faintest of sounds, every time I rise and fall. "Freya's Slut."

I nod, gritting my teeth. 'Y-es, Mistress. I'm your prop-erty.'

She brings me in for a slow yet tempestuous snog, eating my face with those sweet sensual lips. Full lips, beautiful crescent curves around pearly white teeth. Clean, honeyed spit. A tongue that teases, yes, but here attends to mine with passionate affection.

'You only have one Mistress. And we both know that what exists between us is–mhm–more than just the fact you like to get dicked-down.'

Freya applies greater force with her muscular thighs and hips, driving her fiery futa fuck-meat right up inside of me. I quiver and quake, doing my utmost to match her pace, to ride her in the slavish fashion that my position demands of me. That spectacular spear, beyond simple physicality, is Mistress's .

No other cock will ever be the same, because no other cock is hers.

Lust, and love are different beasts.

'Th-ank you, M-istress.'

I throw my arms around her shoulders and we topple backwards, bodies colliding in the most fantastical of fashions. Merging, not just our loins, but our hearts. Our minds. Mouths locked and moans endless as I gyrate my hips and Freya thrusts into me, her smells rich in my nostrils, her spit sweet on my tongue.

'Mhm. Mhm-hm.'

God, I love her. All day I've been wanting to be at her side, to be safe, to be with the one person who is undeniably in my corner. The one who has my back. And now I'm here, now we're together, and all is well with the world.

'Move yourself,' Mistress says, leaving my lips. She relaxes back against the bed. 'Milk me, slut. Ride my–ugh–fucking dick.'

I nod, stupid, frantic. 'Y-es, Mistress,' I say, sitting upright on her cock, pressing my palms against her thick hips to support myself. 'Ughn. So b-ig.'

Freya chuckles, watching me with lascivious glory. Staring up at me as I rise and fall, rise and fall, mounting her wholly under my own power while she simply rests and takes it. Becomes passive, yet retains control. Goes so far as to nonchalantly put her arms behind her head, revealing the contours of those beautifully muscled shoulders, and the shaven stubble of her bronze pits beneath.

'That's it, slut. Mhm. God, it's hot watching you–aah–work for it.'

It's awkward, is what it is. Erotic as anything, but awkward. I'm so exposed, doing this.

Riding such a fat fucking thing, thick and throbbing, so familiar and yet no less intimidating for all the intimate experiences I've had with Mistress and her body. A rod from God, it feels like, a thing some hung futanari angel would have. All the better that the angel is real, and her name is Freya Venyabildt.

'Ughn. J-esus.'

I have to war for focus, to maintain control. Losing myself to the pleasure is one thing when I'm being ridden, being mounted, but when atop her it's different. I'm the active one, I'm not exactly in control of the situation, but I'm definitely in charge of the pacing. The rhythm. And getting stuck in the labyrinthine corridors of carnal bliss is a quick recipe for slipping or hurting her or losing that pleasure entirely.

Those eyes hold me, watching me bounce atop her body. Mistress, blonde perfection and a brilliant blue gaze, smiles with utmost smugness. And God, I love looks like that. Ones that imply, in no uncertain terms, that she's some tigress, some queen of the jungle, and I'm her prey. I'm just meagre, weak, and serving some higher purpose in using my body to pleasure her so.

Nothing is so sexy as being hers, as belonging to her. To see, in those wonderful eyes, such possessive and prideful power.

'Faster,' Mistress says, trembling. 'Ugh. Quicker, slut. And tighten that–ooh–naughty arse.'

'Y-es, Mistress.'

Thup. Thwup. My balls jiggle and slap against her furry forest of golden pubes where they bounce around, each shuddering slam of my hips sending them wobbling about. They're small, compared to hers, but the sound is pleasing, and the feel of that faintly humid jungle against my sack is glorious. Thwup. Thup.

With each and every moment, every completed up-down motion, I'm driven closer and closer to climax. Little by little, I'm learning to restrain myself. Not because the ecstasy is lesser – God, no – but because, in holding on, the conclusion is all the rawer and nobler. Earned, rather than simply given freely. Amplified, as if every perpetuation of penis-induced pleasure prepares my nervous system to erupt in fantastical fanfare.

And then, out of the blue, Freya swiftly grabs my hips and hilts herself inside me. 'Ughn. Get fucking–mhm–pregnant, you slut!'

I blow my top instantly, the moment her helmet swells and cum-vein bulges. As my load splatters out across her beautiful stomach, hers sloshes out into my guts, creaming me with thick foreign warmth, all sticky and dense.

Our bodies shake and shiver, mingling marvellously. Her seed spurts out without apparent end in sight, a large futanari-grade ejaculation. I writhe and wiggle, clenching down, milking her member of every last drop of that genetically supreme semen. God, it's good to be bred. To be plugged to the limit with her bountiful ball cream.

'M-istress,' I say, losing balance. 'I–ugh–l-ove you.'

Freya wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me down atop her, her big breasts acting as the most wonderful cushion for my chest. Mistress kisses my head and strokes my hair, snuggling against me as her cock continues to deposit its virile payload. While I, of course, am spent.

'I love you too, slut. Ever so much.'

It's the most wonderful thing, to rest atop her. To be held by her strong arms, against her warmth, basking in her bubble-gum sweetness and sexual musk. To belong to her, and be with her, and at ease. All worries melting away, as her dick softens between my cheeks. Staying there, of course, held onto in some secondary embrace, welcome within me, right where it belongs.

I wake late, beside the gently snoring Freya. In the dark of night, a silvery sliver of moonlight creeping through to reveal her naked form, half covered by the thin summer duvet, I'm passingly in awe at just how lucky I am. How divine she is.

Freya stirs sweetly, but doesn't wake, when I kiss her forehead. A thirst grips me and I make my way down to the kitchen, noting as I pass through the upstairs hallways a light coming from beneath one of the rooms down the corridor. It must be past twelve, I'd think. Morgan's room?

But when I reach the open-plan kitchen, vast and impressive, I find Alicia bent over in front of the freezer. Her broad backside, facing me as I enter the room, might as well be nude given how poor a job her semi-transparent silken nightie does of covering its fat cheeks.

She turns as I stare, glancing back over a shoulder, raven hair falling about lusciously. Mrs Venyabildt, Freya's mother, smiles at me with illicit interest. That full-lipped look, paired with the alluring energy of those pale blue eyes, makes me deeply uncomfortable despite everything that's been said and suggested today.

'S-orry,' I stammer out, but Alicia chuckles.

She wiggles her bum from side to side. 'Something you like, honey? It's okay. We didn't exactly get a chance to properly introduce ourselves earlier, did we?'

I'm struck dumb, rooted to the spot, as she pulls up her nightie. Her tan and buxom backside is beautiful enough as is, revealed in the low light of the open freezer. All the more so, to catch a glistening hint of her sex, inner lips tantalising in their pretty prominence. Meaty, where Freya's pussy is neat and trim, but puffy just the same as her daughter's.

'Alicia…'

She lets the nightie drop back down and stands to her full height, an inch or so taller than myself. Shutting the freezer throws us into almost-darkness, making her mature beauty all the more mysterious and enchanting. The Venyabildt MILF swaggers over to me, clearly wholly naked beneath her gown, which clings against heavy breasts and erect nipples, makes obvious thick womanly curves suggestive of motherly fertility.

I'm struck by a mixture of smells. The sweetness of perfume, a fruitiness from soap, and a tang of sensual femininity. But something else, besides, carried on her breath and perhaps from elsewhere. A potent odour, musky and rich, somehow familiar and yet not. Edged in bitterness it nonetheless makes me salivate, provokes a response between my legs.

'It's okay,' Alicia says, her voice sonorous and warm, caring and carnal. She presses a hand to my groin, roughly fondling the growing erection. 'It's pretty sexy, isn't it? To have access to your Mistress's own mother, if you want it.'

It's wrong, no matter if Freya agrees. This woman is in her mid-forties, attractive as she is. She's Persephone's pet, just as I'm Freya's. And this is Freya and Morgan's mother .

God, the more I associate with these Venyabildts, the more wrong becomes right .

'Look, I just wanted some water.'

Alicia squeezes on my shaft, and I wince. 'But you want something else as well, don't you?'

I can do little when she kisses my cheek, with perverse passion to those full lips. Freya's mother nuzzles my face, chuckles with soft naughtiness. 'You've got a golden opportunity to taste where Freya came from, if you want it. Is your mind a gutter like mine, Tom? Pets of the Venyabildt line that we both are?'

I do. God, what a fucking thought. Eating Freya's mother's fat mature pussy. Shit.

I barely ever get to eat pussy. It's not "submissive enough" for Mistress, most of the time.

'Yes,' I say, quickly, before sanity can catch up. 'Please.'

Alicia strokes my face. 'Call me Mummy, Tom. Given that I might be your mother-in-law, sooner or later.'

A twisted, tantalising, terrific creature is Alicia Venyabildt. I can barely think, staring as she pulls her nightie aside, revealing that incredible body. Motherly breasts with broad areolas and prominent nipples, a little larger than Freya's, sagging sensually with their years. Smaller than Morgan's and Persephone's, though I've not seen theirs bare. Her hips are wide and womanly, belly slightly plump. There's a captivating chubbiness to the older woman, to the bona fide MILF , that jiggles joyously with every movement of her body.

She uses both hands to hoist herself up onto the central counter, angling her pelvis in such a manner as to present her coochie for me to marvel at and taste. Her bush is trimmed to a triangle, yet the hair in that patch is no less wild than my Mistress's. But it does allow ready access to her womanly bits without navigating a truly unkempt jungle.

'Go on, honey. Eat Mummy's pussy.'

Of course, I obey. All of it, the faux-incestuous styling, the age disparity, the vulgarity of doing such a thing in the dead of night in the kitchen, drives me into the welcoming arms of lasciviousness.

The tile flooring is warmed from beneath, but still hard on my knees. Alicia's coochie stinks in the best of ways, sexual beyond belief. Potent muskiness, abundant womanliness, but something else as well. Something…I'm not sure if I know or not.

Glistening in the almost-darkness, the thing is tantalisingly inviting.

All the more so when she cups my head from behind and urges me forwards, the radiant heat of her sex warming my face with its sweet humidity.

I press my hands against her thighs and burrow my nose in her thick pubes, smiling at my filthy luck as the richness of her smell clings deep in my nostrils. My lips find silkiness, exposed inner folds all velvety and protruding, kissing me back and leaving my mouth glazed in sweet stickiness.

Slurp. Mlep.

'Mhm. Good boy.' Alicia plays with my hair, trembling against me. 'Eat up. Get–aah–right in there with that naughty young tongue. Taste where–mhm–Freya came from.'

That notion possesses me with a fire like no other, insanely erotic. Perverse and yet pure.

'Mhm-hm.' Schlup. Slurp. 'Mumph.'

Her juices coat my lips, soak into my tongue. Familiar flavours, salty-sweet, yet more potent than memory would suggest. I trace out the protruding inner folds, meaty and delicious, before testing the little hood at the top, brushing faintly the pearl of Alicia's pussy.

She shakes her head, eyes glistening in the dark, barely visible. 'No, honey. Get inside. Get in me. I want to feel that lovely tongue inside .'

Her urgency is attractive, and I'm hardly going to refuse. But when I slide the tip of my tongue down the slick folds of her opening proper, and push it faintly inside, something from within falls out. Something heavy, warm, gooey…darkly familiar. Something from a third party, not present in our nocturnal tryst.

Semen .

I tremble, freeze up, as the fat glob of knotty cream slides onto my tongue, drooping over the sides but staying in place by sheer gluiness. Alicia chuckles, shivers softly. She plays with my hair, pats my scalp.

'Go on,' she says. 'You know whose it is, Tom. You know it won't be bad.'

Persephone . Persephone's ejaculate, drooling from Alicia's pussy. Freya's parents, and I'm managing to taste both in a single session of salacious depravity.

I pause, sucking the spurt of jism into my mouth. Tasting it, marvelling. God, it's…it's delicious. Guilty as the thought is, it's better than Freya's. Rich and salty and creamy, savoury, dense as hell. The passing mental image, the realisation that I'm tasting Freya and Morgan's recipe , in some perverse sense, makes my heart flutter. Aged futanari sperm, swimming about my mouth, is a perversely perfect thing.

I actually find myself slipping my hands beneath her thighs and burying my face into her snatch, working with vulgar voraciousness to taste more of the thick semen of the futanari "patriarch".

'Such a good boy.' Alicia runs her nails against my scalp, moans softly. 'Mhm. You're going to be very–aah–popular here, honey.'

God, I'm raw filth.

I'm fucking relishing the heavy oozing of spooge, its potent taste overwhelming any sweet nectar of the older woman's vagina. So thick and creamy, so strongly-flavoured, clearly the product of virile testes, clearly of the same line as Freya but richer and bolder, more dominant in the way it clings to my teeth and splatters my coochie-exploring tongue.

Schlup. Slurp.

I barely notice her wrap her thighs around my head, crossing her calves behind my shoulders. It only makes this more divinely depraved, when I meet her eyes in the dark. They glisten with such appeal, such intense arousal. Two perverts, collared by their futanari mistresses, sharing in lasciviousness.

'You can–mhm–eat Mummy's pussy whenever you want, okay, honey?' Alicia says, smirking salaciously. She strokes my head, brushes my cheek. 'And while I'm a little busy tonight, I'll be happy to–aah–take care of that lovely young cock whenever we're both free of our duties. This is strictly a no-masturbation household, from now on, for both of us.'

This woman is…something else. It's no wonder Freya's such a freak, if her parents are like this. And what the hell is Persephone going to be like?!

'Mhm-hm.'

Schlap. Schlurp.

Alicia moans, thighs shivering against the sides of my head. Persephone's delicious spooge continues to leak out into my hungry mouth, seemingly endless in quantity, no matter how deep I thrust my tongue into the gripping sloppiness between the Venyabildt MILF's luscious legs.

Eating the older Mistress Venyabildt's creampie, fresh out of her pet's pussy, is something I never imagined I'd be doing. Something that I am, guilt or no guilt, immensely happy is occurring.

All the better that Alicia cums, hard, and splatters my face with her salty-sweet juices. All the better that Freya's "father" is swimming about on my tongue, devilishly divine, its sublime quality forever firmly imprinted into my memories.

'I'll be your–mhm–Mummy,' Alicia says, both hands firmly digging into my head. 'From now on, honey. I'll be–aah–your Mummy. So do as I–ooh–say, okay?'

Of course, I can do that. Submission comes naturally. Alicia Venyabildt might not be a hung futanari, but she's an older woman, and this feels every bit as natural a hierarchy as the one that exists between myself and Freya. And now, myself and Persephone. And…probably, myself and Morgan.

It dawns on me, in an instant, that I know what I want. That if Mistress is offering, then I want to be shared. May even need to be shared, given how satisfying something as simple as eating her mother's pussy has turned out to be.

I mumble, moan, and fall back on my calves when the MILF releases me from her leg-lock. Thick Venyabildt seed is drooling out onto the counter, the last dregs of what must've been a particularly voluminous load.

'You've not swallowed it, have you?' Alicia says, cupping my jaw. And I realise, swirling around a dense mouthful of Persephone's pride, that no , I've not. I shake my head, and Mrs Venyabildt chuckles. 'My, you're a dirty one. My Mistress tastes good, doesn't she?'

I nod weakly, rolling the jism about. Such ropes and sticky strings, the strong flavour of a mature futanari. A virile, sperm-packed quantity of creampie.

'The older they get, the more sperm they produce.' The MILF teases my cheek, soft and slow. 'If you like a mouthful of the heaviest and creamiest stuff, you'll want to talk to Persephone. Perhaps call her Daddy , as she'll love that.' She slips off the counter, patting my head as she covers herself anew. 'Saying that, Morgan's is almost identical in quality if not flavour, and she has quite the fetish for all things oral. Pay her a visit, maybe. Take good care of my family, Tom, and we'll take good care of you.'

She walks away, nonchalant, a slight weakness to her strides. Convulsing still from her climax, the older woman smiles from ear to ear, and when the light from beyond the kitchen catches her face, it reveals red cheeks and sublime horniness.

'Welcome to the family, honey. You're going to fit in just fine.'

There's no humour to her words, just affection. Instant, easy appreciation for having another non-futanari, but also having a malleable young man in her presence.

And when Alicia is out of view, I climb to my feet and crudely scoop up the remainder of the spooge on the counter, watching the muck form beautiful strings and pearlescent ropes between my fingers.

Of course, I suck each clean, tasting Persephone Venyabildt. Tasting her sperm . I've got so much in my mouth, and I'm not going to swallow just yet. It's…it's something to savour, just like Mistress's.

Smiling stickily, I know just what to tell Freya.

Chapter 10: Mischief with Morgan

Summary:

Tom ends up home alone, but with Morgan. And in light of the new rules of sharing, he finds himself intrigued by the oral interests of his Mistress's gothic older sister...

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Mischief with Morgan

Freya actually gets out more than I'd expect, given that brief experience of my beautiful Mistress as some depressive shut-in.

Not to socialise, as such. Freya doesn't exactly have friends, given her general brashness and comfortable aloofness. What she does have is a loyalty to her family, particularly her parents, that involves a continued willingness to mimic them. Such that, every other Saturday, I'm left in the house alone while Freya does something like an apprenticeship. Learning, bit by bit, how Persephone's company works. How at some point, post-college, perhaps post-university, Freya can follow in the older futanari's footsteps.

A peculiar kind of boredom sets in, with the house to myself. It's a terribly embarrassing variety of do-nothing meaninglessness. I've got a gaming PC, plenty of food and drink, grounds to walk, exercise machines, a swimming pool, some wall-swallowing television, super-fast internet. The works.

Is that just some human thing, to have access to so much that we become paralysed by choice? It sucks, regardless. Every time I manage to start something up, some game or activity, my brain suggests an alternative. And then the cycle repeats.

Well, for a while, that is. Until Morgan appears.

'Bored?' she says, looming in the doorway to Freya's (and my!) bedroom. 'Not used to having everything at your disposal, I imagine.'

It takes a sublime strength of will to not drop the controller as she saunters in, given how readily distracting the tall gothic futanari is. Pale as cream, womanly as her mother, as heavy-breasted as her "father". And it being summer, Morgan is wearing something a little airier than her usual full-dress garments.

Airier in this case being a tank-top without a bra, and boxer shorts. All black – it could only be black, after all – to match her hair and makeup, which are so far as I can tell identical in style to when we met prior. She's clearly not wearing a bra, though her breasts, despite being larger than Alicia's, don't possess the same level of age-induced sag.

And those boxer shorts, baggy though they may be, have a noticeable bulge in their front.

I go to speak, but she plants herself down on the sofa beside me. The flash screen of Street Fighter 5 is up, though I'm not sure why. It's not like this is any more interesting than anything else, beyond its association with my Mistress.

'Want to play?' Morgan says, smirking. Her lips are so full and curvaceous, evil crescents of blackness rimmed in blood red. 'Or were you going to do something else before I interrupted?'

'I…I didn't expect you to be here.'

She flutters her long lashes at me, the pale blues of her eyes piercing and transfixing. 'Am I really so scary, Tom?'

The humour that oozes from her voice, so effortlessly sexual, does little to help calm my nerves. Morgan is scary, but not for any reason that makes overt sense. She's dangerous, though not how I expected her to be. Not how Freya described her to be.

'I just expected to be alone,' I say, focussing on the screen. Pressing buttons, moving through the menus, as if I've some goal in mind. 'Freya didn't say you'd be around.'

'How quaint. And here I was thinking your Mistress would keep you informed of our discussions.' She slips off of the sofa, moving towards the screen and the little shelf beneath it. As much as I don't want to look at Morgan, it's difficult to avoid the shapeliness of her figure, particularly as she bends down to collect up one of the PlayStation controllers. 'Blondie's decided to share you with us, I hear. With your consent, of course.'

The tall gothic futanari spends far too long bent over, her fat backside swaying with those rounded womanly hips. Morgan is a veritable succubus, in personality as well as physique. Freya doesn't seduce, but takes. Alicia seduces, but sweetly. Persephone…I've not seen enough of, though she seems composed and coolly alluring. But Morgan?

Morgan speaks with this air of confidence that is the source of so many of my reservations with her. That she, unlike the others, talks with expectation.

The expectation that, at the drop of a hat, she'll get her own way.

'What's that game you play with my sweet sister?' she says, standing to her full and vaguely intimidating height. When she turns, her big breasts jiggle, and her curvaceous shape wobbles enticingly. The smile she affixes me with speaks volumes, a thing of black treacle. 'She offers you your choice of sexual favour – to perform on her, of course – and if you win or lose, that determines the outcome?'

I nod weakly. 'Yeah. I just, I mean, I don't know–'

Morgan rolls her eyes, and approaches. I tremble when she cups my jaw, sharp-nailed thumb stroking my cheek. 'I want that mouth around my cock, Tom. I want to train it.'

God, I am way too attracted to the Venyabildts. This family of perverts, all of them wanting a piece of me, and this terrible underlying feeling that I'm somehow betraying Freya. Somehow going against her, even though she's been nothing but supportive of this peculiar arrangement.

Keep her family happy. Make her life easy.

But the guilt comes from the fact that I want it. That I'm wired to think I shouldn't, but I do. And it feels especially troublesome with Morgan, for all that Freya's warned me about her, for all that she's effectively offering to tickle that urge which Mistress struggles to accommodate.

'You want to train my mouth?'

Morgan smiles, that intensity, that expectation, raw and tremor-inducing. 'We can help one another out. You get to worship a cock that won't just – with all politeness to Blondie and her cuteness – blow its cargo after a few minutes, and I get to sculpt you into the dick worshipping little cum-hungry on-call suck-slut I've always wanted.'

My cock twitches, at her words, at a memory. What Alicia said, when I tasted that stupidly tasty semen of the futanari matriarch, Persephone's load fresh out of the MILF's pussy.

Morgan's is almost identical in quality if not flavour, and she has quite the fetish for all things oral.

It only makes it feel like a greater betrayal. What if I like Morgan's loads more than Mistress's? What if that need for oral intimacy is met with the older sister, and not the one whose name hangs around my throat?

'Does Alicia really suck you off?'

The gothic beauty produces a salacious smirk, shifts her thumb in a pleasing circle. 'Mother dearest does have something of a taste for her eldest daughter, that's true,' Morgan says. 'Why? Does that bother you?'

'It's incest.'

'So? It's two consenting adults. And I initiated, all the same. It's not fair that Daddy-dearest should get all the fun. Or are you worried you can't compete?'

'It's not that at all. It's just a bit, well, weird.'

She chuckles, and withdraws her hand. 'Good, because on the contrary, there's no finer blowjob than one given by a man. Futanaris are superior, and male sperm will never compete. Once a man realises that, I can make him do all sorts of embarrassing things. Admit all manner of faults and flaws. All for the honour of having his mouth utterly packed with my ejaculate.'

Morgan's is almost identical .

Why does that ghostly voice bother me so? Morgan sits herself down beside me, a shoulder-width gap between us, and starts browsing the character selection. Without even noticing, I've set it up for two-player mode, as if hoping to make a game of it. Hoping to in some fashion remove my own agency.

"Whoops, I thought I'd win, but lost! Now I'd better suck her off."

'Is it true, what Alicia said?'

Her fingers, despite those nails, move with practised delicateness. 'That being?'

'She said your…your loads are almost as good as Persephone's.'

'You'd best not be admitting that you've blown my father before you've blown me, Tom. My ego is a sturdy beast, but that might be slightly too much to handle.'

'It doesn't matter. Just answer.'

Morgan considers me, side-on. Her pale blues are extravagant in their gorgeousness, every bit as lovely as Freya's, yet different. Colder, calculating. Her milk-pale skin, spotless, complementing the darkness of her makeup and hair, might as well be marble. She, as all of them, is a sculpture, a thing of sublime beauty.

She stares for a moment, and then unbuttons the front of her boxer shorts. 'Why don't you find out for yourself?'

I'm transfixed as she pulls out her big creamy cock and a pair of superbly fat nuts from within. Flaccid, but easily eight or nine inches in length. Mine fully erect, and half of it again. She's not noticeably larger than Mistress, but her bell-end seems particularly plump. Especially huge, in fact, despite not being fully engorged.

'I…I just wanted to…'

'You like semen, don't you?' Morgan says, smirking. 'You're in good company. We've got all day together. As much as I like masturbating, it's beneath me, and you like sucking cock, so…come to my bedroom, perhaps? We can play a different game. How many loads can Tom swallow before the others come back and spoil our fun?'

Even the passing suggestion that Morgan will produce something similar to Persephone has me salivating, licking my lips. Before Freya, I'd never imagined that I'd want to suck cock, let alone want to taste semen, but things are different now.

Now, I struggle to think of anything more enticing as I look at the exposed junk of the tall gothic futanari.

'You hoped for this, didn't you?'

She sniggers. 'Am I that transparent? Of course . Of course, I hoped. Blondie's sweet and impressionable, but you're wasted on her. I saw that mouth, Tom. I saw how it craved Venyabildt sperm.'

I shake my head. 'This is wrong, Morgan. If you'd plotted for this–'

'What's wrong is this silly notion that people must meet all of their needs in the confines of exclusivity,' Morgan says. 'Freya, bless her, is a quick-shot when it comes to oral. That's simply how it is. Will she improve? Yes, of course, but that takes time. Time, during which, you've got an appetite to suck cock, and taste semen. Both of which are perfectly fitting, given your nature. Both are things that, fairly, you shouldn't have to go without.'

The look about her, the carnal glee, should disturb me. It's certainly not a kindly expression. The emotion suggests pride, smugness, something that doesn't seem to relate as much to me as I'd think.

'It gets you off, doesn't it? The idea that I'm Freya's, but I'd crave your dick.'

Morgan bats her eyelids at me. 'Of course, Tom. I don't want to hurt Blondie, but it's simply maddening that she's got you. I'll never forget that hunger in your eyes I saw that day. I knew, in that moment, that your mouth belongs to my penis. My cock, and your mouth, were made for one another.'

She's insane, clearly. Insane, and perverse, and insanely hot. But Morgan touches on something that provokes that guilt in me, stirring it up from the depths of my soul. That yes, in so many ways, I want to suck cock. Want to worship Freya in the way that feels most submissive, most her-focussed.

And Mistress, as much as I adore her, to the stars and back again, just isn't wired the same way. Through some combination of sensitivity, inexperience, and then reluctant embarrassment, Freya's simply not able to fill my mouth as readily as I want her to.

Which makes the idea of Morgan replacing her, in this regard, all the filthier. It feels like a truer betrayal, to pick my lusts over working with Freya to meet them.

'I don't want to hurt Freya,' I say. 'I don't want to partake of this weird rivalry.'

Morgan shakes her head, mane of black shivering. 'She's never going to know, Tom. Part of how the sharing process works is that our stories are separate. If she asks, by all means tell her as much as you want. But I'll never say a word. If you want to suck me off, then come to my room. And if you want some semblance of reluctance, then let's play this silly little game. But don't pretend we don't want the same thing. Not when we know each other so well as we do.'

'But I'd know.'

She shrugs, and takes to her feet. 'Yes, and isn't that sexiest part? We'd know that your mouth has a new owner.' Morgan shudders, and her cock twitches, growing noticeably larger with a single pulse of arousal. 'I can hardly think of anything quite so hot as you wearing that cute little collar while my sperm explore your tastebuds, Tom. While you suck and savour and swallow for your Mistress's older sister, tending to my needs but also, and ever so sweetly, tending to your own.'

The statuesque goth saunters towards the door, her womanly hips swinging, her body at once intensely desirable and somehow foreboding. A representation of my worst hungers, because with Morgan it seems personal somehow. With Alicia, even with those thoughts of Persephone, it's only seemed complementary. But with Morgan it feels as though we're actively betraying my Mistress.

And the older sister, at least, appears to take active pleasure in the concept.

'You know where to find me, cocksucker. I'll be happy to answer that question you had about semen quality, though you might have to do a little bit of work to get a good taste of the answer.' Morgan winks at me, smiling cruelly, charmingly, both at once. 'There's no shame in knowing your place, Tom. If it happens to be on your knees, then so be it. Good boys get big, creamy rewards in this house.'

She shuts the door, leaving me with relative silence. Birds outside, and the game idling on the screen, music somehow annoying. A testament to the fact that, on some subconscious level, I was about to shamefully seek some means of escaping my agency.

And for all of Morgan's words, for all of my worries, my cock is as hard as rock.

I…don't want to betray Freya. But I do want to suck Morgan's cock.

Morgan's is almost identical .

The taste of Persephone's incredible semen, taunting me just as much as Alicia's voice, is traitorous in and of itself.

Why am I so nervous, to knock on the older sister's door?

Why am I so willing, besides?

Here is this astoundingly gorgeous creature, same as the rest of her family, and I've explicit permission from Freya to mess around. To try things with her mother and her sister and her "father". There were no rules in place, no lines drawn in the sand.

Make them happy. Keep the peace.

But I'm sweating a little bit, lifting my hand. Knuckles to the wood, ready to tap, ready to choose this fate. To go and orally service the gothic beauty that is Morgan Venyabildt, eight years my senior, Freya's scheming older sister.

She opens the door before I make a sound, smirking. 'Don't give me that face, sweet Tom. You're not exactly the quietest of men.'

In truth, more of my hesitancy is born of her toplessness. Morgan saunters into the depths of room, its walls painted scarlet, adorned with all manner of peculiar artefacts. Vinyls, ranging from psychedelic rock to death metal to classical music. Pieces of art, fantastical and mundane. A vast room, much like Freya's, though cluttered where my Mistress keeps her domain (usually) clean and neat.

There's the distinctive tang of semen, fresh and stale, and a veritable bucket of jism-tissues sat beside the goth's large beanbag chair. Morgan returns to that seat and collects up an Xbox controller, though it's not for the console. She's got some mad setup, a water-cooled gaming PC, playing some Souls-like game. Effortlessly, it seems, despite her nails.

'Shut the door and get on your knees,' she says, not looking at me. Morgan twists her neck, throwing back the locks of raven darkness. God, to be told…

I do as asked, but hesitate. Holy shit, her boobs . They're enormous! A pair of milk-coloured melons, bigger than Freya's by a few handfuls, fairly pert yet showing gravitational sag given their obvious heaviness. Wide, smooth, puffy pink halos with inverted nipples makeup the front of each bosom, a familiar and attractive flat beauty mark on the inside top of her left breast.

'They're tits , yes.' Morgan smiles at me, runs her tongue against her top teeth. 'Do a good job and I might let you suck on them. Oral doesn't just mean my cock, after all. My body itself deserves worship.'

Her words only make me feel worse. It's so effortless, with her. No nerves, no wariness, no concern. I wish Freya was like this.

'Can…can I ask a favour?' I say, approaching.

Morgan makes a casual gesture for me to get down, out of her eyeline. 'Maybe. Kneel.'

I drop down onto the plush carpet and glance back, vaguely emasculated – is that the right feeling? – by how she's utterly ruining this game that I spent the better part of a month failing at, time and again.

'Are you really playing without armour? You just dodge everything?'

'Impressed?'

I nod. 'I cheesed it and still sucked.'

'You want me to teach you? I'm good, but I'm not that good.'

'Fuck you, of course not.'

Her smile mocks me, but affectionately. Morgan doesn't look at me, all the same. 'That favour? What is it?'

'Can you teach Freya?' I say, crawling between her perfect legs. Those boxer shorts, baggy, hint at the heavy shape within. A big, fat, pale, beautiful dick. 'To be…more like you?'

The violence in the background pauses, and Morgan glances at me. 'No wonder you look so bothered. You quite like me, don't you?'

I tremble. 'I wouldn't exactly want to put your dick in my mouth if I didn't.'

'Cheeky.' She glances down at me, eyes piercing and pale. 'Blondie's that poor a domme, is she?'

'No, of course not. It's just a lot of what we talked about.' I shuffle forwards and struggle with the angle, the lowness of her beanbag chair proving difficult. 'Freya's insecure, and she's not so confident as you.'

'But it's attractive, isn't it? My confidence.'

I nod, heart thundering. Her smells, that distinct tang of potent jism and the dark fruitiness of her body wash, mingle deliciously. 'It is.' I'm dimly aware that she's observing me as I flop down onto my belly, resting on my forearms to get my head up at the right height. The angle of her hips, the inevitable direction of her dick, suggest this stance as most productive. 'It seems wrong, to feel this way.'

Morgan rests a hand on my scalp, teasing me with those long nails. 'It's natural, sweet Tom. It's part of what attracts me to you, in fact. You're clearly submissive, and you clearly like to serve. We're quite the match.'

Before I can speak she releases me and pushes down her underwear, freeing her immense genitals. Milky-white nuts, perhaps slightly bigger than Mistress's. That creamy cock, capped in an overly large helmet, shrouded by wrinkly folds. Morgan brings down her smooth silky legs either side of me, leaving her junk to jiggle before my face. The delectable stink is stronger, richer.

'You can begin,' she says, shifting her hips, 'by eating my arse. This is an act of worship, so make sure to kiss and lick and praise me a lot. Then move to my testicles, and do the same. Only when I give the word may you, at last, get what you want.'

Morgan so effortlessly puts goosebumps up the back of my neck. That she simply picks up her controller and starts to play, leaving me in this limbo, command in my ear, only enhances the profoundly pleasant perversion I feel.

I glance at her body, behold the insane beauty of her Venyabildt curves. Womanly hips and full thighs, a big dick and huge balls. Not toned or muscular, but not anything like chubby. Her pubes, at the base of her cock, form a neat wide triangle of darkness, shorn close to the skin.

'Th-ank you, um, Mistress,' I say, gingerly reaching for her buttocks, which sit at an angle which might just about allow me to rim her. 'For the honour of tasting your b-eautiful body.'

Morgan says nothing, though the faintest smirk forms in the corners of her black-and-crimson mouth. That, too, that sheer lack of acknowledgement, does something for me. It's so dirty, isn't it? To relish in being ignored, in being used, in being seen as some tool for her pleasure, a masturbatory aid with a face.

But God, it makes me hot and bothered.

'So beautiful.' I'm speaking to myself, adhering perhaps too rigidly to her command. Leaning in close to those plump cheeks, getting a whiff of her potent musk, her pseudo-feminine sublimeness. 'Your body's exquisite, Mistress.'

Morgan says nothing, does nothing but continue playing, as I spread her arse and lean in closer and press my lips to her cheeks, kissing and smooching the soft milky flesh, warm and sweetly fragrant. She smells, fundamentally, completely, good . Not freshly clean, but not dirty either. Her pretty sphincter, pale pink, sits between those fat and creamy buns.

I realise that I've never actually eaten arse before. Freya always had it as a choice, that or sucking dick, and I always chose dick.

But now that I'm here, as instinctually dirty as the notion is, I'm licking my lips in readiness.

'God, your butt is beautiful.' Morgan might make a sound of acknowledgement, but just as well might simply be responding to her game. 'I can't, um, wait to taste your body, Mistress.'

'Slut,' is all she says. A single word, and I shiver. It's said unkindly, not maliciously, but with plenty of implication to it. A suggestion that, fundamentally, I'm easy, servile, dirty.

And if such were possible, it makes her bum look all the more tempting.

'Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for this opportunity.'

I shove my face between her cheeks, inhaling the pleasant bitterness of her arse. Kissing it, touching my lips upon its smooth yet firm wrinkles, provokes a sensation of genuine naughtiness. That this is particularly filthy, particularly pathetic. To treat her backside like a palace, a thing of nobility, deserving of such artful affection.

Smooch. Smack .

My lips and their sordid song play back at me, especially carnal. The meeting of a mouth and an arsehole, hot and humid against my face. Her big balls wobble and shift against my forehead, and Morgan goes to some effort to tighten her cheeks, to squeeze down against me and in a fashion to kiss my mouth with her puckered pretty paleness.

'So– smooch –beautiful, Mistress.' I test with my tongue, meeting that peculiar texture, tasting faint acridity. Not dirty, not unpleasant, but distinctly vulgar. Smack. Slup. 'So– smooch –tasty.'

Does Morgan chuckle, or do I imagine it? I suppose, in some filthy fashion, I am laughable in this moment. Licking and lapping at her tight backdoor, massaging those pale wrinkles with my slutty eager tongue.

Teasing, again and again, at that slowly loosening hole.

Should I…should I just?

'Get your tongue in there,' Morgan says, cool and firm. 'I've a prostate, and you're going to pleasure it.'

Of course, she'd have a prostate. Of course, right? Dick, balls…yeah. Big, fat, silky-skinned balls, wobbling about against my forehead. The feminine musky sweetness of what must be an exquisitely beautiful pussy, awaiting behind them.

And this pretty pink arsehole, ready to eat my tongue.

Schlup. Mlep.

I push my face into her crack as deeply as I can manage, practically burying myself into that subtly dirty – in raw emotional terms, at least, given her cleanliness – depression. The faint bitterness on my tongue grows richer, stronger, as I manage to wiggle my tastebuds into her hotly gripping sphincter.

The gorgeous goth shifts herself forwards slightly, aiding my tongue's efforts. Inches of my perky pinkness slip inside of her, into that carnal crevice, finding silky flesh and a peculiarly pleasing heat. I'm dirty, but I already knew that. A filthy man with a filthy mind.

I'm eating my Mistress's arse, and I love it.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Does Morgan laugh again? God, if she does, it's so faint and brief, a torturous thing.

Schlap. Mlup.

I dig around inside of her, worming my wriggling tastebuds about the interesting illicitness of her bum hole, attempting some poorly-managed mental mapping of the biology of it. When Freya fucks me, it's…down, from behind? Up, from missionary? Right. So…up.

'Aah.' I actually get a response. 'My, you're a natural at eating filthy things, you disgusting little slut.' But the vulgarity at least is paired with a momentary pausing of her game, and a degrading yet delicious patting of my head. 'Go on, sweet Tom. Earn the right to suck my dick.'

Something about that spurs me forwards like little else on Earth, so hungry I am to worship Morgan's penis and taste her genes. I move my tongue with wild abandon, tracing patterns on that male-form G-spot, pressing against her prostate in a fashion that makes her squirm and shudder against my face.

'Mhm. Shit, that's–aah–really good.'

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlup. Schlurp.

She doesn't un-pause her game. There's no more touch, but Morgan basks in the worship I'm giving her, sighs and exhales, murmurs sweetly. She moans softly into the calm of her bedroom, legs trembling and plump cheeks wobbling against my hands while her seed-churning nuts jiggle and sway against my forehead.

'You might actually…' Morgan suddenly laughs, and stops me with a firm yet gentle hand. 'Up. Tend to my balls. You're surprisingly good, so be happy. Rare is the tongue that tickles me quite so well.'

The shame, the guilt, has to compete now with a fuzzy sense of meaning. Of importance, knowing that I can do this thing so well for this woman who is so beautiful. Knowing that I can please her in this most carnal, and – given how she treats this, some expectation, some honour – most degrading of fashions.

'Your body is so beautiful, Mistress,' I say, pulling my tongue away. Kissing her cheeks, smooching her sphincter one last time. 'I want to taste your semen so badly.'

'Then suck on my nuts, slut. Tell them what you want, that they might deliver it.'

'Yes, Mistress. Happily.'

My traitor mouth and my traitor soul. What would Freya think if she saw this? I'm doing what comes naturally, approaching this as I would anything with her. Submitting, behaving like my subby slutty self, following my instincts.

Lifting my head causes Morgan's big bloated balls to flop down against my eye sockets, the excessive rolls of saggy skin tickling the bridge of my nose. I lick my lips frantically, with disturbing hunger, wanting something that now seems so normal and desirable and once seemed so odd.

Semen. Sperm. Venyabildt genes.

I completely ignore her pussy, wonderful as I'm sure it is. Morgan told me what to do, so I'll do what she's told me. Simple as that. And these big beefy bollocks that bounce so beautifully against my face, engulfing my nose, now come to rest against my lips. And her cock, a heaving mass clearly engorged either mostly or fully, replaces their weight upon my forehead.

I am, in so many ways, little more than a seat for her genitalia. What a fucking glorious notion.

'Mhm.' Schlup. Smooch. Mlep. 'Mumph.'

Her balls are faintly sweaty, salty, richly flavoursome. Virile loins, productive, fatter than my true Mistress's. I hate that they are, and love that they are. Morgan is older, and if what she says is true, then it makes sense that her sperm-makers are more sizeable.

Still, she doesn't play. I glance up, my vision mostly obscured by her thick pole, and find the gothic futanari smirking. Pale piercing eyes, lips voluptuous and black, rimmed in crimson. Those big breasts sag in the most beautiful of fashions, displaying their heft and womanliness, inverted nipples a striking curiosity.

And I can't look away as I taste her sack, trace out the contours of her fat futanari hangers with my tongue, in the process getting well acquainted with their unique bumps and dimples and distinctive shape. Enormous eggs in a loose-yet-taut scrotum. They shift as I chase them, some muscle movement voluntary or teasing, at times making them bulge out against the silken skin and then drawing closer to herself, forming greater quantities of rolls and wrinkles and creases.

'Don't stop, but listen,' Morgan says, putting the controller down. She actually rests a hand atop my scalp, proprietary, casual. Those sharp-nailed fingers tickle my scalp, slow and methodical. 'I'll teach Freya. I was like her once, if you can believe it. Until Daddy taught me a trick or two about self-control.'

Don't stop. I want to talk so bad, but don't stop. I use her left nut as a gobstopper, managing – barely – to take the ludicrous lump past my lips. It oozes saltiness and something clean, sharp, dominant. Pheromonal, that fills my head with thoughts of wriggle little white things, desperate to escape, growing in number with every flick of my tongue and moment of steadily increasing arousal.

Schlep. Schlup.

'Mhm.'

Morgan pets me like a dog, like a serf, like a suck-slut slave. 'It's going to be a little awkward, at first. She'll take some–mhm–convincing.'

Her mighty member throbs against my head, and her balls pulsate, one in my mouth and the other dangling against my chin. Fat fantastical lumps, lurid and lovely. I suckle, slurp, but can barely move my tongue against the overwhelming heft of her fully-developed adult testicle. Another thought I hate, another I adore.

Morgan's older than me, a fully-fledged person, while I've still yet to graduate sixth form.

Why is that so hot? Why does it make me hungrier to taste her spooge?

'It's going to be a lot of fun, though. For all of us.' Her eyes glisten, and her cheeks go flush. 'I'm going to help you suck my little sister's dick, and then you're going to–aah–help make sure that she sucks mine. And if you do a very good job for me generally…well, a double blowjob for you isn't the worst of things, now is it?'

I have to stop, because what she's saying is insane. Impossible. No way could she ever get Freya to suck me off, and no way is it appropriate, given that these futanaris are in charge and I'm just–

'So nervous,' Morgan says, patting my head. Soothing me with sultry voice and sweet touch. 'Blondie has a silly view of things, okay? And I know what I said, but you're never going to demand anything.'

I let her ball slip from my mouth, slick. It shivers in the air, jiggles about.

'But–'

'Did I tell you to stop, slut?'

I shake my head. 'N-o, but–'

Morgan sighs, and rolls those perfect eyes. 'Do you remember why you thought Freya might be in the closet, so to speak, about having submissive tendencies?'

Her face, stricken by the sheer giddiness of being blown by me, and the nervousness, and the overall shyness, comes rapidly to mind. 'She seemed to be weak, when I was sucking her. Putty in my hands.'

The gorgeous goth nods. 'Precisely. Because Blondie, and so many others, until they grow out of it – though sadly many never do – mistake acts of service with submission. If I tied you to a chair and sucked your cock, teasing an edging, letting you beg and wail and whine, would you really be in charge?'

I can only shake my head. 'Well, no. Of course not.'

Morgan titters, smiles. 'Blondie's my equal, and we're both superior to you. You'd have to be ever so thankful, insanely grateful, but the fact that you get so nervous about it only makes me want to do it more.' She brushes my cheek with those talons, tickling away. 'For the first time in my life, I'm jealous of my little sister. You're a remarkable little pet, sweet Tom.'

'Th-ank you, Mistress?'

Her eyes widen minutely. 'Do you want that?'

'What?'

'For me to be your Mistress?'

To be called out on it, the topic raised vocally, provokes a chill. 'I just…it came naturally, and–'

She effortlessly pushes my head backwards, and wallops down on my cheek with her fat futanari length. Morgan holds it there, this dense weight with a truly insane helmet, a thing like an apple, something that looks as though it'll strain my lips like nothing else in the world.

'I want to feed you my sperm, Tom,' Morgan says, pulling back her foreskin. That glistening glans drools and splatters my cheek, its heat immense, its stink provoking a sudden onset of saliva. Her words, of course, only help matters. 'I honestly wish I could see them all, swimming around on your tastebuds. Little else on Earth is so satisfying as knowing that someone is tasting my semen, tasting me . But few people really enjoy how I taste.'

'But Alicia said–'

I immediately shut my mouth. Oops. The beautiful futanari simply smirks.

'What did Mummy say? And why were you talking about family secrets?'

'I just…I'm sorry.'

She pets me, but this time with a faint wiggle of that wet-tipped dick. It pulses, throbs, and I'm struck by a powerful shyness. In its presence, I'm nothing more than a cocksleeve, a means to pleasure this mighty member.

'It's fine, sweet Tom. Yes, we do things a little strangely. But finish your sentence. I'm genuinely curious, and I won't judge.'

How to tell her, exactly, politely and diplomatically, that I ate her father's load out of her mother's snatch?

'Um…Persephone's cum is very tasty,' I say, provoking a growing smirk. 'And…it's like Freya's? But older. More potent. And…Alicia said…she said that yours…is almost identical? But you say that people don't tend to like it?'

Morgan lifts her gaze from me, as if computing the words. Scanning the upper orbits of her eyes, then returning to my cock-smeared face. 'I'm more like Gen, unfortunately. Persephone – and one of the reasons I want to blow Blondie – is quite creamy, sweetish, wouldn't you say? You might even, if you'd somehow ignored where the substance came from, forget what it is.' She quickly shakes her head. 'Mine's not like that. Gen's complex, and has a deal more bodily control, which unfortunately wasn't passed down beyond Persephone. She enjoyed, in her rapacious brutality, making sure there was no way anyone could mistake her immense loads for something gentler on the palate. A trait I unfortunately inherited, however it all works. And so I ended up with especially dense and thick ejaculate with a rich but in no way sweet flavour. With mine, it's a lot harder to pretend that you're not tasting semen and sperm. Which, for many people, puts them off.'

The thought of tasting something more concentrated, in a sense more vulgar, has me weakly licking at my lips. 'Not me,' I say, shuddering. 'I…want to taste you.'

'Did you hear what I said, sweet Tom? I don't need flattery.'

'It's not. Nothing turns me on more than the thought of having a beautiful woman like you, or Freya, or Persephone, shooting your genes into my mouth. You see it the same way as me, Morgan. Uh, Mistress.'

'Mistress might well suit me perfectly,' she says, teasing at her lower lip with her teeth. 'Do me a favour, Tom.'

'Anything.'

'If you really do like it, if you really enjoy the experience, become my outlet. We clearly share this interest, and as much as I've warned you, I do so for your sake and not some inadequacy in myself. As much as I despise my grandmother, I appreciate her logic. If you really are as compatible with me as I'm starting to think, then not a day should pass without you servicing me. Let this room be a temple, and I your goddess, and fellatio your act of prayer. And let your deity's blessing be my ejaculate, and your mouth its intended receptacle. Do you agree?'

I'm not sure any force in nature could deter me from this feral hunger to taste the produce of Morgan's beautiful balls. And her language, that filthy confidence, only enflames my desires all the fiercer.

Freya cannot give me this thing, but Morgan can. And if what Morgan says is true, few in this world can give her what I can.

What good is worrying over nothing?

'Yes, Mistress. I'll be your cumdump.'

She gently slaps my forehead with her slick glans. 'Suck out my sperm, sweet Tom. This is going to beautiful.'

Morgan lifts her cock, and I draw back my head from her crotch. To actually behold her engorged member fills me with the most vulgar and carnal of lusts, the desperate beyond words desire to please this creature and receive her ejaculate.

The gothic futanari's bell-end is huge, a fat pale purple crown atop her creamy cock. Her dick is no longer than Freya's, no thicker around the pole itself, but the head is ginormous. Its contours are charming, thickly flared around the base of the tip and then narrower at the front, a true "helmet".

Smooch. Smack.

Before I know it I'm kissing her cock, practically snogging it. Its heat is sweetly searing, its stench musky and sexual and thick. Not dirty, but clearly clad in the vestiges of past ejaculations, given that Morgan seems to care little for restraining herself.

'It's a travesty that Blondie has such oral issues,' Morgan says as I kiss her. The dominant goth plays with my hair, smiling away. Satisfaction, smug and snarky, is ripe on her red-rimmed black lips. 'You're clearly made for this, sweet Tom. Put on this Earth to tend to my family's cocks. To consume our strong and healthy genes.'

I've nothing to say that would contribute anything of value, because she's right. With Freya, everything is how it should be. Used with loving affection, fucked raw, but it's earnest and honest and the way of the world.

And so it was in tasting Persephone, out of her wife's cunt. And so now smooching Morgan's dick, treating it like a familiar lover.

'Mhm-hm.'

Smooch. Smack.

Morgan chuckles. 'You know, you don't have to kiss it to draw things out. Even if you're sucking on my glans – the best bit, let's be honest – it'll still take me at least half an hour to give you that virile mouthful you so crave.'

That spurs me, because it touches on the reality of things. If I can give her a better "kiss", with my whole mouth, but not lose out on the duration…then that's what I'll do. So I lurch forwards, parting my lips to engulf the entirety of her enormity. That monstrous purple apple atop her delectable dick spreads heat and potent salty-bitterness inside my mouth, sliding silkily onto my tastebuds. The same tastebuds that, soon enough, will get their first experience of Morgan Venyabildt's apparently rather special semen.

Schlup. Slurp.

'Good cocksucker,' Morgan says, patting my head. 'God, I'm pretty sure this is fate, sweet Tom. Your mouth and my cock are just naturally meant to be together. Mhm.' She wets her lovely lips, stares into my eyes, right into my soul. 'I might have to lay down the law with Blondie, and claim your mouth as my own. I'll share, of course, but–aah–I want your face as a toilet for my loads, on-demand.'

I'm dimly afraid of her. Beyond her confidence, I'm scared that she's right about this. About me, in this situation.

What if…what if I like Morgan's the best? How would Freya take that kind of betrayal? Is it a betrayal? I'm not going to suddenly sleep in Morgan's bed, and Mistress has my heart, but…

…I really, really like sucking her big sister's big beautiful dick.

Schlup. Schlop.

'Mhm. This is how nature intended things.' The gothic beauty trembles, exhales softly. 'The male mouth is just ideal, in size and musculature, to extract Venyabildt ejaculate.'

She says it so honestly. It's stated so plainly, albeit in her ludicrously luscious voice, that it goes through reason straight into the infernal depths of horniness. Because the implication is that I, a male, am less than she is. That all I'm good for is to pleasure her, to service her body, to act as the equivalent of a masturbatory aid.

And again, Morgan scares me. Because Freya would never behave like this.

Is she just saying this to help me with my guilt? Because I certainly feel less bad. This is definitely not a romantic act.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

But…but I also struggle to disagree, in some fashion.

Morgan's meaty member is capped in such lustrousness, a pearlescent smoothness that is at once spongy and sublimely stiff, rhythmically pulsating as it drools an endless quantity of salty and slightly bitter pre-ejaculate into my mouth. I'm aware, already, that I've tasted her sperm just by savouring this flavour, but these are just the advance party, making ready the territory that the first load I'm going to taste of Morgan is soon to claim.

'Granny's ideas about men are definitely close to the truth,' she says, adjusting her legs. Morgan brings her knees up, rests her feet flat on the floor. The slight lift lets her balls hang more freely, and she widens her gait to allow what can only increased relaxation for the muscles that will inevitably deliver her potent payload. 'But she didn't–mhm–realise the truth, did she?'

The gothic goddess cocks her head to the side. 'There's no need to be forceful, is there, sweet Tom? Your pathetic little balls will never produce the quality of mine, and you know that I'm doing you a favour here.' She titters gently, sighs. So beautiful, so cool and sharp of mind and tongue. Hitting psychological G-spots with her awful and alluring assertions. 'I'm going to get a long, slow, hungry blowjob, and I'm going to shoot out my thick, virile, musky load for you to laboriously chew and struggle to swallow, and then you're going to thank me .'

She laughs more forcibly now, balls shuddering and breasts jiggling. 'Isn't that a lovely thought, cocksucker? Aren't you ever so lucky to be in this house, where your body can finally experience real sperm. On your tastebuds, of course, but–aah–even so.'

Why does it make me blush so much, to be talked down to? To be told such vile things?

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlup. Slurp. Schlack.

I find myself more enthusiastic, sucking in my cheeks around her ridiculous bell-end, lapping passionately at the banjo string on its underside, shivering each and every time it pulses and emits another dose of that salty bitter oiliness.

'God, you're pathetic, aren't you? It turns you on so much, to be degraded by me.' Her eyes flutter, cheeks reddening. 'You're perfect, sweet Tom. Blondie has excellent taste. A man who knows his place is on his knees, in service of his betters – we futanaris – is a man I will always take care of.'

That darkness is edged in honey, at the end. A weird kind of affection, but affection all the same. Black treacle of a thing.

Schlap. Schlop. Schlurp.

Morgan pats my head, trembling. 'A day will never pass where you can't do what you're best at, okay? No matter what Blondie's feeling, you can always – ooh – find me. I'll feed you, sweet Tom. I'll make sure that hungry mouth always has a real penis to suckle on, and that starving belly is always full of my genes.'

I blush brightly, mind racing, heart thundering. God, she's so hot. This is so hot. Vulgar and primal and animalistic, dominance and submission, asserting her supremacy and acknowledging her as my better in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And I don't know how much time passes, because I'm lost in her eyes. Lost in her pale and perfect gaze, swimming in her soul. It's so different with Morgan. Better for blowjobs, I have to admit. I can't pretend that sucking Freya's dick is better. If Freya were to talk to me like this, maybe, but…I really can just keep sucking.

Schlap. Slurp.

No matter what I do, whether I try and fill my cheeks with the fat futanari helmet or practically stick my tongue in her cum-slit or go absolutely mad on Morgan's frenulum, she at most groans and trembles and keeps lathering my mouth in her salty bitterness. And she talks throughout, stares me down, reminds me of my place and how pathetic I am and how right this is and how grateful I should be.

Over, and over, and over.

'Mhm. Won't be long now.'

When Morgan says those beautiful words, I tense up to an absurd degree. I glance up at her, finding the smuggest of smiles. A declaration of pride, of dominance, and her total victory. Her urging for Freya to view this sharing as dominant won out, and she got what she wanted. She's about to potentially claim my mouth, to ruin me in a passing sense for the others. If her sperm is really as vulgarly virile as she claims, a thing of force instead of finesse, then I might…I might have to rethink things.

Schlup. Slurp.

'Flatten your tongue,' Morgan says, 'and keep tugging. That's a good cocksucker. Ooh.'

Her knees tremble either side of me, a pulse rocking her body and swelling her already stout glans. The precum seems to decrease, drying up almost. And her cum-vein bulges, shudders with a quaking force.

'Mumph. Mhm.'

Schlup. Schlap.

I keep sucking, of course. Keep sucking, and flatten my tongue as requested. Why wouldn't I? I need to know what Morgan tastes like. Crave that most carnal of knowledge like nothing else on Earth. God, I hope I love it, and God I hope I don't.

Betrayal. Cheating, it feels like. To potentially give my mouth to Mistress's sister.

'Aah. That's it, cocksucker. Here it comes. Here comes the real deal. Mhm.'

Her big balls rise and fall, shifting and swaying. It's happening. Holy shit, it's happening, and there's no going back. No way to escape the reality that is my filthy fate here, this doom I've brought upon myself. This beautifully baleful meeting of male mouth and futanari ejaculate.

Schlop. Slurp.

'Aah. Taste my–ooh–pride.'

I'm honestly amazed that it spits as far as it does, exploding out of her glans and going all the way across my tongue, spreading heat and a flavour that is absolutely potent but definitely not traditionally pleasant. Where Freya's loads are creamy, and Persephone's the same, this stuff is…it's so fucking viscous, it's almost like jelly.

So heavy, so thick, that her bell-end's eyelet is left with half a rope hanging out of it, noticeable when I shift my tongue in anxious acceptance of the first taste of Morgan Venyabildt.

But it's a fucking good thing I'm both utterly disgusting and clearly cum-obsessed, because I think I'm in love with her spooge.

'Mhm. Cumdump. Cumslut.'

There's little time between the first stringy shot and the second, which is of similar size and forcefulness as the first. It catches on the roof of my mouth near the back, and hangs low, stuck there like glue.

'Mumph. Mhm-hm.'

It's salty, and it's tangy, and it's rich. Absurdly thick and clinging, and not at all sweet. Not bitter as such, but pungent, and so absolutely and undeniably semen . God, she's virile as fuck. God, Morgan is some cock and cum goddess.

And it just keeps coming, her body rocked by rhythmic pulsations, convulsions culminating in constant carnal creaminess. She's loading my mouth, and all I can do is…keep sucking. Keep stroking her powerful shaft. Keep working to pleasure her and to receive her thick virile pride.

Morgan is blushing as I do so, smirking serenely. 'There's no going back–mhm–now,' she says. 'You're going to take care of me, sweet Tom. To suck out my loads whenever I ask. Is that–aah–clear?'

I nod faintly, contended, cum-filled. So much sperm, healthy rich virile Venyabildt spooge, must be racing around my mouth. It's a dramatically huge quantity, so much that I'm forced to swallow despite how badly I want to savour and taste her. Rich and salty and tangy, not at all sweet, viscous to the extreme, and I want to just keep tasting the fresh milk of Morgan.

Gulp. Gulp. Little swallows, draining a bit, only for Morgan to replace what was consumed with a groan and a sigh, her loins releasing thick burst after dense shot. Gulp. Gulp.

'That's it, cumslut. Swallow my sperm. Mhm. Swallow the creamy cum of a real cock.'

I shut my eyes and relish in the way her helmet swells and shudders, the manner in which her jism is simply so ropey and gluey. It's the best semen of the bunch, isn't it? Such a betrayal to even consider the possibility, but it's true. It really feels like she's breeding my mouth, really establishes that I've got her genes swimming across my tastebuds, and I'm so glad that she tastes so vulgar.

'Mhm. That's it. Keep sucking you–aah–pathetic little jizz toilet. It's the only reason you're here, sweet Tom. The best thing you can–mhm–ever achieve. Cumdump. Ooh. Fucking cumdump!'

I blush and shudder beneath her crude remarks, sucking away. Relishing in the perfect prominence that caps her penis, eagerly serving it, tending to it while it continues to feed me. To feed me her genes. Her strong, healthy genes. God, I'm fucking perverted.

Gulp. Gulp.

When Morgan finally seems to relax, I have to wring out the gooey muck from her shaft with a combination of suction and wanking, because it's just that dense. The dregs come out heaviest of all, these kinds of vulgar strings that require me to urge them forth, because her swollen glans won't deposit them otherwise.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

I chew and churn the stuff around, reluctantly leaving her helmet behind. And for all my efforts, that beautiful bell-end still has an oozing string of the thickest murkiest white hanging from its enticing eyelet.

'Beautiful,' Morgan says, her gothic gorgeousness catching my attention. Her blush, her peculiar smile, speak volumes as to her delicious depravity. 'I've never seen something quite so perfect. You really like how I taste, don't you?'

'Mhm.' I nod, and chew. 'Mhm-hm.'

She chuckles cruelly. 'But you've got sperm in your mouth, sweet Tom. Billions of little white wrigglers. And it's not Blondie's, but mine. Her big sister. Maybe your big sister, the way things are going.' She wets her black and crimson lips, eyes glistening. 'Doesn't that bother you at all?'

It should, I'm sure. But Morgan is offering something nobody else can. Something perverse and perfect. So I shake my head. 'Mumph.'

He smile deepens, shows off those neat white teeth. 'Good boy. Give my swimmers a home, cocksucker. Absorb me into your body. Affirm me as your new goddess. I'll feed you every day for the rest of my life, you pathetic little spooge-lover.'

I can't think of anything more divine. Gulp, gulp, gulp . I'd show her, but she already knows, right? And this seems to be the major point, the vital outcome. That her load ends up inside me, digesting, vanishing, becoming part of my body. I can practically picture it, billions of little Morgans, swimming past my tonsils into the depths of me.

A true acknowledgement of our rightful places. Me, a cocksucker. Her, possessing a superb cock.

'Thank you, Mistress,' I say, licking my lips, mouth emptied. My throat feels warm, my whole chest heated by her healthy ejaculate. 'I like your semen a lot. You were right, it's particularly, um, carnal. I wanted to taste your sperm, and…its quality is clear.'

She pats my head as I take her helmet back into my mouth, slurping out those last dregs, shivering a little as their strong flavour coats my tongue. Morgan is still hard, somehow. Her dick clearly needs more affection.

'Let's get more comfortable,' she says, playing with my hair. 'On the bed, sweet Tom. Let's leave that cute belly looking pregnant with me before the others get home.'

And…I can't think of anything quite so exciting.

Chapter 11: A Family Outing

Summary:

Tom finds himself out with the Venyabildts for a meal, and realises that Freya's lack of concern is a poorly-constructed façade. But when she and Morgan disappear to "fight", he discovers something rather unexpected going on between them...

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: A Family Outing

I'm not sure how much time passes.

There's something simply profound, about performing oral sex on a hung futanari. Something sensation that, weird as I find it to consider, eating pussy never quite managed to match. I don't know if it's that raw submission of it, the fact that the Venyabildts have bigger cocks than mine, the way they take subtle control, or perhaps even the fact that there's something incredibly rewarding about receiving their healthy and voluminous ejaculate inside my mouth, some mark of a (blow)job well done, but whatever the source, I love it.

And I particularly love sucking on Morgan.

The dominant goth lays back in the comfort of her bed, idly playing her game while propped up against a collection of comfortable pillows. Her sharp nails click and clack against the plastic of the controller, and occasionally she'll moan, but the vast bulk of all sounds originate from me.

From her cocksucking slut.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlup. Slurp. Schlack.

I know it won't be long until I receive another dose of her particularly characterful cum, that thick and sensually vulgar-tasting spooge. Her knees are trembling a little bit and her breathing is that much quicker, but it's remarkable how composed she is all the same. How natural it seems for me to do this thing, to service and worship her, and how nobly she behaves, a queen in black and crimson.

It only makes it hotter. Only inspires greater desire.

Schlap. Schlurp. Schlock.

I bob my head slowly, lavishing my ministrations upon that overly plump crown. To nurse on Morgan's helmet is to taste such endless salty bitterness, to be well aware that I'm sucking on her penis. My lurid licking, feeling out its breadth and bulkiness, only amplifies the erotic excitement born of blowing her.

'Mhm-hm.'

How long has it been, since this started? How many blowjobs, to completion, have I given her? One, when she was on the beanbag chair, and then two, three on the bed? This being the fourth, as and when it shortly concludes?

It's a wonder my jaw's not aching. There's a faint bit of fatigue, yes, but Morgan is especially easy to suck upon, and has little interest in being rough with me. Her dominance is effortless, a show of composed confidence, some expectation that she'll be delivered unto ecstasy rather than a use of force or command.

Every now and then she'll glance down at me, eyes the prettiest of frozen sapphires, arctic pale. At odds with her hair, that raven blackness, and those voluptuous lips, onyx rimmed in crimson. And then Morgan will focus anew on her game, ignoring me, provoking a bizarre pang of arousal that really feeds into this fundamental notion that I like being treated just a little bit unkindly by her.

That submissive part of me really likes serving, and being used. Particularly when the target of my affection is a beautiful futanari, Morgan or Mistress, likely Persephone as well.

'Aah. Good boy.'

It's the most warning I get from Morgan herself, though I've discerned a thing or two about her body's tells when a creamy climax is rapidly approaching. Her breathing, her spasming belly and legs, her rising-falling fat futanari nuts.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlup. Slurp.

I keep sucking, of course. Keep sucking on that fat helmet, that pale purple plum, as it releases yet another healthily heavy quantity of richly virile Venyabildt jism right across my hungry tongue, slathering my tastebuds in her flavour. Her cock pulsates against my hands, delivering spurt after shot of immensely thick spooge, pumped out of her balls, riddled with her potent sperm.

In the throes of such dick-milk desiring depravity, I pay no notice to the faint sound of my collar swinging against my neck as it rises and falls, Adam's apple bobbing as I swallow down the rich genetic material of the gothic futanari.

It takes some time to milk her completely, even now, so late into the day. Morgan's body is a thing of sexual excellence, just like Freya's. Their capacity for stamina, for back-to-back extensive eruptions, is something to marvel at.

Something to be deeply satisfied by.

'Mhm. Mhm-hm.'

Of course, she pays no real notice of me while I swirl the sea of sperm about my mouth. Dense ropes and knotted strings, melting in the warm wetness of my saliva, becoming like alien custard all tangy and salty, cheek-reddeningly sensual. There's something immensely satisfying about that mental image, of all those little white swimmers, desperate for an egg cell to claim and yet finding only my teenage male mouth.

Schlurp. Schlap.

'Ooh. Good boy.'

Morgan winces and flexes her thighs, sensitivity creeping in. For the first time today, she's actually softening. Her dick, ordinarily the fattest firmness, droops slightly at the tip, more pronounced when I release it from my lips. It's only then, in a state of surprise, with my mouth filled with her jism, that I realise it's almost evening. I've been sucking her dick all day, holy fucking shit.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

In the slightest panic I quickly empty my mouth, the molten mess of Morgan's man-milk noticeable in its passage down my gullet for both its thickness and its heat. She watches me idly, faintly amused, as I sit upright between her milky thighs and lick my lips.

'Something the matter, sweet Tom?'

Morgan's room, with its black-out blinds, gets only the faintest bit of sunlight through the cracks in their coverage. She looks vampiric, and happily cultivates that image, especially with the general aversion to brightness. But it does mean that the passage of time, without a watch or clock to pay close attention to – I left my phone in Mistress's room – is a difficult thing to keep track of.

Especially when I'm clearly such a natural at losing myself in the suck-fest of being Morgan Venyabildt's personal suck-slut.

'I figure I should probably try and look presentable,' I say, still tasting her distinctive semen all about my mouth. 'And maybe not stink quite so strongly of dick and balls and spooge.'

She pauses the game and smirks. 'You're not having regrets, are you?'

'Not at all.' I shake my head. 'Just…I'm a little wary of how Freya would react, if she stumbled in on this.'

'She did give you permission. She even made that permission explicit to me, the sweet thing. Nobody could blame you for surrendering to my wiles, sweet Tom.'

'Still, I'd rather play it safe. I don't want to hurt her.'

Morgan considers me for a long moment, devouring me with those piercing pale eyes. Their frostiness matches her overall composure, distinctly capable of hiding the depths of her inner world. Where Freya wears her heart on her sleeve, Morgan is inscrutable.

'You're quite lovely, sweet Tom. Blondie's a lucky girl.' She reaches for me, then hesitates. Something about the gesture suggests the breaking of a mask. Or the almost-breaking, given that Morgan quickly withdraws. 'Go and wash up. Look after your Mistress. I'll be in touch to organise her training promptly, and likely to help orchestrate some mutually advantageous absences on her behalf.'

Words spoken, for all intents I'm invisible again, and she attends solely to her game. That behaviour, and her almost-touching, leave me with curious notions as I take my leave. Morgan doesn't of course mind that I give her perfect body a once-over, burning into memory the sight of that enormous dick and huge balls, those wide child-bearing hips and those mammoth breasts, all enshrined by marble white flesh and – even while nude – a gothic aesthetic that really does something for me. A palate cleanser, at least, from my Mistress.

Six hours of sucking dick certainly did the trick, however. Weird, that something where I get no physical satisfaction nonetheless leaves me feeling fulfilled, but I go back to Mistress's – my, I need to get in the habit of thinking – room with a clearer head.

That Morgan – and Persephone as well, perhaps? – has made use of Freya's insecurities to get access to me is unkind, but given that Mistress seems to have been aware of the fact anyway, at least from what she's said before when we mused about their overall goals here, maybe means that it'll be okay.

I surprise myself a little in this capacity to keep emotions separate, that after hours of pleasuring Morgan's penis, I don't have some desire for something more intimate. Not like I have for Mistress Freya, who means something to me far beyond her cock.

Morgan used me, and I used Morgan. A transactional relationship, and perfectly functional given the strangeness of the circumstances.

Right. All is okay. All will be well.

And there might be some tremendous upsides to this, as well. If Morgan really can improve Freya's stamina, and train her to be both more dominant and commanding, then…maybe Mistress will manage to meet all of my sexual needs without any difficulties on her part. Maybe it'll be her that I give endless blowjobs to, instead of her big sister.

I shower and dress, awaiting Freya's return. A little bit of reading, a little bit of mindless scrolling through memes. It's funny, really, how badly I anticipate her arrival. To consider where this started, how scared I was of Freya Venyabildt – tall and overtly rapacious – really puts into perspective how far things have come.

How when at last my beautiful blonde Mistress saunters through into our bedroom, looking somewhat business-like in a formal skirt and blazer (albeit with the top buttons of the shirt beneath now hastily pulled open to reveal her ever-bountiful cleavage), I'm struck not with that seemingly ancient pang of concern but a simple sense of security.

A sense that here I am, and here I belong, and it's so much better with Freya around.

'You hungry?' she says, pulling off the blazer. 'Mum and Dad asked me to go out and eat with them tonight. You're welcome to join us.'

'Sure, I could eat. I'll put on something nicer.'

Freya smilingly shakes her head. Her hair today, done up in a high ponytail, only hints at its usual wildness at the very tips which dangle behind her shoulders. 'You look fine, Tom. Handsome. I'm just going to freshen up. You might as well go and wait downstairs.'

I must get over my discomfort. I need to be okay with the fact that yes, Alicia and Persephone are both highly attractive women. It's just the way of things here, in the Venyabildt Estate.

And, thankfully, "Mummy" plays it cool and "Daddy" is her usual charmingly reserved self. Both are not so distant from Mistress, in terms of outfits. Business-like, faintly serious, yet abundantly attractive all the same. Tight-fitting skirts and blouses that show off plenty of cleavage, the beauty of each older woman alluring in a different fashion to that of their daughters.

Morgan joins us, for a whole family outing. The gothic Amazoness gives me a wink but says nothing more, dressed in her usual mixture of vaguely fetish-worthy attire, black and leather, buckles and ornamentations. The parents engage in forgettable small-talk while Morgan plays on her phone, and I keep checking the staircase for Freya's arrival.

God, it's so much easier in her presence. Somehow the addition of a bit of dark ruby lipstick and a pair of silver earrings clad with sapphires, complementing her brilliant blue eyes, makes her all the more gorgeous. And thankfully Mistress goes straight to me, slinging an arm across my shoulders, and in some sense – greatly appreciated – protects me from the ravenous pack.

Because, as much as it turns me on to realise how desired I am here, their lust for me, all the same, is troublesome.

'How was your day today, Tom? And yours, Morgan?' Alicia says, relaxing into the rear-facing seats of the limousine. She sits beside Persephone, opposite Freya and I, while Morgan occupies the equidistant middle. 'How are you finding our home? Your home , I should say.'

'It's beautiful, Alicia. Thank you for being so welcoming. All of you.' I smile, not falsely – the remark is true as can be – but somewhat warily. The degree of "welcoming" has certainly been sexual, in two instances. 'I'd really like to contribute more, if that's possible. Is there any chance of–'

Persephone waves a dismissive hand at me. 'Nonsense, Tom. We'd not ask of you anything we'd not ask of Freya. You're not merely a guest, but family. Think nothing of it, sweetie.'

It's difficult not to blush, under the purview of that effortlessly commanding smile. In so many ways, Persephone is some older, more mature Freya. Where Morgan is a wildcard in futanari terms, my Mistress's lineage shows clearly. Both are abundantly buxom Amazonians, athletically built, with tremendous blue eyes like captured sapphires. The only mismatch is the father's creamy paleness and the daughter's bronze tan.

It also doesn't help, of course, that Mistress is slowly stroking my arm and pulling me against herself such that I'm against an armpit and the cushioning heft of a double G-cup breast.

'He contributes plenty,' Morgan says, smirking briefly. She doesn't look up from her phone.

Mistress tenses beside me. 'What does that mean, Morgan?'

The tall goth shrugs her shoulders. 'You did allow him to be shared, didn't you?'

And to my surprise, Freya's tension melts away. A glance at her perfect face reveals something quite strange, in fact. A species of confidence I've not seen before.

'I did, yes. Did he do a good job?'

'Several.' Morgan smirks again, but the look doesn't fade. 'And swallowed every drop.'

Alicia pats Persephone's thigh. 'I did tell you he was eager, Mistress.'

And the futanari patriarch watches me with a wordless smile, coolly confident, all the more intimidating for the lack of remark.

'Of course he's eager,' Freya says, giving my arm a squeeze. 'He's a good boy. Aren't you, Tom?'

Sharing, admittedly, didn't mean such exposure in my head. Because all eyes are on me, and my face is red as the devil's dick. Four beautiful women, all taking an interest in my perversions. My affection for futanari cock, and cum.

'I am, Mistress. I'm your good boy.'

Mistress chuckles and rests her face against my head. 'See? If you lot had planned to upset me, you've gone awry. Tom's mine. Use him, sure, but he's mine.'

Morgan rolls her pale eyes. 'Nobody said he wasn't, Blondie.'

The subtext, of course, is: someone's insecure .

But Freya clicks her tongue. 'What's that, Morgan? You can't seem to find a boy half the quality of my slut?'

'Freya!' Alicia says, a little loudly. 'Don't be mean to your sister.'

Thankfully, the limo's cabin is soundproof. An opaque shutter spares the chauffeur – an elderly man, likely familiar with the family's filth – from the dirty details.

Morgan, as effortlessly composed as her father, simply shrugs and rolls her eyes again. 'I would be wary of throwing stones, Blondie. A coat of paint doesn't hide a glass house.'

'What are you going to do, Morrigan ? Going to regale us with how Tom so expertly sucked your dick, and swallowed your cum?' Freya's grin, throughout, is just a little bit scary. To think I had guilt, and worry, and yet…she really doesn't seem to care? 'You're not a threat, you vampire wannabe. I'm doing you a favour, after all. The only consistent cocksucker you have in your life is Mum, after all.'

Morgan – Morrigan? – smiles, but the look is faulty. Something familiar, a potential Venyabildt tendency, is brewing behind those ordinarily so composed eyes. 'Listen here, Blondie. If you think using that silly name and acting all–'

'Freya,' Persephone says, and then, 'Morgan.'

All vivaciousness, all will to fight, fades from the sisters. They simply look to their father, who doesn't so much as raise her voice. Persephone only sighs, and shakes her head. 'What does this accomplish, girls?'

'Nothing, Daddy,' the pair say at once. Two sweet, sultry voices mingling. It puts a chill down my spine, especially, to hear "Daddy".

'Good.' Persephone smiles at me. 'How does it feel, Tom, to be the object of both of my daughter's affections? Not to mention my wife's, as well.'

Alicia actually blushes. 'Mistress, I–'

'Oh, stop it,' Persephone says, stroking her wife's thigh. She smiles at Alicia, pecks her on the forehead, then turns back to me. The dominance in those eyes, a self-ownership of incredible proportions, produces an uncomfortable lump in the back of my mouth. 'Something that my little girls might not understand yet is that you, ultimately, are the prize. That the kind of relationship I have with my wife, and you have with Freya, is born out of respect and love, channelled in what we might regard as a more primal, animalistic fashion. We play this role to please our submissives, and as a result are pleased by them in turn, allowing them to be honest to their true and slutty selves.'

Morgan slumps into her seat, and Freya clings to me more tightly. Their father smirks at each of them in turn, her pride obvious, but each girl – each woman, in fairness – seems that much smaller despite their developed bodies and carnal appetites.

'Freya has no place to talk about Morgan's love life, because Freya's love life can be summed up with the simple utterance of your name, Tom.' Mistress shudders, cheeks red as strawberries. 'But Morgan was not always the talented dominatrix that she now is, and has no place mocking Freya – eight years her junior – for being at a different place in life.' The oldest of the futanaris puts an arm across her wife's shoulders, and looks ever so passingly mischievous. 'If you're worried about either of them, for any reason, talk to me. I'll sort things out. They're still young, and lust and love cloud their judgements. Keep that in mind.'

It's funny, how quiet things remain for the rest of the journey. Persephone and Alicia talk quietly, Morgan sits busy on her phone, and Freya clings to me all the tighter, but nothing more is said. The drive into London, to some three Michelin-star Chinese restaurant, is a peaceful one.

The chauffeur lets us out in front of the establishment and the first thing I notice is the price of everything. It's maybe four or five times what I'd expect to pay, per dish, but both Morgan and Freya pretty much instantly set about making notes on their respective phones as to which collection of dishes they want. Expensive drinks are ordered, a special table in the quiet rear of the place is appointed to us, and the night begins in earnest.

Mistress begins making an order for me, in what seems like a general addition to her ordinary selection. I assume it's ordinary, given the practised manner in which she selects about six separate dishes, alongside both rice and noodles. Futanaris, from the little I've seen, eat a lot more than typical women, though I lack familiarity with "traditional" women as Amazonian as the Venyabildt ladies.

'Order anything you like,' Alicia says, giving me one of her motherly smiles. 'Freya's likely to overfeed you, but she eats like a pig.'

Mistress glares. 'I do not.'

'We all do,' Persephone says, ever warm and calm. 'It's a biological imperative. But please, Tom, order whatever you want. Drinks, food, I don't mind.'

So I glance at the menu and then give Freya an elbow nudge. 'Mistress, how big are the portions?'

She winces. 'Mum might be right. I…don't actually know what's reasonable.'

I smirk, and playfully poke at her side. 'It's okay. I'll just order what I'd usually get.'

'You can try some of my things, as well. And I will judge you for how exotic you get, or lack thereof.'

With that in mind, I find myself being just a little bit spiteful and ordering fried rice and sweet and sour, with some sweet and sour chicken balls on the side. And some spring rolls, because why not. And all the while, when I give my order to the waiter, Mistress's gaze narrows little by little into the realm of playful disgust.

The size of the table allows a certain degree of privacy, despite us all being together. Add in the noise from the restaurant and the road outside – despite this being a quieter spot – and the fact that Alicia and Persephone are chatting away, with Morgan engrossed by her phone, the situation allows Freya to sling an arm over my shoulder and sit us back against our seats, her mouth practically buried against my ear.

'Was it good?' she says, soft and sensual. 'With Morgan?'

Could she have changed so much so quickly, or is this an act? Mistress's voice is suggestive, not of distaste or upset, but something unmistakeably close to arousal. As if to picture her personal slut sucking on her big sister's dick provokes lurid notions.

'Of course, Mistress. It, um, runs in the family.'

She rubs her teeth against the lobe of my ear. 'Better than with me?'

And what is the truth, here? And is the truth better than the lie?

'I…I wish you could last longer, Mistress. Morgan said she'd help train you.'

Freya sighs. 'Thank you for telling the truth, Tom.'

It's one of those moments where I wish, so badly wish, I could change the flow of time. Could roll back just a few seconds, knowing the outcome. Because little else in the world hurts like hearing Mistress huff and bluntly excuse herself, punctuated by the rattling of the wooden legs of the chair upon the floor.

How do I keep fucking up?

But when I go to chase that trail of blonde ponytail, moving just as it disappears through a doorway, Morgan stops me.

'I'll go,' she says, faster than I am, longer of legs. 'Stay, Tom. I'll fix this.'

With both sisters vanished, I'm left under the compassionate stares of their parents. It's Alicia, of course, who speaks first.

'Leave them to it, Tom. They've always worked things out in the past,' she says, smiling just a little strangely. Lust, in her eyes? Or do I imagine it? 'Two strong personalities, clashing over things like this…it's just their nature.' Alicia looks to Persephone, whose eyes never leave me. 'Isn't that right, Mistress?'

'Yes, darling. Completely. Sisters being sisters.'

But as the minutes go by, those words ring hollow. Five, then ten. I aim for a bit of small-talk, with a particular question in mind, to distract myself.

'What did Freya mean, when she called Morgan "Morrigan"?'

Persephone chuckles. 'It's her given name, Tom. You know that both my name and Freya's reference mythological creatures, yes?'

I nod. 'Yeah. Greek and Norse.'

The futanari patriarch smiles. 'Morrigan is Morgan's, but she…well, she has been tempestuous. A bit rebellious. So Morgan became the replacement – a descendent name, in fact, from the original Celtic name – and every now and then Freya thinks it fun to poke at.'

'Which does work,' Alicia says, barely suppressing a naughty shade of humour. 'As you saw.'

'Morrigan's a nice name, though?'

Persephone sighs. 'Yes, but while I'm sure Morgan would be happy with it now, when she was a teen it was an act of distancing. And it stuck, and it seems to be a point of soreness. A reminder of worse days, and an immaturity she regrets. But that's a long and difficult story. I'm sure you'll learn more of it in time.'

Genevieve-related, I imagine. I go to speak, but check the time again. It's been twenty minutes. How can it have taken them so long?

'I need the toilet. Excuse me.'

Neither of the older women protest, though they do share a look. Something I don't know about? Something I should?

When our waiter passes by, giving me a polite smile and nod, I stop and ask after either of the sisters. And the man, with a slight blush, directs me to one of the backrooms. 'The Venyabildts sometimes use the lounge back there,' he says, nervous. 'I would knock, if I were you. There are stories…'

But knocking doesn't enter my mind. What if they're fighting? What if they're hurting one another? What if–

'He's really good at that,' Freya says, vaguely pushing down on her unmistakeable erection. 'You…you have how many hours of this?'

'Six. The bed footage is clearer, because of the better angle.'

What if they're watching a recording of me sucking Morgan off?

'Oh, shit.'

The words just escape. Two sets of blue eyes, one brilliant and the other pale, immediately find me, raw with mischief. It's not every day that you see two of the most attractive women in the world – and hung futanaris to boot – sat beside one another watching what amounts to amateur porn, clear erections bulging between their thighs. Given the circumstances, I'm entitled to say something a lot worse, and a lot louder.

'Tom.' Mistress blushes, finds a smile. 'I'm so sorry.'

'You don't have to be,' Morgan says, stroking her little sister's thigh, her fingers moving far too close to that prominent tent to be accidental. 'Daddy's right. I wasn't always what I am, and you won't always be as you are.'

The words provoke a deeper redness in Freya's face, and she struggles between me and the large tablet phone in her hands. I can faintly, ever so lightly, hear the sounds of my sloppy sucking, and even my moans.

'I don't want to hurt you, Blondie. I want to make things better.' Stroke, stroke, stroke. 'Sweet Tom was blunt with you, but he's not wrong, is he?'

Mistress just about shakes her head. 'No. No, he's not.'

The Amazonian blonde noticeably stiffens up, freezing on the spot, as her big sister casually gropes that tenting titan. Freya's eyes go wide, and she goes to speak, but Morgan shushes her. The gothic futanari squeezes the erect lump and wets her lips in lurid anticipation of incestuous illicitness.

'There's a reason we do what we do together, Freya,' Morgan says, fondling her sister's prick. 'The games I play with Mummy and Daddy. Venyabildt before anything else, Blondie. Even if you weren't there, you realise its importance, surely?'

'This…this can't…this shouldn't…'

The vampiric gothic beckons to me. 'Come here, sweet Tom. Help me convince your lovely Mistress.'

Holy shit I've never been so hard. I'm not meant to be here, not meant to be seeing this, but I am. Two gorgeous sisters and I know of Morgan's designs, know of her desires. Is it so simple as that big weird happy family thing, or is it something filthier? Does it matter?

I go to them all the same. Go and stand like an idiot, a deer caught in headlights. Morgan, confident and dominant again, takes me by a wrist and pulls me down onto the seat beside her, on the opposite side from Freya. I'm struck by her scent, dark fruits and wonderful womanliness, as she embraces me with an arm across my shoulders.

'We want to help you, Blondie,' Morgan says. 'For your sake, and for Tom's. It's clear how much you adore your slut, how badly you want him to worship you with his mouth, but the current situation just isn't conducive, is it?'

Mistress struggles to look at me, blue eyes oozing salaciousness. I've seen her this turned on before, but it's different here. Dirtier. The incest, obviously, does something special. As much as she acknowledged it as weird before, she's here all the same.

Freya licks her lips. 'Morgan…'

'That could be you, Blondie. Laying back, relaxing, having your loads milked expertly by this talented cocksucker's hungry mouth.'

The beautiful blonde shivers. 'Are your sure? Because…I mean…'

'I'd do it every day,' I say, finding my voice. 'Whenever. I love you, Mistress.'

Freya shuts her eyes. 'I don't know. I like it too much. It's too hot. It's like he's…like he wants…'

'Like he wants you , isn't it? To taste you, to savour you. Even though you think it's a little dirty, even though you'd never want to eat the stuff, it's special that he does.' Morgan strokes my arm, squeezes her sister's cock. 'He wants you, Blondie. He wants your sperm in his mouth, in his belly, inside his body, and he hates using me to fill that gap. So sweet is your Tom that I'm actually going to do the right thing, when I could just leave you to it, and own his mouth.'

Mistress shivers again. 'It can't be so simple.'

'It's not going to be instant, no, but as Mummy taught me, so I can teach you. It will, however, involve me blowing you. Often.'

Freya's throat bobs. 'No way. That's too weird. You're my fucking sister.'

'So? I've eaten Daddy's delicious loads almost every other night since I turned eighteen, the same sperm that helped make me. It's about practice, and especially about practising with someone who you aren't madly in love with.'

The Amazonian blonde shakes her head. Her ponytail, a mane of gold, swings loosely. 'You're gross, Morgan. You actually want this, don't you?'

'Is that so wrong?' The gothic futanari, the elder sister, leans across and kisses her dumbstruck little sister on the cheek. 'I love oral, Blondie. I like worshipping and being worshipped. You're hot as sin, little sister. I see no difference between sucking you and sucking Daddy, spitting image of her in so many ways as you are.'

Another rise and fall of Mistress's throat. 'I don't know what to say.'

But Morgan moves without commenting, slipping off the long lounge chair and onto her knees. She happily positions herself before her sister, resting her hands on Freya's thighs right at the spot where the hem of the skirt reveals tan skin. Those fingers, with their crimson talons, dance and play.

And Freya's cock noticeable shudders.

'What…what do you get in return?'

Morgan runs her hands up Mistress's thighs, towards that sizeable shape. 'Well for one, I hope we can have a nicer relationship. You might think a little more positively of me, knowing that I've sucked your cock, tasted your semen, and helped to improve your oral situation with sweet Tom.'

My beautiful girlfriend winces as her big sister takes hold of her bulge, squeezing it between both hands. Despite the futanari being tall, and having large – for women – hands, the shape is still prodigious, dwarfing the fingers that wrap around its fabric-covered prominence.

'But I do want something, as a matter of fact,' Morgan says. 'I want to put a second tag on your slut's collar. He's yours, of course, but…I want to own his mouth, from time to time. I want him to be my cocksucker, once per day.' The gorgeous goth runs her nails against the throbbing futanari, licking her lips. 'Not so high a price, I think, given that you'll be getting plenty of use of that sweet slutty mouth as well.'

' Once a day. Only once,' Freya says, trembling beneath her sister's touch. 'He's mine. My property.'

To assert such a thing, in so sultry a voice, causes a wonderful tremor through my cock. Even this far along, so certain I am of her love, of her appreciation, I can't help but relish the idea of being her sensual plaything.

'Of course, Blondie. Do we have a deal?'

Freya extends a hand to me. 'Come, Tom. Here.'

I reach for it and shuffle along, and she pulls me the remainder of the way. All the way along, until we're side by side, thigh against thigh, and her bubble-gum sweetness is mingling sensually with the musk of precum. There's a visible wetness, when the light catches the darkness of her skirt just so.

'Do you want anything, Tom?' Mistress says. 'While we're bargaining?'

Morgan chuckles. 'Cunning, Blondie.' The gorgeous goth turns her gaze to me, pale eyes piercing and perfect. As much as things are strange between Morgan and me, there's undeniable affection there. Interest. 'I'll give Tom a blowjob, as well, but only once. As and when he wants it.'

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. No way.

'Uh…'

'It's just an offer,' Morgan says, smirking like a succubus. All tantalising and threatening, masterfully mesmerising. 'I can rescind it, of course.'

'No. Please do.'

It might come out slightly too eager, because Freya lifts an eyebrow at me. 'Don't be too excited at the prospect, jeez.' But despite the roll of her azure eyes, she leans in and kisses my cheek. 'Deal. I agree to all of it. But I will get Dad involved in a heartbeat if you're planning anything sly.'

'Nothing sly,' the gorgeous goth says, fingers slipping back down to the hem, 'though depending on the quality of your slut's seed I might be tempted to watch him squirm more than just the once.'

I can't believe what I'm seeing and hearing. Mistress is every bit as petrified, paralysed by her sister's remarks and, just as likely, the skirt-raising motion of those perfect pale hands.

I'll be the first to concede that I've watched all kinds of step-incest pornography. I mean, who hasn't, at some point or other? Easy fetishes. But to watch as these two futanaris grow closer and closer to an act of actual incest is a whole other matter. One that has my cock straining fiercely at my boxer shorts.

'How…how does this work, exactly?' Freya says, breathy, eyes locked on her sister.

Morgan pushes her sister's skirt up past the midway point of her thighs, revealing the overstuffed pretty white panties of the bronze blonde Amazoness. 'Practice, Blondie. It's all just practice. And no reason not to start today, is there?'

She's licking her lips as she does it all. I had doubts, had worries, that Morgan was playing some cruel game of sorts before, but time and again she's put her money where her mouth is. I'm sure it's part of some long game, but I'm no longer certain that its outcome is necessarily to anyone's detriment.

The way she casually extracts her little sister's enormous cock from those pretty panties says more than words ever will. The gorgeous goth's interest in me is obvious, but her attraction to her sister is every bit as strong.

Maybe even more so?

'Just like Daddy's,' Morgan says, smiling at the bulky bronze penis. 'A little shorter, perhaps. An incredible sight, Blondie. Every inch of you…'

'Aah.' Freya trembles as her big sister dips forwards, quick and intense, pressing those crimson-rimmed black lips against the side of Mistress's delicious dark dick. 'I just don't–mhm–see how it'll be different?'

Smooch. Smack.

Morgan chuckles, nostrils flaring as she inhales her sibling's musk. ' Practice , Blondie. You're not stupid, so why won't you listen?' The gorgeous goth moves swiftly again, pressing a hand to Mistress's toned belly and urging to her recline back into the chair. Morgan slides her lips down the whole shaft, all the while watching her sister with glistening giddy eyes. 'You smell so good, Freya. There's something special in the scents and flavours of family.'

Mistress winces, and shuts her eyes. 'You're being so weird, Morgan.'

'I'm just appreciating my little sister, that's all.' Smooch. Smack. The gothic futanari nuzzles that mound of golden pubes, slowly strokes the big bronze cock. Little by little, she draws back the hood, freeing the ruby head. 'You're just like Daddy, Blondie. I bet your loads are to die for.'

I can only stare bug-eyed as the blowjob begins in earnest, meticulous but accelerated, aware no doubt of the situation here, the time constraints. Turning to Freya does nothing to take her gaze off of her sister, brilliant blue eyes now wide open, all that matters in the world contained within the pale perfection of the older sister and her incredibly full lips.

Schlup. Schlack. Slurp.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Morgan is…really fucking good. Her face, with Mistress's cock stuffed inside of it, is every bit as beautiful and dramatically more erotic. With one hand she holds steady the beefy pole and with the other she fondles her little sister's fat balls, rubbing them each in turn like a genie lamp.

'Ugh. Shit.'

And Freya is her same old self, in this arena of attention. Her blowjob-shaped Achilles' heel, again, is on full show. The last time this happened, fellatio in Morgan's presence, things ended terribly. In fact, as a rule, I should probably associate the combination of the eldest Venyabildt daughter and oral sex with some form of upset, given the frequency of problems that mixture tends to cause.

But today might actually be different, because Morgan isn't dominant here.

Not because she's sucking dick – I imagine she could edge and tease force begging whenever possible – but because of how she's doing it. Dutiful, attentive, lots of eye contact, and something intimately affectionate.

'How can y-ou–ughn–be happy to do this?' Freya says, as if reading my mind. 'Submitting to me like this?'

Morgan breaks the seal of her lips with a parting kiss and a wicked smirk. 'Is that how it is, Blondie? Submitting to my gorgeous little sister is somehow shameful, or permanent?'

She rolls her pretty pink tongue, all slathered in spit and precum, around Freya's exposed glans and teases at the frenulum beneath, provoking a low and pleasured groan from my beautiful blonde Mistress.

'Ooh. Fu-ck.'

'I'm happy to submit to you, from time to time,' Morgan says. She affectionately kisses her little sister's fat bell-end. Smooch. Smack. 'You're so wrapped up in this insecurity, Blondie, but I'm not. I know how dominant I can be, how in control I am. I'm happy to play around, with that in mind.' Smack. Smooch. 'Especially with you, or Daddy.'

The gorgeous goth hungrily takes Freya's cock back into her voluptuous mouth, nursing and sucking, bobbing her head with eager enthusiasm. Schlap. Schlurp. 'Mhm.'

I can't stop staring, can't control myself either. Before I reason myself out of it, my cock's in my hand, and I'm fapping away at the incestuous sight. Watching Mistress be pleasured by her own sister is something I'm never going to forget, in all my days. It might be one of the hottest things I've ever witnessed.

'S-top,' Mistress says, but Morgan doesn't. When she grabs my wrist, I realise the intended target of her command. 'You'll make me–aah–cum too quick.'

Shit, my heart flutters way too eagerly. 'Just from wanking?'

Freya, chewing on her fat lower lip, nods. 'Y-eah. You're the pr-oblem, Tom. This' – she dips her head towards Morgan – 'is way easier, s-omehow.'

I freeze up, cock needy but Mistress's words of greater importance. Morgan, for all of her skill, does seem to provoke a lesser response. And when Freya releases me, turns her full interest upon her big sister, she does seem to regain some amount of control. To be less shaky, and possess greater restraint.

There's a wet schpop when Morgan's lips unseal again. 'It's in your head, Blondie. That's the biggest trick Mummy taught me. It takes practise, but you have to separate the physical pleasure from the psychological intimacy.' She releases Mistress's nuts and reaches for my hand, which still loosely grips my cock. Morgan wraps her fingers around mine and begins, with a degree of separation, wanking me off. 'Sweet Tom will always be present during these sessions, because sweet Tom is the one you need to, shall we say, inoculate yourself against. Case in point – you're not cumming anywhere near so quickly as that time I intruded upon you two. You need to handle the physical pleasure, while also not succumbing to the psychological glory of having your handsome slutty sub eagerly work to load his mouth with your precious Venyabildt genes.'

Which of course, spoken so bluntly and likely with an intent to such an end, causes Freya to exhale sharply and tremble. Tremble in time with myself, in fact, as Morgan guides my hand to milk me all the while my head is racing with the filthiest of thoughts, given undeniable believability by the illicit incest occurring right before my eyes.

'Ugh. Shut up,' Mistress says, tense, strained. 'Suck my fucking dick, slut!'

'There's my sweet sister at her finest.'

Morgan gives me a playful wink, and resumes her work. Schlack. Schlup. Slurp. She moans around Freya's cock and bobs her head along the first third without any real strain, leaving smears of black tinged with red at regular intervals. The undeniable mark of this depraved reality, beyond our shared memory of the scene.

It's weird, to have my hand jerk me off without actually putting in the effort, leaving into the dominant grip of the gothic futanari, but it's not as if I need much in the way of stimulation right now. Shit, the sight alone of Morgan sucking off her sister, my beautiful Mistress, might be enough without physical contact!

'Mhm. Mumph.'

'Ugh. Shit. How'd you…why are you so good at this?'

Those pale blues are expressive, creating a suggestion of annoyance without the rest of Morgan's face shifting beyond its appealing suck-shape. She doesn't bother to answer, simply going deeper, her throat producing a thickly filthy sound.

Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.

As mighty as Mistress's member is, her big sister is a ridiculously good cocksucker. The gothic futanari either lacks a gag reflex or possesses tremendous control over that deepthroat-disturbing instinct, some sensual sword-swallower of tantalising talents. Freya's sheer bulk and breadth visibly bulges her throat, a carnal sight that eggs me closer and closer to climax despite the relative laziness of Morgan's second-degree handjob.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlup. Slurp. Glugp.

I lean back into the seat, marvelling, awash with glory. Trembling away, stupidly excited by the perversion before me. The sounds and sights, the conflicting emotions on Freya's face, the eager excitement on Morgan's.

Mistress keeps quivering, shaking, and I know it can't be long. And that notion in turn – that shortly the Amazonian blonde will release her characteristically heavy load, filled with potent Venyabildt virility, right across her own sister's tastebuds – throws me right over the edge of restraint and into the risqué release of blowing my top.

'Guh. Shit.'

I wince and strain, watching as my dick milk spurts out and splatters down Morgan's hand as it works upon my own. Rather than anger, or even annoyance, the tall goth gives me a passing look of…appreciation, maybe? Of interest, at least.

And the sight of her treasured slut's load, spilling out down her big sister's fingers, provokes the end of Freya's restraint in turn.

'Fucking hell, Morgan. Ughn. I'm cumming!'

Well-practised for such creamy conclusions, the beautiful older sister draws back to get a good taste of her sibling, eyes set solely upon Freya now, mind behind them luridly lavishing in the sperm of her own family. I mean, I'd be happy as well, knowing how good Mistress tastes, but…the illicitness of the incestuous connection clearly amplifies Morgan's appreciation far beyond anything I can readily imagine.

'Mhm-hm!'

Schlap. Schlurp.

Morgan keeps sucking, of course. Cheeks pulled in tight around her little sister's big bell-end, she continues to tug at that beefy bronze shaft and draw forth every last strong-swimming soldier from Freya's productive loins. God, I'm way too jealous for someone who's gone and served someone outside of my Mistress.

If it were me on my knees, this would've ended way sooner. There's a distinct difference between how Freya responds to her sister – despite, comparatively, shooting quickly – and how she reacts to me. If it's really possible to train Mistress, to get her to last as long as Morgan…

…I might actually have a very sore mouth. Let alone aching knees.

'You're so fucking filthy,' Freya says, drawing me out of my thoughts. 'Holy shit, Morgan.'

Jesus Christ, that's a big load.

The gorgeous goth happily puts on a show, mouth all white with her little sister's creamy cum. Ropes and dangling strings, a pretty tongue utterly slathered in semen. Is that what I look like, when I blow Freya or Morgan? God, it's so fucking erotic, to know that it's semen, to know that it's sperm and genes, especially to know that it's one sister tasting the other.

The older worshipping the younger.

'Mhm. Mhm-hm.'

Morgan chews on it, shows it again. Savours and rolls it around, shows it again. She takes such vulgar pride in making sure we both see, and yet…nothing about the act is submissive. I really need to work out how this stuff operates, because it's so strange. Here's this sublimely confident dominatrix, so effortlessly in control, and yet she's gobbling her little sister's jism and putting on such a performance.

'Fuck, that's…you're really going to do this for me daily?'

'Mhm.' Morgan nods. 'Mhm-hm.'

The emotion on Freya's face is difficult to discern. As her sister swallows her load in a series of gulps, her eyes glisten, and her cheeks are flush. For the first time, I might actually find something like attraction there, the viewing of her sister in a starkly different light.

Again, this family is fucking weird. But…damn am I lucky to be here.

'All gone,' the gorgeous goth says, showing her emptied mouth with a flick of that pretty pink tongue. 'You taste really good, Blondie. Really good. So much like Daddy.'

Mistress glances from her sister's salacious smile to her glistening cock, now softening, marked periodically with crimson-tinged black rings. She barely notices – though it's hard for me not to – Morgan pulling her cum-glazed hand from my surprisingly untouched appendage, and only shows any interest at all when the beautiful big sister begins cleaning off my load with her tongue.

'Daddy taught you to suck like this?'

'Mhm-hm.' Jesus Christ, she's eating my jizz. Jesus Christ, she likes it. 'Yes, and I practise plenty. Why?'

Mistress gives me a side-on glance, smirking filthily. 'Tom, we're even. Morgan sucks dick better than you do.' She sniggers, and gives me a playful punch on the arm. The two futanaris lock eyes. 'Thanks, Morgan. That was amazing. I…I really have been worried over nothing.'

'You have,' Morgan says, smiling stickily. ' This is what sharing's about, Blondie. Keeping it in the family.' She stares at me, all lust and dominance. 'Let me get that cleaned up, sweet Tom. We'd best get back.'

Shit, I might cum a second time just from the passing perfection of it. The way Morgan takes hold of my dick – skin on skin – and reveals my seed-splattered helmet is one thing, but then she dips forwards and gives me one brief moment of forceful sucking.

And when she comes away, my bell-end is clean and glistening wet.

'Tasty,' the gorgeous goth says, straightening herself up and rising to her feet. 'Come, cuties. As tasty as your loads are, I'd like something possessing actual nutritional value.'

Morgan goes on ahead, giving the both of us a passing wink and a smile. She leaves the both of us, Mistress and me, dumbstruck and just a little unable to look at one another. Not because of jealousy, or guilt, but…

…we might have both been looking at this the wholly wrong way.

Chapter 12: Perverse Plotting

Summary:

Tom begins questioning Freya's motives regarding her sister, Morgan, and learns from Persephone that the past is not quite what he knows it to be. Freya's vision of their future is very tempting, her developing dominance greatly desirable, but can she really achieve it...?

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Perverse Plotting

Nothing is said of the "intermission" when Freya and I return to the table.

Persephone gives me a look, inscrutable but otherwise harmless. Morgan, of course, manages the slyest of winks. Mistress and I play it off coolly, act as if the sibling drama – and the illicit incest that Freya partook of, that I witnessed – took as long as it did because…just because , I suppose.

But again, nothing is said.

The food is arriving as we sit ourselves back down, and the portions are surprisingly generous for a place this expensive. On those rare occasions that Mum and Dad have taken me to a fancy restaurant, usually to impress family, the rule seemed to be that the more expensive the meal, the less you got of it. Rich people apparently prefer an "artistic drizzle" to actual sustenance.

Here, at least, there's plenty. Which is slightly concerning, given the futanari capacity to consume so much, but then again, they are Amazonian in nature. Freya at six-foot is the shortest, with plenty of aesthetically pleasing muscle, yet is nonetheless remarkably tall for a woman. Even so, to manage such a neat shovelling away of what, with a single bite, strikes me as the tastiest Chinese food I've ever eaten, provokes amazement.

'What?' Mistress says, eyes hooded as she gives me a side-on glance. 'It's really tasty.'

'I wasn't judging. Just impressed, really.'

And it's not just Freya. Morgan is the same, and Persephone again. Alicia and I are the only people with reasonable portions sat before us, "inferior" as we are compared to the delicious dickgirl dominatrices. Mistress does, all the same, despite her apparent ravenousness, spoon out a little bit of every single one of her dishes onto my plate. The overarching theme of her choices being "hot as fuck", much like herself.

She takes just a little bit of indulgence out of my inability to eat the – admittedly fantastic – beef and chicken pieces sent my way without sweating around my eyes and at one point breaking out in deeply annoying hiccups that proving a constant low-grade mocking chuckle from my mean Mistress.

Intermittently, small talk surfaces from the background sound of sating that other pressing hunger, distinctly different from that which Mistress and Morgan were dealing with prior to the meal. Alicia leads for the most part, and asks bits and pieces about my life. About my parents, about my hopes, my dreams, my ideals.

It's weird, talking about it. It's not something I tend to do, push come to shove. Freya and I talk about plenty of things, but I suppose that unless your family life is particularly arresting, it's not all that necessary to speak of. And the other stuff, the personal aims? In the least arrogant sense possible…do they matter, now?

Mistress adores me, and Mistress brings with her, as some fantastic side-effect, more wealth and luxury than I'd ever dreamt of before all this.

Still, I'm left thinking. Before this, I had no certainty. The luxury of a poor family is that you have to adapt, to make the most of whatever life throws at you. You can't just say, "I'll do X," and then relax. Want to be a doctor? A scientist? An engineer? A mechanic? Sure. But if things go wrong before that becomes possible, you have to change gears.

Freya doesn't have to do that. None of her family do. They can be anything. Anything they want. And while I make small-talk, while I'm visibly "present", for the duration of the meal and the car journey home, I'm lost in my thoughts. Nothing further is said of the little encounter in the private room of the restaurant, and Mistress – clearly in her own head, dealing with her own array of novel concerns – seems at least psychologically spent from the encounter with her sister. But as we're lying together in bed, side by side, warm and comfortable as can be, my curiosity about the bigger picture asserts itself.

'What can I do?' I say, staring up at the ceiling. At the dark, at the swirling patterns of the plaster. 'If this is real, and I'm staying at your side…what can I do?'

'You'll have to be a little more exacting,' Freya says, hooking an arm across my middle. She turns about, onto her side, and brings her head down to rest against my chest. It's wonderfully odd. Her softer side, all for me. Faces only I see, gestures intended only for my lucky self. 'I'm not going to suddenly ditch you for Morgan, if that's your worry.'

I shake my head, and put an arm across her shoulders. Mistress is silken to the touch, bubble-gum sweet. Her grip on me is soft, comforting. To be with her, to be here, is to be the safest I can possibly be. In the luxuriousness of her presence, all is well with the world. But I do need to make the most of things, don't I?

'My dreams were small, but with you, they can be bigger. I could…write. Or volunteer. Or learn a trade. I could do anything, but that's a little scary. I'm still getting used to the, um, less romantic side of this.'

'The wealth? The ease of living?'

I nod. 'Yeah.'

She smiles at me, then leans over and kisses my chest. Freya's eyes, catching a silver shaft of moonglow and starlight – out here in the country, the night's sky is a sea of brilliant sparks and flares – possess that incredible depth of blue, that stunning sapphire, even in the dark.

'I want you to be happy, Tom. That's all that matters to me. That and us working out, obviously.'

'I'm sorry about the Morgan thing,' I say, sighing. 'I wanted it. Wanted her, and the guilt was awful. Especially when I thought I'd hurt you. I don't ever want to hurt you, Mistress.'

Freya moves with daemonic urgency, one moment at my side, on my chest, some lovely creature soft and delicate, and then she's atop me, knees either side of my hips, mane of golden blonde falling about my head like the most inviting of veils. Sweet breath, gorgeous eyes, a face that could fit just as well on an angel as a human.

'Would you have done it if I hadn't said it was okay? If I'd said I want you to myself, and don't want to share?'

I shake my head. 'Never.'

Mistress dips down, presses her enrapturing lips to mine. Slow, methodical, a tangle of mouths. 'Mhm.'

Mwah. Smooch.

And when she pulls back, a silvery strand of spit linking our lips, Freya smirks warmly. 'We've been clumsy. All of this has been clumsy. We're young, and we're inexperienced, and…I do need help. From the start, I needed it. What I did to you?' She rolls her eyes, shakes her head. 'We're even, Tom. A hurt for a hurt. But we'll do better, going forwards. Thank you for being patient with me.'

She descends, naked body curvaceous and cushioning. Her weight atop mine is paradise, heavy for her height and strength, her innate physical splendour. Those wonderful double G-cup tits, pressing against my chest, provoke a satisfying shiver.

' Morrigan annoys me,' Mistress says, all mischief and just a hint of madness. 'I want…a little dose of revenge.'

'Revenge?'

Freya blinks slowly, glances to the side. 'I want her, Tom. Not like I want you, but I want her. My own sister. My own flesh and blood.' The shiver, anxious or shameful, is noticeable as it courses through her. 'That mouth is exquisite. It felt like she was trying to suck out my soul.'

'Better than me?'

Mistress chuckles sweetly, but her gaze is mean. 'It's hotter when you do it, but yes. I think we're kind of even there, right? Morgan's more fun to suck than me, because she's able to play the role of dominant better than me. Morgan's blowjobs are more enjoyable, because she's better at sucking dick than you.'

I can handle the gentleness of her voice. It's not a rejection, after all. Just a statement of fact. As suckable as the elder sister's cock is, the attachment isn't there. Though…

'I don't want a future where I'm not shared, Mistress,' I say, blushing. 'And I don't want you to go without, either. I'm okay with that.'

Freya chews on her lower lip, pink between two rows of marble white. 'I think you're right. I think, actually, that we're missing the bigger picture.'

She does this thing, this wonderful thing that has me instantly hard and completely smitten. Mistress gets her hands behind my shoulders and spins us about, onto her back, so that my face comes to rest smothered in the perfect pillows of her beautiful bronze chest. Boobs, swallowing my face. Bubble-bum sweetness and her delectable odour, sweat and femininity, filling my nostrils. Claiming my world.

'Morgan keeps causing problems, so instead, she's going to become a solution,' Freya says, stroking my back, holding me against the magic of her mammaries. 'I love you, but there's so much truth to the idea that you're just a man. That you're submissive to futanaris. That we're better than you are.'

'A truth that I eagerly embrace, Mistress.' I lap at the flesh of her breast, and she quivers slightly. Mlep. 'Mhm. Your boob sweat tastes so good.'

Freya gives me a playful smack on the back. 'Good boy. But…what if there are degrees of hierarchy, here? Degrees of importance?'

The hunger in her eyes is glorious. Though she stares up at the ceiling, gaze twitching with thought, it's impossible not to be smitten with the azure allure of those deeply desirable blues. Mistress is rather amazing, and that same Venyabildt tendency to dominate, to assert oneself, is clearly every bit as present in the younger daughter as in the older.

'Well I'm beneath you,' I say. 'Where do the others fit in?'

Freya turns her attention down to me for a moment, and shifts her arms upwards so that her grip on me is firmer and her breasts are pushed up to engulf the sides of my face. 'I want my sister beneath me, as well. As for Mum and Dad, I'm not so bothered. Let them have their hierarchy, outside of ours. But Morgan…'

She trails off mid-sentence, luscious lips falling still. Again Mistress looks thoughtful, eyes twitching and shifting, searching for the words or the ideas necessary to communicate just what she's picturing. But the crux of it, at least, is in my head as well.

Is that at all realistic, to get Morgan – "Morrigan" – in the same general situation as myself?

The older Venyabildt daughter is, without a doubt, better at this. As much as I love Freya, she's had less time to hone this side of herself. Over the past months she's gone from rude and crude to a much more refined state of domination, but even so, Morgan presents a radically different situation.

'You really think you can make her submit, Mistress?'

'Hm?' Freya turns to me again, in the process pushing her tantalising tits up that much more. My jaw rests between them, and their bouncy bulk sandwiches my cheeks. 'You don't think I can?'

'Right now? No. Sorry. Morgan's dominance is like breathing to her. You saw what she did tonight. Do you really think that blowjob was submissive?'

A short while ago perhaps, I might find myself pushed off. Instead, Mistress merely narrows her gaze and twists her mouth. 'No, you're right.' She slides her fingers up the ditch of my spine, to cup the back of my head. 'She's a lot more confident than I am, and a lot more comfortable with the other side of sexuality. Giving pleasure, without it involving actual submission. I've never sucked a cock before – it always seemed some admittance of superiority – but my sister took care of mine without a hint of reservation. Hm.'

I'm vaguely wary that I might pull a face, suggestive of eager excitement to be a potential guinea pig, but either Mistress doesn't notice it or I manage sufficient self-restraint to not make a dirty fool of myself. As beautiful as Freya is, in all womanly ways, I know which way around this has to be. At least with her.

'What do you want to do, Mistress?'

She shakes her head. 'Well see, Tom. Sleep on it. Tomorrow's a new day.'

I shut my eyes, having nothing more to offer. This is Freya's plan, Freya's strategy going forwards, and she's a great deal smarter than I'll ever be. Besides, sleep comes especially easy when you've got a pair of double G-cup bronze breasts for a pillow.

When I wake, Mistress is absent, though that's not unusual.

I get up and shower, get dressed for the day, picturing the look on her face. The way she seemed so excited about the prospect of expanding our horizons, going beyond simply sharing me with the others. Honestly, the idea of Freya taking control, becoming more dominant even than Morgan, is a tantalising thought. Whether or not it's a realistic one, however, remains to be seen.

Fresh and clean, I go down for breakfast, finding Persephone preparing the morning meal for everyone. Not a daily occurrence, but common enough on a weekend morning. The omelettes she's making have a distinctive twist to them, some fusion of the familiar and foreign. Worldly as I understand the Venyabildt matriarch to be, it makes sense that she'd masterfully merge a selection of cuisines into something so mundane as an omelette.

'Morning, Persephone,' I say, not entirely comfortable with Alicia's suggestion of "Daddy". 'Where is everyone today?'

The beautiful futanari, pale as Morgan, blonde as Mistress, gives me a side-on smile. Lingerie assists the apron today, though her overabundant curves are impossible to ignore, regardless of whether the particularly naughty bits are on display. Brilliant blue eyes, same as Mistress, behold me with casual interest.

'Alicia's is bathing, and I believe Freya's using the gym. I can't speak for Morgan, as ever,' she says, warm and sonorous. Persephone has this steady manner of speaking, each word well-enunciated, as cool and constant as a summer sky. 'Just you and I for the moment, I'm afraid.'

She turns back to the pan, to the sizzling egg mixture, adding a pinch of assorted herbs, a touch of fragrant chilli. It's strange, that Persephone is a point of solace. As intimidating as she is, every bit as impressive as her daughters, the statuesque blonde is somehow…safer? There's this low-grade suggestion that she's every bit as dominant as Morgan, as fierce as Freya, but cool and controlled. Effortlessly so. Enough that I speak without thinking.

'Do you think Freya can dominate Morgan?'

Persephone ceases her stirring, and my cheeks grow fiery hot. Red as a tomato, no doubt, and what a stupid thing to ask her, but this house, this family…

'Which of them put that question to you, Tom? Is Morgan trying to play with Freya, or is Freya trying to assert herself over Morgan?'

She starts moving the spatula again, glancing at me side-on. Phew. I scratch my cheek in thought. 'I don't really know what's happening, to be honest. Morgan's been interfering with us for a while now, and Freya's thinking of fighting back, I guess?'

The beautiful pale blonde sighs, smiling broader as I speak. 'You should leave them to it, Tom. It'll sort itself out.'

But that kind of hands-off approach doesn't sit well with me. 'Freya told me, a while back, that Morgan was dangerous. That she's like Genevieve. But now–'

'She's absolutely nothing like my father,' Persephone says, her voice possessing for a shadow of a heartbeat something like disgust. 'It seems you're going to be family, so let me correct this once and for all. Genevieve is a one-off. Our views on humanity, superior as we know ourselves to be, still take people as free agents. If Morgan was anything like Genevieve, you'd know it. Believe me.'

'I wasn't meaning to offend. Sorry.'

Persephone smiles softly. 'I know, Tom. But I think you're involving yourself in a sibling rivalry, and with all respect, is that your place?'

'Why would Freya want to dominate Morgan if that's all it is? What aren't you telling me?'

Her eyes shift, widening vaguely. As if taking more of me in, viewing me in a different light. I appreciate that I'm being bold, and the passion for Mistress probably seeps into my voice, but it really feels like I'm not receiving all of the facts here. And I really do need to find out why .

'I never believed in my father's stories,' Persephone says. 'They didn't soften the things she did to me. Morgan, however, very much agreed with Genevieve, for a while. She doesn't go by Morrigan, and why? Because for a time there was a split, and that name haunts her for her time with my father. For a time, I'd lost my daughter to the rapacious cretin who did nothing but hurt and hinder. And in that time, thinking it her place, thinking it necessary, she intervened with Freya's relationships. Do you really think a woman as beautiful and intelligent as my youngest daughter would, left to her own devices, have her first boyfriend at eighteen? Really, Tom?'

I know that I'm her first real one. I know that. Which means she's not saying the obvious, but rather…

'What did Morgan do before me?'

'She didn't think Freya should have normal relationships. In fact, she didn't allow Freya them. On those rare occasions that Freya found a boy like you, Morgan stole them. The specifics you can imagine, but she always ruined her sister's interest in them.'

'Why would she do that?'

Persephone sighs, sadness taking hold of her features. 'Because of her own warped view of how things are meant to be, Tom. Because she thought that Freya – Venyabildt, superior – should have had pets, playthings, not actual lovers. Roughness, violence, unkindness, that was Genevieve's modus operandi.'

Fuck. It's like a puzzle, pieces fitting together at last. How Freya could do what she did to me, then turn about, be someone genuinely affectionate and decent, suddenly makes sense. She wasn't necessarily sexually inexperienced, but emotionally? Completely ill-equipped for relationships.

The elegant matriarch gives me a searching look. 'Judging by your face, I think you've something of your own to say?'

'Freya…raped me, at the start of this.' It's weird, thinking back. To that, and the other. To the harm done, the hurt which might well fester if I didn't know Mistress as I do now. 'She was a lot cruller. She was…'

'A lot like my father?'

I nod. 'It sounds like it. But she stopped, kind of well, fell for me.'

Persephone pulls a plate out and slides the cooked omelette onto it, with a dash of salt and pepper. 'She shouldn't have done that, and honestly I'm surprised you've persevered with my daughter, but you make Freya happy and I'm glad that you saw past her stupidity. The problem with evil ideas is if they take root, they create evil actions, with or without malice.' The futanari matriarch comes over to me, delivering me the steaming golden dish, portion size maybe a little too big for a non-Venyabildt. 'But just as you've forgiven Freya, please give Morgan a similar chance. Let my girls sort themselves out. It'll be good for their relationship, if nothing else.'

She runs a curled finger across my cheek, smiling enigmatically, and then turns away, back to the cooking. At any other moment, the brief touch, the warmth of her silky fingers, might provoke something, but mostly I'm annoyed. Annoyed because nobody in this damn house seems able to tell me anything other than half-truths. I appreciate that the topics are difficult, yes, but even so.

How am I meant to belong to Mistress if she won't tell me the specifics of her beef with her sister?!

I manage, at least, to suppress the urgency of these feelings. To eat, to be grateful, but to do so fairly swiftly. To get away, heading out the back of the massive central mansion and across the garden towards the gym annex, to get certain things ironed out.

And she's there, glistening with a patina of sweat, those well-trained muscles defined beneath the bronze beauty of her skin, bench-pressing more than my bodyweight. Maybe twice as much. Freya pauses at the end of a rep, and lifts her head to look at me.

'Tom?'

'Why didn't you tell me that Morgan stole guys you were interested in?'

That Morgan told me she limited her behaviour to the boyfriends of friends and such is another matter, perhaps an attempt at giving some of the truth, but I'll save that for when I deal with her, in turn.

But Mistress simply lets her head fall back against the bench, long ponytail dangling over the headrest. 'I don't know.'

The smell of her sweat is heady, hers , and it's a miracle I don't just gawp at those enormous breasts and that exposed toned belly and her captivating curves as I walk across the floor of the private gym, all these machines surely rivalling the cost of a small home by themselves.

'And that's why you raped me, isn't it? Because as much as she upset you, you internalised her bullshit. As much as you dislike what she's done, you envied her. You still do.'

Freya is definitely better than she used to be. As much as I speak too loudly and act with too much passion, she doesn't lash out. Doesn't hit back. The beautiful bronze-skinned futanari takes a deep breath and sits upright, and sizes me up. Head to toe, a once-over, and then she sighs loudly.

'What do you want me to say, Tom? Because yeah, that's all true. I fucked up. Again, and again. I withheld the truth because at first it wasn't any of your business, and then it seemed too late.'

It's hard to be actually upset with her. I love her, and I know she's not been malicious. Not actively so. The way she speaks, besides, is as earnest as can be. Freya doesn't slump or sulk, but watches me as though I'm her equal. For all that talk of futanaris being superior, at the core of what we are, we're on the same team.

'Is this what all the sharing stuff has been about? Proving yourself? Proving yourself to Morgan?' Only at this utterance does Mistress avert her gaze, cheeks reddening. I move closer, up to the foot of the bench, breathing in the pleasing scent of her sweat. 'Freya, I just want to know.'

'She always got what she wanted. She was always so hot, and so confident.' The blonde beauty shakes her head, long ponytail swaying, bound up with a scrunchie. 'All those guys I liked, and I lost them to her.' Freya smirks, chuckles grimly. When she turns to me, there's the faintest wetness to her brilliant blue eyes. 'She didn't even want them, Tom. Just wanted to teach me a lesson. Just wanted to prove a point. I know she's not the same as she was, but I thought I'd…I thought I'd use you to hurt her.'

'Dangle me like a carrot? Take me away whenever you wanted?'

Mistress smiles sadly. 'Yep. Which isn't to say – and please don't think otherwise – that I don't utterly love you, but hurting her felt more pressing. You're so smitten with me, so loyal, I didn't think there was a risk.' She passingly grinds her teeth. 'But now I've hurt us, haven't I?'

She looks to be on the brink of tears, but I'm there in a heartbeat. There, at her side, she this tall and dominant Amazonian and me her cumslut plaything lover, and yet I'm the one who cups her head and pulls her against my chest. I'm the one who strokes her hair, ignores the sweaty stickiness, cutting to the importance of things.

'I love you, Mistress,' I say, brushing her cheek. 'But from now on, you need to tell me everything. Spill all. Or I'll leave, and won't look back. That's a line I'm drawing in the sand.'

Freya kisses my chest, nuzzles against me. 'No pulling punches, huh?'

'Dude, you have so much power over me. I submit to you. If you're not being honest, how is this going to work?'

She only snuggles closer. 'Okay. From now on, always. I'll explain it all, explain all my stupid decisions. Please stay. Please love me.'

'I do, and always will,' I say, getting my hands around her head. 'But if we're this pairing, mistress and slut, we do all this together going forwards, okay? This situation with Morgan needs resolving, so let's fix it. I like your idea. I want her to be yours. But I want you to keep sharing me, all the same, because I like it. I like you the most, but you can't take back what you've given.'

Freya nods. 'Yeah. I get that. I trust you, and…honestly, if I hadn't, we might not be plotting to get Morgan as ours, right?'

' Ours ?'

She tilts her head back, affixing me with those brilliant blues. 'Well, isn't that the point? You want to serve us both, but I need Morgan under my thumb for that to be genuine. She'd be yours, and mine. Ours.'

'I like it. A lot.'

Mistress kisses my chest again. 'Good. I'll tell you everything, but I need to finish this set and shower. And eat something, shit.'

'No, you don't.'

'Excuse me?'

I dip down and squeeze her chest, one breast and then the other, slowly dropping to my knees. 'I'm going to suck on your sweaty tits,' I say, taking unreasonable pleasure in her annoyance. 'Then I'm going to suck your dick, and you're going to cum in my mouth, and I'm going to swallow every drop of your delicious, superior, Venyabildt genes.'

'Says who?'

'Says your sub, who you owe so much to.' I smirk at her, up at her, and Mistress's face suggests an inner struggle. To consent is to let me have my own way, but to deny is to deny herself. 'I'm being bratty, and demanding, so you'd better sort me out. Hadn't you, Mistress?'

'Tom, seriously, I'm sweaty as fuck. I haven't showered since yesterday.'

The idea of her fat musky cock, deliciously rich in her oils and residues, is enough to make me salivate. 'You really think that's going to put me off?'

Freya chews on her bottom lip. 'You're really dirty, you know that?'

'And you're a quick-shot, but I love you all the same.'

She goes for my throat, both hands taking a firm hold of my jaw. God, she's strong. Those muscles bulge beautifully, definition obvious where she applies her vigour. We topple as one as she shifts her mass, falling atop me, hot and sweaty and sticky and fucking glorious. Drop-dead gorgeous, my bronze blonde goddess, the hunger in her eyes untameable and wild as she lurches for my mouth, the sweat on her upper lip pleasantly salty, tasting subtly of her. Uniquely and distinctly of Freya Venyabildt, the most beautiful woman in the world.

Mwah. Smooch.

'Mhm. Mhaah.'

She moans into my mouth, and I into hers, hungers overwhelming. Mistress's tongue finds mine, tangles with it, tames it. I've been naughty, spoken above my station, and now I'm going to be punished. Only the punishment is just what I want, just what I need. Her love, in the most ravenous form imaginable. To play rough, to be roughly played with, and to adore every fucking second of it.

Smooch. Smack.

Freya pins me against the floor by my shoulders, her weight impressive, her strength more so. Straddling my belly she grinds her hips against me, rubs that fat futanari shape across my gut, suggestive and salacious, shiver-inducing. Not fully hard, but quickly getting there. The beautiful bronze-skinned blonde retreats from our kissing, licking her lips of the glaze of mutual spit.

'You taste good, slut,' Mistress says, smiling contentedly as she sits upright. 'And given that you're such a needy, dutiful pet, I think I can reward you, just this once…'

Freya digs her fingers into the underside of her heavy-duty sports bra, preparing to free one of the finest sets of breasts in all the world. Her skin glistens delightfully, moulding to the shape of her hands as she slowly but surely pulls upwards, putting on a perverse performance, making my tit-starved brain wait as long as possible to bask in the beauty of her bare boobs.

'Thank you, Mistress. I'm so, so grateful.'

Mistress pauses, the underside of her enormous twins barely visibly. 'Oh, I know, cumslut. It's writ on your silly face. What a lucky little thing you are, to belong to me.'

I lick my lips as the feast of flesh grows, inch by inch, moment by moment. When the wide smooth halos of her titanic titties come onto the scene, I know it won't be long until I'm tasting her skin. Nursing on her beautiful body, worshipping her in a different guise than usual, but worshipping all the same.

The mammoth mammaries go schthup where they fall and slap against her chest, inertia surpassed and gravity taking hold of the generous double G-cups. Mistress's beautiful breasts glisten gloriously, jiggling about as their heaviness comes slowly to rest. Again, she's gotten so much better at the dominant side of things. No blushing, not even a hint of vulnerability, despite the fact that I'm ogling her.

Despite the fact that I'm licking my lips and looking like a complete cretin.

'Mistress…'

Freya giggles sweetly, and cups the back of my head, gently urging me upwards. 'Suckle. Clean them of sweat, you dirty slut.'

Yes, yes, oh God, yes! 'Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for this opportunity.'

She simply rolls her brilliant blue eyes. 'Less talking, more cleaning.'

I don't need to be told twice. Getting my hands on the warm welcoming womanliness of her hips, I lift myself upwards, her superior height making it easy to get my face smothered in the sticky sweatiness of her chest. Mistress guides me, firmer and more forceful as I get closer to the moment of impact, whereupon she jams my head right into her cleavage.

'Motorboat me, bitch. Get that face all stinking of me.'

'Mhm-hm!'

Happily, eagerly. Schthup, schthup, schthup. Her mountainous mammaries smack against my face, bounce and jiggle, ever so huge and heavy, ever so cushioning and soft. Her skin is silken if sticky, but her boobs themselves are like warm pillows, yielding and moulding about my face, engulfing me in their fragrant fullness. Smooch. Mwah. I kiss, and kiss, and kiss again, worshipping and adoring my favourite breasts in all the world, the body of my favourite person, though perhaps not quite my favourite part of her. That part, instead, is poking at my belly with pulsation prominence, clearly in need of attention. But it'll have to wait, for a few moments more.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schthup-mwah, schthup-smooch, schthup-smack.

Freya strokes my hair as I twist my head about and smooch her, sandwiched as I am between those heavenly hills. She giggles and sighs sweetly, warmly affectionate and yet completely in control. Giving me this honour, this luxury, that we both so desire. A celebration of sorts, for a new leaf, turned over. The first sordid encounter to occur with a plan in mind, with our secrets laid bare.

'Suckle,' Mistress says, cupping her right tit. 'Enjoy yourself, you naughty boy.'

I don't get time to thank her, because her urging, and my own lust, is too great to resist. Dragging my tongue across her skin, loading my mouth with the salty womanliness of her gorgeous flesh, quickly leads to the meeting of lips and a rigid nipple, the lustrousness of her areola pleasing against me.

Schlep. Mlap. Slurp.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

'Good boy,' Mistress says, patting my head. 'I fucking–aah–love that. We definitely don't do enough with my boobs.'

I shake my head, but don't stop for a second. 'Mhm.'

Schlap. Mlep.

To have a faceful of fantastically fat futanari bosom is a heavenly reward, especially given the precariousness of taking some initiative with my domme. For setting the record straight, and demanding what I deserve, it nonetheless feels appropriate. And Freya, moaning and shuddering atop me, straddling me, her enormous erection poking fiercely at my gut, seems to be in a state of as much lascivious luxury as myself. Though she'll never orgasm from something as mundane as having her would-be milk-makers nursed on, Mistress is still particularly sensitive. Her nipples, iron-firm points of pleasantness, respond to every lap and lick, the occasional – naughty – teasing of my teeth, and seem to utterly adore being sucked upon with all the intensity I'd apply to her dick.

'Ooh. Tom.'

I break away for a moment, and kiss her right breast. Mwah. 'Slut,' I say, correcting her. 'I'm your slut, Mistress. It says so around my neck.'

Smooch. She kisses the top of my head. 'I love you, slut. I'm so sorry for being shitty with the truth.'

Sliding my hands around her lower back, to lock about her hips, I rest against her breasts, spit and sweat and stickiness completely irrelevant. We'll just shower together, afterwards. 'I don't care so long as you don't do it again, okay? So long as we're past that stupid shit, you're completely forgiven. You made a mistake.'

'I made several. Again, and again.'

Mwah. I kiss her chest, glance up at her. 'So? You're human. Tall and clever and hot as hell, but still human. It's like you said way back when. Just because your financial conditions have been easy, doesn't mean it all has been. Not with the weirdness your family's faced from Genevieve.'

Mistress leans forwards, rubbing her nose against my forehead. Her breath is sweet as syrup, her eyes twitching faintly, wet and lively. 'What did I do to deserve you, Tom? Why did you stay, after I hurt you so much?'

'I had a thing for you, obviously? But…I don't know how to phrase it without it sounding weird.'

'Try? For me?'

I shrug. 'After what you did, after what Mr Bulger did to me…it was clear you'd made a mistake. And maybe it's stupid to forgive that kind of mistake, but I did. I don't regret that I did. Nobody's ever loved me like you do. And you clearly did fuck up, because look at you now! Look at us. I have to remind you, sometimes, to call me "slut".' I chuckle, and Mistress's mask slips. She blushes, and glances to the side. 'You're ever so cute, Freya. Ever so beautiful. Ever so cool.'

The way she pushes me back surprises me, but it's not really violent. A momentary assertion of strength, giving her a moment to pull herself free. 'I want to…want to see if today's better,' she says, climbing to her feet. 'To see if Morgan's words have any wisdom to them.'

I suck in a sharp breath as she knocks down her shorts, freeing the bronze beast beneath them. Freya kicks away the discarded pair, in the process putting a tantalising trembling jiggle to the vast and virile pole, as beautifully tan as the rest of her, veiny and thickly fat, capped in a glorious shrouded crown.

She turns to face me and takes a step back towards the workout bench, blonde ponytail swaying, big balls wobbling about as she sits herself down, the heavy pair dangling over the edge of the bench.

'It really hurt, when I had to first confront the idea that Morgan was better.' Mistress takes up her lascivious length and lifts it upright, slowly strokes it. Her nuts shudder, and her face reddens. 'She's completely right, when it comes to you. God, Tom, nothing's sexier than the idea of you eating my genes. Worshipping me like I'm your queen, your goddess , and using your lovely mouth to take care of my most demanding part. Working to cover your tastebuds in my semen.'

Even without being told, I begin to crawl over. To crawl, because it's most fitting. To crawl, because I'm her pet, her toy, and this is an honour , this is exactly what I want from her, as much as possible, because it's so damn intimate and she sees it the same as I do.

'You are my queen,' I say, salivating. 'You are my goddess.'

The smell of her crotch is sublimely thick, tantalising, as I get close enough to properly inhale it. Musky, sexual, virile. God, I'm such a cumslut, such a cocksucking whore for these futanari goddesses. Such a lucky fucker. And slowly but surely Freya wanks herself, creating this steady fap, fap, fap as her meat makes music in that elegant hand, big balls wobbling and shuddering appetisingly.

'They're dirty,' she says, glancing down at me, dipping her eyes lower in suggestion. 'But that doesn't bother you, does it?'

'No, Mistress. Not at all.'

She cocks her head to the side. 'Go on, slut. Worship your queen.'

I don't even use my hands. Those I pass beneath her parted legs, to latch onto the bench for support, but it's all in the mouth. All about my slutty starved mouth. The heat of her body growing thicker, the opulence of her odours so rich and titillating, and I can't hold back.

Schlup. Slurp.

'Ugh. Good boy. Work for that creamy–mhm–reward.'

'Mumph. Mhm-hm.'

I manage to get the left lump inside my lips without much effort, well-versed as I now am in this most wonderful of deeds. Her scrotal skin is silken, sticky with sweat, salty to the taste and deliciously dirty, pungent, suggestive of tremendous power lurking in her loins. This genetically superior specimen of a gorgeous girl, hung as she is like a donkey, deserves nothing less than this kind of worship. This adoration exemplified by oral sex.

Schlep. Schlurp.

And God, her balls are fat and tasty. Warm and dense in my mouth, the weird contrast of soft skin and firm bollock, all of it so responsive to my slutty suction and the teasing of my tongue. It's wonderful in and of itself, but today…today's special.

Because Mistress pats my head, and while she moans, while she trembles, she seems distinctly more in control. Less out of her depth.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Even when I change over to the other huge hanger, each of her nuts large to the point that if they were any larger I'd not be able to nurse on them, she maintains her coolness. Just plays with my hair, gently runs her fingers across my scalp.

'Good boy,' Mistress says, sweet as syrup. 'Mhm. Clean those balls for me, slut. Make that dirty mouth as filthy as can be, just for me. Just for–aah–Mistress.'

Her wanking has ceased, leaving only the messy sounds of my lurid lips, smacking and sucking, the carnal chorus of our union. Still, she holds her proud prick upright, away from me, a promise of reward when the moment is right. When she decides that I'm deserving of a mouthful of her thick futa milk.

'Mhm. Mhm-hm.'

Schlap. Schlurp. Smack.

My mouth makes a sweet sound as I pull free of one testicle, and go to the other again. Seal broken forcibly, the wetness echoes through the stillness of the gym, deliciously degrading. That I can make such loud sloppy noises, all in servile devotion to this divine dominatrix, tickles those same sordid parts of me that want nothing more than to belong to Freya Venyabildt.

'Slut,' Mistress says, giving me pause. 'This is wonderful, but I really do need to eat. You've done enough, washing those sweaty things. Tilt your head back. Let me reward you for your efforts.'

I must seem a dog, wagging its tail at the chance to get a bone. Instantly I'm free of her big beautiful balls, face stinking of her. Leaning back on my haunches, turning my gaze up to her rigid rod, I'm ready for the main event. All the more so as she pulls back her foreskin, freeing the glistening gooiness of that gloriously gorgeous glans. The plump pinkness that crowns her cock, smelling divine, richly of her delicious dick, waggles side to side above my head as she teases me with a hand.

'Mistress, what are you doing? I thought you said–'

Shlack.

Freya brings her weapon down, its weight wicked, the fat helmet of her heavenly hugeness leaving a messy kiss on my forehead. Schlack. She lifts it up, brings it down. Schlack . And again, pausing for a long moment after the third instance, leaving me with a trinity of sticky smooches across my face. Though the scent is incredible…

'Who the hell do you think you are, cumslut? Telling me what we're going to do?' Schlack . ' I will tell you what the game is. And today, your reward is this: you're going to clean my length with your tongue, and perhaps if you're lucky, later today – if you do a good job – I might let you suck me properly, with Morgan's assistance.' Schlack . 'Is that understood, slut?'

Fuck, she leaves me blushing. Leaves me caught up in my own trap. There I was, thinking myself clever, and she's outsmarted me. Doubly so, because God , it feels weirdly good to be denied. To have washed the sweat off of her sagging nuts, only to be disallowed the deliciousness of her creamy cum.

'B-ut, Mistress…'

'Do you want to clean me, or not? Because that's all I'm offering right now. If you hadn't been so badly behaved' – schlack – 'I'd have likely been happy to reward you. But you got ideas above your station, didn't you?'

I shut my eyes, and nod. 'I did, Mistress. I'm so, so sorry. Please let me make it up to you.'

And the very moment the words leave my mouth, her prodigious python comes down with a glorious schlack and doesn't leave me. A heavy humid hulk laid across my face, sweaty and sublime. It throbs, pulsates, raring to go and yet if Mistress is speaking the truth, this is all I'm getting for the moment.

'No hands,' Freya says. 'Just your tongue. No sucking, either. Just licking. Lick my cock clean, so that I don't have to do so much in the shower. Do a good job, slut. It's all you're good for, after all.'

God, she's gotten hot. I'd almost think it honest, if not for the little wink she does, the momentary masking of one of those brilliant blues. Mistress holds her enormous erection against my face, practically pins me with it, and I can barely nod for its effortless enforcement.

'Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry.'

'Words are not the proper use of your tongue, cumslut.' She rolls her glorious gaze. 'Think again, if you want to apologise.'

Fuck, why am this pathetically twisted, that being denied somehow possesses an appeal of its own? I suck in a breath through my nostrils, getting a heady whiff of her pseudo-masculine majesty, and then crudely stick out my tongue. Saltiness, faint filthiness, in the best of possible ways. Tasty, even edged in bitterness.

'Mhm.'

Mlep. Mlap.

'Good boy,' Mistress says. 'I'll move, so you just focus on one spot at a time.'

I begin halfway up her length, where she presses herself down against my face. Moving my head little, doing my best to get my tongue up around the bulky sides of her broad shaft, replacing the stickiness of sweat and whatever other risqué residues with a glaze of glistening spit.

Mlap. Mlep.

The position is difficult, the angle obnoxious. I find myself dribbling, excessive saliva from a mouth hungry for cock, at best getting a teasing taster. The way Mistress watches me, she finds me ridiculous, appealing all the same. She stands up, to have an easier time of it. Stands up, and begins slowly thrusting against my tongue, ensuring that I get a good covered on every inch of her cock.

'You're so pathetic, slut. The things you'll do, all for the hope of my sperm on your tongue.'

Mlep. Mlep.

'Mhm. Mumph. Anything for you, Mistress.'

'Oh, don't I know it.' She grins, ear to ear, as we make our way down towards the base. Inch after inch freed of one kind of dirtiness, replaced by another. 'You're my property, Tom. You'll do what I want, because you know that I own you. Because you want me to own you.'

I do. It's true. Every word. I am her hound, her pet, her property. An object, to be defiled. Defiled by my beautiful bodacious bronze-skinned Mistress. My goddess, my queen, my Freya.

Mlap. Mlap.

She pulls her cock to the side, and thrusts her hairy crotch against my face, engulfing me in golden curls, particularly sweaty and musky. 'Get your tongue in there, slut. Clean those pubes with that whore mouth.'

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Mistress tastes ever so good. That her body, sweaty and glistening after exercise, should taste so divine, tells me all that I need to know. That we're so compatible, so right, so properly paired. As I lick and lap around the base of her prodigious prick, face clad in golden curls, I'm in a kind of humiliating heaven. A perversely pathetic paradise. Every time I get my tongue deep in that sweaty jungle, my tastebuds are tickled, my mind sent racing with lurid notions of utter submission and intimate inferiority.

Mlap. Mlep.

'Mhm. Good boy,' Mistress says, controlling my head and her cock both, a hand on each. 'Time to wash the tip. All the nooks and crannies.'

I nod, frantic, filthy. Filthier by the moment as she dirties me in this delicious fashion, using my tongue as a makeshift scrubber for her sweaty schlong. Extended as my drooling dick-tickler is, she drags herself along it, the top of her cock getting a thorough lapping as we work inch by inch towards her glorious glans.

Schlack.

When she gets there, she slaps herself down on my exposed tongue. Splatters my tastebuds in a thickly rich flavour, her sweat and stale precum and old seed and whatever else, dirty and divine and cock-achingly carnal. Schlack. Schlack. Schlack. And like some hungry, horrible wretch, I do my best to tease and tickle at her throbbing crown whenever it lands, wherever it lands, all to a chorus of chuckling from my mean-spirited Mistress. Her huge helmet is lustrous, thickly-contoured, ever so hot and heavy. I get my tongue behind the rear ridge, where the flavours are thickest, tongue-tingling and perverse.

Mlep. Mlap.

The eyelet of her glorious glans, oozing away when it comes to rest across the flat of my tongue, releases such pleasant saltiness, fresher and cleaner than the rest of her filthy flavours. Lubricant, for an act that won't come to pass. An act I wish for, long for, but have managed to deny myself. To deny, and…thoroughly enjoy being denied.

'You're such a whore, Tom. Such a dirty, dick-cleaning slut.'

'Mhm. Yes, Mistress. Anything for you. I'm your slut, your bitch, your toy.'

Her eyes flare, bright and bold, excited and enticed. Mistress is hotter than hell itself, a futanari fiend of the finest quality, and I'm at her mercy. I overstepped, and she still managed to make my day. Managed to wrestle control back in the sultriest sense.

God, I want to suck so badly. Want her in my mouth like little else on Earth, but I know that if I disobey, she'll be serious. I can see it in her eyes. This is love, of a sort, of our sort. This is our game, the game I wanted to play, and now…now I have to follow the rules.

Which makes it all the worse when she pulls away before I'm satisfied.

'That'll do, slut.' No. She can't! 'Oh? Not enough?'

I shake my head. 'Please, Mistress. I…I'm so sorry, but I–'

'I'm going to feed the fat load you just worked up to Morgan,' Mistress says, smirking devilishly. 'And if you're lucky, she'll share it with you. But you'll have to beg her, I'm sure.' Freya winks at me, and pulls away her perfect penis. Steps away, leaves me trembling with need. 'God, I love teasing you. You're ever so sexy, you submissive little slut.'

She moves quickly, dropping down beside me, kissing my neck. I gasp, suck in a hurried, frantic breath. 'You stink, Tom. You stink of cock and ball sweat, like the suck-pig you are. Go fucking shower, okay?'

'M-istress…'

'I know, I know. But this is important, isn't it? You wanted me to become a good domme, didn't you?' Mwah . Another fleeting kiss, those lovely lips provoking a shudder. 'Be careful what you wish for, Tom. You're getting it.'

As she picks up her shorts and walks away, hips swaying, buttocks jiggling in a glorious fashion, up-down, up-down, all I can do is stare and lick my lips. Stare, and taste her on my mouth and skin. Stare, and begin to smile like a lovestruck idiot.

Yes . I'm getting it .

Chapter 13: Double Trouble

Summary:

Tom deals with more plotting between the sisters, and a game. If Freya wins, then Morgan is to suck her off. But if Morgan wins, then Freya will do the honours instead! But in the heat of the "contest," things get a lot spicier than original intended...

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Double Trouble

Freya leaves me with a particularly bothersome erection, made worse for the fact that all of this oppressive lust is directed at her mischievous self.

Fuck, I can still smell her delicious dick on my face. The first time ever that she seems to actually manage some degree of restrain during one of my blowjobs, and she goes and twists the whole thing about to make a mockery of me. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

I am not losing that load to Morgan. Sharing, well, that seems a given, because Mistress is on the warpath towards genuine self-affirmation, but I've done so much work. Craved the beautiful bronze-skinned blonde every waking moment of my days since we met, and now this? Teasing torment. And Jesus Christ, she's so absurdly alluring when she acts like this.

While Freya showers, I go seeking her sister. Cum on the brain, but that of a specific Venyabildt, as much as the gorgeous goth herself possesses a particularly pleasant flavour of penile produce. I go to her room, just down the landing hallway from mine and Mistress's, but there's no answer. I try the handle, and it's locked.

'Is there something you need me for?' Morgan says, appearing in our doorway, in a black dress and some black metal t-shirt which nonetheless highlights her excessively ample breasts. She smiles, lips ruby rimmed with black, the moment I turn to face her. 'You look awfully flustered, sweet Tom. Can I help you?'

'We need to talk,' I say, marching in her direction, passing through the doorway beside her. Walking into the middle of mine and Freya's room, before the big TV, I take a big inhale and soothe myself. 'I…this is going to sound a bit dirty, but it's serious.'

'Dirty and serious are my favourite pastimes.' The vampiric beauty comes up behind me and takes hold of my shoulders, slowly massaging them. 'So tense, sweet Tom. What's gotten you all worked up?'

I sigh loudly, shake my head. 'I was so close to giving Freya a blowjob to completion, and then she pulled away. To…well, to punish me.'

Fuck, I'm surprised she doesn't just burst into laughter. Morgan continues to tease at my upper back, her hands magical in their motions. Slow and steady circles, with fingers tipped in long, threatening nails of obsidian black. The older sister's smells, her dark fruitiness and subtle sensuality, provoke a slight degree of salivation. My brain does, of course, associate her with the act of passionate cock worship and the consumption of jism.

'She's learning, it sounds like. You weren't happy that she denied you?'

'I mean, it was hot, but it was something else she added. Something involving you.'

'Oh? Do tell.'

'I…need to ask a favour.'

Instinct has my back arch as the gothic futanari slides her taloned hands across the fronts of my shoulders and pulls me against the front of her body, those truly tremendous tits especially warm and wonderful against my spine. Beneath her steady massaging I tremble, shiver like a fool, caught up in the captivating carnality of the eldest Venyabildt daughter.

'Favours are for those that are owed them, sweet Tom. Last I checked, you gulped down my load out of free will, without any notion of repayment,' Morgan says, teasing at my chest with a sharp nail. 'Even that blowjob I promised you doesn't really count, given that it'll be on my terms. And I'm hardly going to trade-in that game for something of doubtlessly lesser value.'

'You don't even know what I want just yet,' I say, turning my head to the side and meeting her pale and perfect gaze. 'Freya…she said that she's going to feed you the load I worked up. And…and well I wondered if…if we could maybe share?'

Morgan slips the tip of her tongue out and wets the inner rims of her lips, watching me with illicit intent. Her mouth forms a particularly smug kind of smirk, a dirtily delicious look that at once arouses and intimidates. As much as I am, more and more, becoming convinced of the gorgeous goth's innocence when it comes to the worst worries Mistress once held, she's nonetheless far scarier than even her father.

'I'll share, and in fact, I'll openly encourage Blondie to incorporate you into our blowjob sessions, but you have to do something for me in return. And no, it's not what you think, though it does involve the oral sex that we both so adore.'

Whatever Morgan's thinking up, it has so powerful an effect on her lusts that her cock is already poking at my backside in anticipation. Her fat-headed futanari endowment lifts her skirt and presses a noticeable heat against me, as well as a heavy rhythmic pulsation that reverberates through her shaft. The obvious thing, the thing that I'd happily repeat again and again – especially with Mistress feeling less threatened – must hardly hold a candle to whatever she's dreaming of.

'What do you want, then?'

Morgan leans close, resting her chin against my shoulder. Smooch . She kisses my cheek and breaths hotly against my ear, reaching up to cup my jaw from below. 'I want a double blowjob,' she says. 'I want my little sister to swallow down a batch of my seed, sweet Tom. And in return, you'll never be left out of our sessions. Deal?'

I shake my head. What a fucking lunatic thought. How is anyone going to get Freya sucking dick, let alone the person she's so set on dominating?!

'I can't tell her to do that,' I say. 'Mistress isn't going to just go back on her domme progress for my sake, Morgan.'

The gorgeous goth chuckles, a rich and risqué sound. So effortlessly sexual, just like her sister, but dramatically more experienced in this theatre of titillation. 'We'll convince her, Tom, but I need your support to do so. You offer that support, you help me sway Blondie into blowing me, and even if it doesn't work today, I'll share with you. Simple as that.'

What a mad proposition. To do this thing, all for the sake of enjoying my Mistress and the thick virility of her balls, but in return I have to somehow manage to help Morgan sway her into doing something that seems, in the grand scheme of things, the last thing she'll ever pursue? What the hell am I meant to do here?

'That's impossible. And fuck, what if she thinks I'm scheming against her?'

Morgan presses a hand upon my belly, pushes her big creamy breasts against the back of my head. 'She won't, because you're not. Blondie might think that blowjobs are some intrinsic act of submission, but surely I've shown by now that such isn't so,' Morgan says, speaking lusty and low against my ear. Her breath is sweet, fruity, despite the darkness of her appearance. 'Or do you think I am, at core, some little slut in need of a master?'

It's hard to think that while she's in full control of things, dominating me here without being such a physical powerhouse as her sister is. And her words, too, aren't exactly far from the truth. Even in the midst of loading her mouth with Freya's cum, Morgan seemed no less her usual and somewhat terrifying self.

'No, but…Mistress doesn't see it that way.'

'Which is why you're going to help me change her mind.' Smooch . Morgan kisses my cheek, inhales my smells in a way that provokes a distinct disturbance in my groin. 'All I want is to open Blondie's eyes to the pleasure of switching things up, and abandoning her outdated notions of master and slave with reference to her equals. All I want is to drop one of my loads – and you know their quality first-hand – right across her tastebuds.' The gorgeous goth chuckles, the sound utterly oozing perversion. 'And think about it on your end, Tom. If Freya's open to sucking me off, and I show her just how I intend to go about blowing you…you might find a new pleasure in being made to suffer from those lips you so adore.'

'You said…said that futanaris aren't meant to submit to men.'

'I did, and I mean it. We'll never be yours to command,' Morgan says. That hand on my stomach dips lower, takes firm hold of my manhood. 'But picture this, if you'd be so kind: you, sitting on a chair beside my beanbag, tied up and unable to do anything but squeal and beg.' As she speaks, as my head creates the image, my cock aches all the fiercer. 'Every now and then I might want to enjoy myself by sucking your dick, but it'll be on my terms. Perhaps it'll take an hour. Perhaps it's going to take half the day. Because every time I think you're going to pop – and you know , as well, how talented I am with my lips – I'll get back to my game, and forget all about you. And all the begging in the world won't cause me to empty those balls any faster, much as we both want, on some level, to see you cum.'

'Ugh.'

I shiver, and groan, as she begins to stroke me through my trousers. 'Sounds wonderful, doesn't it?'

'Y-eah. It does.'

Mwah. Morgan kisses my neck, continuing to tug on me. 'Now imagine Blondie doing the same. Or both of us, at once. Playing one of our games, inventing rules with which to torment you. Working out a single load from those handsome nuts of yours over hours, two beautiful Venyabildts torturing that pretty prick until you cum utter buckets in one of our mouths…'

Freya, thankfully, saves me. Fuck, it'd be the most embarrassing thing in the world to cum just from her touching the shape of my shaft from outside of my clothes.

'What are you two up to?' Mistress says, stepping into the room. Showered, and in a bathrobe, her natural beauty presents an ever-alluring contrast to her sister's made-up majesty. 'Oh. Did Tom come up to beg you to let him share that load of mine he's worked so hard for?' She chuckles, playfully cruel, and rolls her brilliant blue eyes. 'Well, Morgan? Did you agree?'

'Unfortunately not,' Morgan says, releasing me at last. 'He sadly has so little to offer me, beyond sucking my cock again. And we both know that's not a thing to be traded for.'

Well, not the way around which she's referring to, clearly. It's odd how I'm struck by a faint awkwardness, turning to Mistress with my hands covering the prominence in my trousers induced by the machinations of her sister. Freya only grins, lust alive and well in her eyes, and she practically undresses me with a gaze.

'Hands away, slut,' Mistress says, wetting her lips. 'Don't hide your shame from me, Tom.'

My cock, of course, only swells all the fiercer with her talking to me like that. And, at the same time, any hope of fulfilling Morgan's deal seems that much more distant. Freya Venyabildt ogles me like meat, part of the performance – especially dialled up in the presence of her sister – and seems ever so much clearer in terms of the person she's seeking to become. God, she's sex on legs without being so effortlessly in control, but now I'm struck with some hint of that same vibe I get from Morgan, that low-grade fearful arousal that stems from being at the mercy of this wonderfully wicked woman.

'Are you ready for today's practice?' Morgan says, folding her arms beneath her massive milky-white breasts. 'It must be having quite the positive result already, given what sweet Tom told me in the midst of his begging.'

Mistress laughs, grins gorgeously. 'Well, I've always been a fast learner. Your little tricks work wonders.' Freya shuts the door and pulls at the cord of the bathrobe, happily slipping out of it. 'Where do you want me, Morgan? Tom's made sure that I've got a particularly heavy load, just for lucky old you.'

Morgan wets her lips, and reaches for me without looking. She gives my cock a firm squeezing, paying especial attention to the swollen tip. 'I wanted to suggest a game of sorts, actually. Something to make this a little more interesting, given that you're progressing so well.'

Freya shrugs her shoulders and goes to the sofa, wicked womanliness jiggling generously as she moves. She's a feast for the eyes, in motion. Those big breasts and curvaceous hips pair with her plump firm buttocks, all of it complemented by her massive member swinging freely between her thighs, large loins bouncing about. Bronze and beautiful, Mistress cups my face and strokes my jaw as she passes by, winking as she seats herself in the very centre of the sofa before her wall-mounted TV.

'I suppose that could be a fun way to mix things up, so long as you're still going to suck me off,' Mistress says, sighing. 'I certainly wouldn't want Tom to think he's worked me up for nothing.'

The gorgeous goth releases me, giving me a guiding push towards the shelf beneath the television. 'Get us the controllers, sweet Tom. We'll play Street Fighter.'

Freya clicks her teeth. 'I'm no good at it. Call of Duty has split-screen, so we'll play that instead.'

The look Morgan gives me is tantamount to mischief personified. 'Fine. Best of three. And what do you want if you win?'

' When , dear sister.' Freya exaggerates her smile as Morgan sits down beside her. 'I want…I want you to be my cocksucker for a whole week, and not for training purposes.'

The elder Venyabildt chuckles softly. 'A whole week? Is the hope that I'll form a habit?'

It's Freya who gives me the glance of cunning this time. 'Perhaps. And what is it that you want, if you win?'

I pick up the controllers and turn back to the beautiful sisters just in time to witness their locked gaze, lust writ large on either perfect face. The sexual tension is obvious, that salacious spark burning bright in both pairs of blues. Freya wants to dominate her big sister, in some act of vengeance for past meddling. Morgan, however, wants to introduce her little sister to a world of pleasures outside of her comfort zone.

Each takes a controller from me without paying me any real notice, and I sit myself down on the opposite side of Freya just as Morgan wets her lips and says, with the dirtiest smile on her crimson-black lips, 'I want you to give me a blowjob, Blondie. To completion. Just the one will do, however. I'm not quite so greedy as you are.'

The words seem to take a while to register, because for a long moment Mistress simply stares at her sister, facing away from me so that I can't get a good look at the contortions of her face. She does this little gasp-chuckle, and then turns away from Morgan, towards the screen.

'Pick something else,' Freya says, turning on her controller and getting the Playstation's home screen up. 'I won't do that.'

'I thought you were certain to win this? Besides, it's not much to ask. I've sucked you off, after all. I even let you cum in my mouth.'

Mistress's dominant visage falters faintly, her cheeks growing fractionally flush. 'That's different. Pick something else.'

'It's not in the least,' Morgan says. She shuffles up beside her younger sister, so that their thighs are brushing together. Creamy pale flesh against tan bronze, each voluptuous and vividly enticing. 'Do you really think my interest here is dominating you?'

Music starts playing as the CoD menu screen comes up on the TV. Mistress hurriedly flicks through the options, getting a two-player game set up. A deathmatch, settings as minimalistic as possible, on a straightforward map. All for the sake of a brief tallying up of kills, to ensure a clear victor.

'Just play the game, Morgan.'

'So you'll blow me if you lose?'

Freya sighs. 'I'm not going to–'

'Please, Mistress,' I say, quickly interjecting. 'You shouldn't be worried. I believe in you, I know that you'll win.' Freya glances my way, lips pursed. Not unhappy with me, as such. In some weird way, not all that unhappy. 'It's going to be all the sweeter to beat Morgan fairly, right? Especially if she really wants to win herself.'

'Why do you care?'

I wet my lips. 'You can…add something to your side of the request, right?'

'She can,' Morgan says. Her smirk changes, infinitesimally, when her sister finds it. 'Try me, Blondie.'

Mistress turns back to me. 'What do you want, slut?'

'A blowjob a day, from Morgan. If you win.'

The gorgeous goth rolls her pale eyes and snorts. 'You're definitely going to have put a blowjob up in return to get that out of me.'

Freya groans. 'Tom…'

I lean close, speaking softly into her ear. 'I want to share that load in your balls with Morgan, and she asked me to back her up here,' I say, practically kissing her skin. 'I've been naughty, Mistress, and you should punish me for even hearing her schemes, but…if you win this way, Morgan will be submitting to both of us.'

The devilishly delicious look which crosses Freya's face is a thing of peerless beauty, fully restoring all reserves of assertiveness. 'You really are fucking naughty,' Mistress says, aloud, passingly chewing on her lower lip. 'Fine. To humiliate you, Morrigan , I'm going to make you suck Tom's cock for the week. On his terms, as well. Real, submissive blowjobs, for both of us. Maybe even at the same time.'

The vampiric beauty sighs sweetly. 'I can handle that, Blondie. Anything for the chance of seeing the look on that pretty face when I drop a load across your tastebuds.'

Mistress glares sidelong at her sister, and the game begins. I'm struck by the low worry that Freya might lose her cool if she actually gets beaten here, but it's not like I've lied, is it? I told her the truth, told her Morgan's plot…that's got to be worth some good-boy points, if nothing else. And clearly, my beautiful blonde lover is happy enough to risk it. Right…?

'You're weird, and you've got things the wrong way round,' Freya says, rolling her eyes. She gets off to a strong start, so far as I can tell. Honestly, shooters aren't really my jam, but if anyone's good at them, it's Mistress. 'My loads, your mouth. You made that rule, not me.'

Morgan says nothing. She seems to be avoiding Freya, keeping as far away from her as possible given the confines of the fairly small, fairly straightforward map. But when the two at last spot one another, it's not Mistress who comes out on top.

'Lucky shot.'

Again, the goth is silent. That "lucky shot" seems to keep happening. It's not that Freya's not good, but Morgan seems that much better. Headshot after headshot, and when Mistress starts to blush, to faintly lose her cool, she mixes up her choice of weapons and tries to copy her big sister, but to no avail. Lucky shot. Lucky shot. Lucky shot.

'You're joking,' Mistress says, lip starting to quiver. 'No way am I sucking your dick.'

Morgan, finally, laughs. A lusty little thing. 'You don't have to do it alone. Sweet Tom can teach you how I like to be treated.'

To my great surprise, Freya doesn't lash out. She gets a kill or three, but overall, Morgan wins. The gothic pseudo-succubus of a sister comes out on top, resoundingly so. Mistress doesn't even throw the controller in a rage, or raise her voice.

'Are you serious? You're actually going to make me do this?'

The older Venyabildt shrugs. 'I'm not going to make you do anything, Blondie. But you did make the bet, and if I can't trust you to honour it, there's no way I'm helping you out with this domme training business.'

Freya actually looks my way, not with suspicion or disdain, but with a kind of firm-lipped pleading. Her cheeks are slightly flush, and her expression tells me all that I need to know. That one way or another, she's looking for my input. And realistically, what can I say? I both want Morgan to let me share Mistress's load with her, and I want – I realise, rather badly – to see Freya with her big sister's big cock in her mouth.

'What if Morgan's right?' I say. The words seem to soothe her. Freya's eyes flutter and her cheeks grow redder. 'I'm just saying, it's not necessarily submissive.'

'I don't think any futanari should submit to another,' Morgan says. 'I don't want you as a pet, Blondie. But I do want to introduce you to something that, I think, you'll very much enjoy. Something that, I think, might give you a powerful appreciation for what I, and sweet Tom, both love giving to you.'

Mistress, naked and bronze and beautiful and perfect, sighs loudly. 'Tom's helping, and you'll cum in his mouth.'

'No. You're welcome to share with your slut, but no, I want you to taste me. I want us to leave this room with the realisation that you know something deeply intimate about your big sister's body, just like I know that same fact about yours.'

Freya shuts her eyes tightly. 'How are you so good at that fucking game? You don't even play shooters. You literally just play those stupidly hard Japanese games.'

'Maybe I've been plotting a little bit.' The gothic beauty unclasps her skirt, throwing away a heavy-buckled belt. Mistress keeps her eyes closed for the duration, but I can't stop staring at the pale perfection of her older sister as Morgan rises onto her tall-booted feet and lets the garment fall freely to pile around her ankles. Her underwear today, if it can even be called such, is a pair of crotchless lacy panties, showing off her creamy white cock and plump balls. 'Look at me, Blondie. Look at my body.'

Mistress sighs again and sucks in a deep breath, then resists no longer. Her brilliant blue quiver as they take in the sizeable sight, the gothic girldick halfway towards full arousal, so similar in size to Freya's but with a more noticeably plump head. The blonde beauty stands up and moves with urgency, passing me towards the dresser by our bed, where she collects up a scrunchie and quickly does her hair up.

'I am so not looking at you,' Freya says, turning back, grimacing. 'And you will not mention this to anyone. You're fucking weird .'

'Why's it weird this way around, but not the other? You like me blowing you, don't you?'

Mistress twists her mouth, eyes wet, cheeks flush. 'That's…that's different. I don't like that it's you , but this is about me, isn't it? I'm your little sister, and you want me to suck you off.'

Morgan takes the opportunity to sit herself down beside me, taking Freya's spot. She casually pulls up her t-shirt, revealing a lacy translucent bra, all black and web-like, fitting her style to the letter. The statuesque seductress parts her legs wide, and rests her arms across the back of the sofa.

'Come on, Blondie. You know what to do.'

Freya rolls her eyes again and struts over. 'Tom can start.'

'No. You start, and sweet Tom can join when I say so.'

Mistress groans, and apparently accepts her fate. Honestly, I'm proud of her. To whine and reject this, when she made a decision – one I barely influenced – would only harken back to when she was less capable of controlling herself. And what good is dominance, if you don't dominate yourself first and foremost?

But fuck me, what a stupendous sight. I have never, ever, seen Freya on her knees in this fashion. She manages, with characteristic charm, to not look the least bit shy or slutty, maintaining a glare that could focus the sun's rays into a laser.

The contrast of bronze on cream, as Mistress takes up her big sister's big cock in her right hand, is a fine thing. With no hint of shyness she reaches below and cup's the older futanari's nuts in her other hand, beginning to stroke and massage at once, getting that sizeable flaccid member up to suitable sturdiness.

Fap, fap, fap, fap.

'I bet you think you're so clever, huh, Morrigan ?'

The gorgeous goth, already smiling smugly, looks all the prouder. 'I actually like that name, when you say it. It feels less like an exile's title and more like a playful retort. Mhm.'

When Morgan – Morrigan, here? I don't know – moans the first time, sweet and short, Freya's cheeks grow redder. Dominance or submission are irrelevant, but there's a clear spark between the two beautiful sisters. As much as Mistress tries to do otherwise, her brilliant blue eyes keep finding her sister's sublimely milky mammaries, that profound pair of breasts which are the biggest in the house, H-cups or I-cups or something silly. Two captivatingly creamy mounds, their nipples pale pink and areolae wide, puffy, smooth.

Fap, fap, schl-fap, schl-fap.

My eyes, and Freya's attention, dip down to Morgan's member as it grows to full hardness, and her arousal provokes a slickness that adds a wicked wetness to the meatiness of masturbation. A few more tugs and the plump pale purpleness of the elder sister's truly gargantuan glans slides forth from its confines, a thing of perverse prettiness, all lustrous and sticky with pre-ejaculate.

'Woah,' Freya says, clearly not hearing herself. 'I mean–'

'It's okay, Blondie. I think you've got a killer cock yourself. I mean, they kind of do run in the family. Haven't you seen Daddy's?'

Mistress goes to speak but falls quiet, averting her gaze and then glancing at me, for support, for guidance. Yet as our eyes meet she blushes all the brighter, as if saying: this isn't me, it's just a thing, I'm not really anything other than your domme. But then, I guess, she still doesn't get it. Because as much as Morrigan schemes, I don't think this is one. Or at least, not of the sort that the beautiful blonde has been pursuing.

'I…that'd be wrong.'

'Or really, really right .' Morgan reaches down and cups her sister's jaw, provoking no sudden avoidance. 'You're fucking gorgeous, Freya. You're making me ever so happy.'

Freya doesn't resist, though perhaps it's partly from sheer surprise. Her big sister leans low and takes hold of her face with both hands, urging her up, eyes locked on gorgeous eyes right up to the point that – if I'm really seeing this, and I'm not just dreaming of one of those impossibly sexy scenarios – their lips, each luscious and lovely, press against one another.

Mwah .

Just a peck, delivered by Morgan, and then Mistress contributes. Contributes a potent burst of passion, going so far as to taste her sister's mouth. Smooch. Mlep. And then the two are snogging, actually tongue-kissing, right in front of me. Jesus Christ. My cheeks burn and a chill runs up my back, and fuck me my cock is hard as a rock.

'You taste ever so good,' the vampiric beauty says, breaking the kiss. She licks her lips, just to make a point of it. 'Just like I imagined. I've always loved your smell, Blondie.'

'I…I can't…I…'

'Tom knows what this is about, okay? Let's put this silly worry to rest: I do not want to dominate you, but is it really so wrong if we show our love for one another like this? I mean, honestly, you're so much like me, and I'm a prime egoist.' Morgan strokes her little sister's cheek, reaching her taloned fingers up to brush Freya's hairline. 'You're like Daddy and Mummy combined, aren't you? Just like me.'

'You don't want to dominate me? But–'

'Genevieve is a fucking psychopath, Freya.' When Morrigan speaks now, her eyes quiver, growing wet. When she blinks, subtle tears fall. 'I am ever so sorry for the way I treated you. I thought I was helping you, I thought at the time that we had to be hard, be cruel, but I just pushed you away. I want my little sister back, and I want her to love me like I love her. That's all. You shouldn't ever submit to anyone, Blondie. You, and me, and Daddy? We should always be on top.'

Freya moves like a beast, momentarily frightening. There's this flurry of hair, blonde and black, and then the two of them are rolling about on the sofa, eating one another's faces. Mwah. Smack. God, and the sight of two futanari lower halves is something to die for, their dicks so big and their curves so prominent, with their members brushing together as the two sisters snog in such a fashion that it's like some crude fencing match.

'Holy shit,' I say, provoking a break in the kissing. 'Don't stop on my account.'

When they turn to me, each blushing brightly, smiling away, my heart skips a beat. There's no repulsion, and plenty of cathartic tears. As if some wall has been torn down, and Morgan's incestuous interest in her sister has been mirrored, or perhaps simply revealed to be matched in Freya's heart.

'Sorry, Tom,' Mistress says. 'I don't want to leave you out, but' – her gaze tilts back to Morgan, and on some level I don't blame her – 'I'm kind of busy with something.'

Morrigan chuckles, and winks at me. 'Why don't you be a good boy and tend to our bodies, sweet Tom? You might as well make that mouth useful.'

Smooch. Mwah.

They resume their titillating tumbling, beautiful bodies pressed together in a tight and tantalising crush. It's one hell of a show. Four fantastic breasts and two sets of glorious curves, not to mention a pair of profoundly perfect penises and between them a quartet of balls that produce the finest loads imaginable. In the midst of things, Freya ends up on top of Morgan, her bubble-butt raised towards me in a suggestive manner.

That beautiful hole, set between those two charmingly plump bronze cheeks, calls to me on some instinctive level. Especially given that she's fresh out of the shower, just about as clean as she can possibly be before whatever this is going to become makes us all very, very dirty.

'Can I eat your arse, Mistress? If it's not too much to–'

Freya moves with startling speed and accuracy for someone rather busy sticking her tongue down her sister's throat. She reaches back and makes good use of my proximity, roughly snatching me by the top of the head and thrusting me down between her bulky buns, squeezing their fantastic fatness tight around my face as I become engulfed by that vulgar valley.

'Eat up, slut. Now shut up, and let me focus!'

Mlep. Slup. Mwah.

God, thank you, Freya. And thank you, Morgan. This…this is a much more manageable outcome than watching Mistress attempt to dominate someone who, I have to admit, might be better used as an ally than a pet. But I, too, had best focus. Focus on the phenomenal futanari backside pressed against my face.

'Mhm-hm.'

I press my hands into her bubble-butt, sinking my fingers into the yielding plushness of her perfect posterior. It does wonders to get me a solid grip as Freya leaves me be, relying on my own risqué sense of ravenousness to do the rest of the work. Her sphincter presses up against my lips, my nose finding a mixture of fresh body wash and the innate illicitness of this place, faintly femininely musky from its closeness to her coochie.

Mlap. Schlup. Smooch.

Kissing and licking does the trick as I massage her big buns, causing Mistress to moan into Morgan's mouth as the two tantalising temptresses roll about, exploring one another's bodies with an intensity reminiscent of the first times me and Freya fucked once feelings had been acknowledged. I've half a mind to wonder what this is going to mean for myself, but I also have a faceful of beautiful bottom, so…priorities.

'Mumph.'

'Mhaah. Mhm.'

Smooch. Smack.

Schlep. Mlap.

The room fills with incestuous illicitness and dutiful depravity, two mouths sucking on one another, a third happily tending to a sordid sphincter of lustrous pretty pink amidst bronze. As much as I enjoyed eating Morgan's arse, Freya's commitment to honing her body has left her rear truly resplendent, its cheeks firm and proud, making the titillating treat between them all the more desirable.

All the better that she noticeably shivers, with each and every lap, sometimes pushing back against me and causing those weighty orbs dangling between her thighs to swing back and in the most exceptional cases bump with a thup against my chin. God, I love futanaris.

Something shifts between the two of them, however, and suddenly Mistress is pushing back, truly trapping me between her cheeks. She laughs, a touch mean, mostly affectionate in that newly naughty style of hers.

'I want that blowjob,' Morgan says. 'From both of you. At once.'

'You can't tell Dad or Mum. Please.'

Stuffed between Mistress's cheeks, I'm a perverse paradise, though pressed as I am against the far arm of the sofa, there's the very faint worry that if Freya doesn't move soon I might end up suffocating. Maybe.

Mwah . 'I was never going to. This is our thing, this is…sister bonding time. Venyabildt-style.' The gorgeous goth chuckles, all of a sudden. 'Ease up on your pet, Blondie. Sweet Tom should come up for air.'

Freya shifts her hips, side to side. 'I think it kind of suits him, actually. I definitely need to–mhm–get him down there more often.'

'He's good, isn't he? He ate my arse when he sucked me off. Eager little pervert. You've done well, finding a man of his quality.'

Quality? Me? Shit. Though I suppose submissive slut ranks highly in this household as a desirable trait. 'Mhm. Mumph.'

'Yes, yes, I like you too, Thomas,' Morgan says, sighing. 'Will you do it, Freya? Can we love one another properly, going forwards?'

'It's so weird, but…you're so hot, Morrigan.'

Smooch. Smack. God, I wish I was joining them.

'You too, Blondie. And it's not that weird. It's just how this family works. We do things our way, to hell with weirdness.' Suddenly I'm exposed to fresh – though, at the same time, less delicious – air, and the two sisters are practically embracing, the younger held affectionately against the older. 'Sweet Tom,' Morgan says, smirking at me. 'Do you think it's weird?'

I shrug, sitting upright, smiling stupidly. The sight of Freya's cock and pussy, nestled behind those lovely loins, obvious to me from the way she leans against her sister, provokes a firm throbbing in my trousers.

'Stop staring and answer, Tom,' Mistress says, playfully glaring at me. 'I…care about your opinion on this.'

'Of course, it's weird, but then so is the fact that you two are futanaris,' I say. 'You're consenting adults, right? This seems a lot healthier than the scheming the both of you were doing.'

'Wait, what?'

They practically say it together, in unison. I may or may not have stepped in it. Whoops. I throw up my hands and shuffle backwards, as if distance will save me from the two tremendous towering beauties. Both manage, so effortlessly, that Venyabildt-grade assertiveness, a look that suggests, firmly, my place in this peculiar arrangement. Beneath the both of them, as is the natural order.

'I mean, Freya wanted to dominate you, Morgan. And Morgan has been trying one thing or other on from the start, though maybe this was the ultimate aim of it all.'

The two sisters look to one another, then back to me. Mistress slowly grins, a thing of gleeful glory, unleashed and untameable. Little by little, to a less vicious degree, her elder sister wears her own mirror of that marvellous majesty.

'What with today being a special occasion,' Freya says, 'I have another idea, concerning that blowjob.'

'Do tell, Blondie.'

Mistress wets her luscious lips. 'Slut, get on your fucking knees. You're going to blow us both. You wanted my load, right? Lucky you, you get to eat two.'

I move my mouth, I think to try and speak, but nothing close to words emerges. Before me, the two gorgeous girls rearrange themselves, shuffling towards the edge of the sofa and pressing their thighs together, sat side by side in readiness. I'm not sure my cheeks have ever been so hot as they are now, surely red as strawberries.

'Oh, how cute,' Morgan says, winking at me. 'His two favourite cocks in all the world, and he gets to suck both at the same time. It must be like Christmas come early, sweet Tom? Emphasis on the come .'

'Th-ank you,' I manage to say, stumbling off the edge of the seat. 'Fuck. Jesus.'

'Yes, yes, you slutty bottom bitch.' Freya rolls her eyes and brings to bear her massive member, every bit as sizeable as her sister's, if not quite so fat in terms of both balls and bell-end. Though if age is a factor, the former may well change… 'Come on, slut. Tend to us. Make that mouth actually do something useful.'

I'm on my knees in a heartbeat, crawling over to some spot between the two of them. Each is a gorgeous goddess of a creature, a pair of dominant dickgirls with captivating cocks. One pale, one richly bronze. One older, one younger. Two sisters, two virile Venyabildts, a goth and a blonde beauty. Shit, I'm salivating like a starving man presented with a fine meal. How the hell do you decide where to begin, spoilt for choice like this?

'You think you're ready for this, Blondie?' Morgan strokes her sister's thigh, up and down, slow and appreciative. 'I know you're doing well, but you're a little riled up right now.'

Mistress twists her mouth. 'It's okay if I cum first, all right? I'll last longer, but this is…this has to happen.' She sets her brilliant blues upon me and smiles, the dominatrix momentarily replaced with my loving girlfriend. 'It took every bit of strength in me to deny you earlier, Tom. Seriously, what you did was perfect.'

I shuffle closer, one foot of each of them touching together between my parted knees. With my hands on their silken thighs, at the point where their beautiful bodies brush together, I'm struggling to believe that this is real. All the more so when each lovely lady puts a hand down on my own, squeezing, showing sweetness on both sides. For all their feistiness, their effortless meanness and mockery, it's rather clear how the sisters view me.

'I'll…I'll take care of both of you, but how's this going to work? I just alternate?'

Morgan nods gently. 'Alternating works. You know what to do, sweet Tom. It's not a new thing for you. Just think of it like dealing with an extra cock, at the same time. I'm sure by the time you're finished, we'll all be very happy.'

Slowly but surely, I reach for them both. Honestly, one huge futanari cock is enough, but two? It's paradise. Two heavy erections, throbbing against my hands, hot and silken-firm to the touch. Fap, fap, fap . I begin to stroke them, to tug on the twin titans, not quite sure where to look. A sensory overload, without a doubt.

'You look so happy,' Freya says, brushing the side of my face. 'It's all for you, slut. All that healthy Venyabildt sperm. I bet you can't wait.'

I glance at my Mistress, meeting her smile and her brilliant blue gaze, and go for her first. Smooch. Mwah . A couple of kisses while I pull back the hood from her helmet, freeing the plump pink prominence that caps off her swollen shaft. 'I'm in fucking heaven,' I say, then part my lips. 'Mhm. Mumph.'

'Mhm. Good slut. Aah.'

Schlup. Slurp.

I bob my head, sliding her thick delicious dick across my tongue, finding a healthy helping of salty precum as my reward. Fuck, she's right. Two big loads of their strong sperm, just for me. All that creamy cum, fresh out of two pairs of fantastically fat futanari balls.

'Such a dutiful dicksucker,' Morgan says, patting my head. 'I imagine you'll be doing this a lot, going forwards. Mhm. Tend to our needs, cumdump. Serve your betters.'

She guides my head, sliding her fingers down between my ears, urging me to service her sister with increased force and frequency. I eagerly suck in my cheeks and slurp on Mistress's marvellous manhood, its heat filling my mouth, its throbbing thickness oozing such oily saltiness across every inch of my tongue, on a warpath towards the tightness of my throat. Which, of course, it readily slips into.

Schlep. Glugp. Schlup.

Fap, fap, fap.

'Mumph. Mhm.'

'Aahn. God, I love blowjobs so much,' Freya says, squeezing my shoulder. 'It feels so right, having him do this. Like his–ugh–mouth is a pussy, and it wants me to breed it.'

I glance up at her, and Mistress is wholly ignoring me, looking instead to her big sister. With half of Freya's big bronze beast down my throat, it's not exactly easy to glance towards Morrigan, either. Especially given that the gorgeous goth keeps urging me to swallow more and more of it.

Glugp. Schleck. Slurp. Glugp.

Schl-fap, schl-fap, schl-fap.

'It does, Blondie,' Morgan says, all lusty and sonorous. 'His body can't produce genes of our quality, now can it? Thus when sweet Tom serves us, the act is, by its very nature, subservient.'

Freya swiftly nods. 'Y-eah. He's just a dicksucker, in our presence.'

Their mutual degradation provokes low trembling through me, disturbingly delectable dirtiness of a sort that makes my cock ache and my balls throb. But they're right, at the same time. I can't compete with either of them, can't produce such fine quality ejaculate…but I can taste, and savour, and swallow theirs.

I bob my head and provoke lurid moans and sighs out of Mistress, maintaining my titillating rate of tugging on her big sister. They're both going to feed me, going to deliver their virile payloads right into my mouth, and in some sense mark their territory. Claim my mere male mouth as a toilet for their loads, some wet worshipping chamber for their proud penises.

'That's why it's–ugh–different, with us.'

Suddenly I'm being pulled back, the vampiric beauty wanting her turn. Morgan smiles at me, eyes aflame with lust, her appetite surging. Freya accepts the shift in focus, and happily helps her sister force me down upon her own marvellous manhood. As the other fantastically fat helmet nears my lips I happily open wide, accepting the older Venyabildt into my mouth.

Schlup. Slurp. Schlep.

Schl-fap, schl-fap, schl-fap.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Morgan is just as delicious as I remember her being, salty and bitter, profoundly plump of bell-end, lustrous and hot against my tongue and within my cheeks. It throbs wonderfully, and my sucking and slurping send carnal convulsions through the baleful beauty's body within a moment of contact.

'Ooh. And he craves it, as well,' she says. 'With every movement of that tongue, it's so obvious.' Morrigan's eyes, those perfect pale blues, seem to swallow me up. 'You want our sperm, don't you? So slutty, so sweet.'

'Mhm-hm.'

I bob deeper, happily taking Morgan past my tonsils while tugging forcibly, fondly, on Freya's swollen shaft. She's improved drastically, in so little time. The incentive makes sense, but even so, it's rather flattering. Mistress obviously has to strain herself a lot more than her sister, to maintain restraint in the face of my member-milking, but even so, it's impressive.

Glugp. Schlack. Glugp.

Schl-fap, schl-fap, schl-fap.

'Aahn. Tom…'

Time is a strange thing, in the midst of such luxuriousness. It's hard to keep track of how long passes, gorging myself on futanari fuck-meat, slobbering on one knob and then another, appreciating their subtle qualities, their depraved deliciousness.

I take Freya so deep that her beautiful blonde curls envelop my nose and press against my face, holding her there for a long moment and playing with her balls, teasing at them with my fingers, while basking in the closeness and illicit intimacy of being so orally impaled upon her gargantuan gorgeousness.

And then I pull back, finding her that much closer to climax. Yet, peculiarly, even Morgan seems sensitive today. When I repeat the gesture on her own rod, she exhales sharply and roughly runs her sharpened nails through my hair, almost grunting as a shudder rushes through her.

Schlurp. Glugp. Schluck.

'God, he's good,' she says. 'I doubt it'll be long now.'

'R-eally?' Freya sounds breathy, though her expression is hidden from me, what with my lips around the base of her sister's shaft. 'How have I–mhm–lasted this long?'

'Honestly, it might be something of a–ughn–special occasion. Not that you've not done wonderfully, of course. But…you turn me on like little else, Blondie. And now that I can actually touch that wonderful body of yours…'

Mwah. Smooch.

Above me, the beautiful futanari sisters begin to snog again, leaning close to the extent that their breasts press together, the smacking sweetness of the lips filling the air and making my dick twitch. To watch, as best I can, with a throatful of Morgan, the way the two gorgeous women apply such affection to one another's mouths is nothing short of divine.

And when I pull up again, intending to switch focusses anew, it takes a great amount of willpower to not simply stare, marvelling at the tantalising tangle of lips, of tongues, of hands, of bodies. Each has flush cheeks, flutters their eyes to behold the other, lurid lovers of the most unacceptable sort.

'Jesus Christ,' I say, under breath, provoking a low chuckle from both. 'Sorry. I just…it's hard to focus.'

'You've got–ugh–sperm to earn, slut,' Mistress says, sliding a hand behind my head. She winks at me, adoration burning bright in those brilliant blues. 'Down you go. It's–aah–not going to be long until you get it.'

That reminder, of my purpose, of the fact that I'm not even going to have to share my prick-delivered prize, is all the urging I need. I take Freya's fat-tipped cock back inside my lips and suck down all that tasty precum, basking in the heat and heaviness of her throbbing helmet as it fills out my mouth most superbly.

Schlup. Schluck. Slurp.

'Mhaah. Mhugh.'

Mwah. Smack. Smooch.

The beauties moan into one another's mouths, tangling tongues as I extract the explosion of enticing ejaculate fresh from the large loins of my lovely Mistress. I continue to tug on Morgan, with as much concentration as I can manage, but she won't have to wait long until it's her turn again. Freya, true to her word, is on the very cusp of climax.

She breaks their kiss, and grunts. 'God, yes.'

The volcanic eruption of vulgar virility shoots forth in heavy ropes, particularly thick today, particularly tasty. The stickiness completely coats my tastebuds, brings with it her sweet-tinged saltiness, so creamy and captivating in its gooey gloriousness. Mistress roughly runs her fingers across my scalp and continues to buck, to blow, to shoot billions of those healthy Venyabildt swimmers across my tongue, feeding me that which I so badly desired.

Which, now that I've got it, lets me shut my eyes and moan around her meat, my mouth filling steadily with salty-sweet spooge born of my favourite set of balls in all the world.

'Good job, Blondie,' Morgan says. 'Feed your slut. Give him a–ugh–real taste of sperm.'

Perhaps it's her sister's presence, perhaps it's just the pre-existing state of arousal from my efforts earlier, but Freya manages to shoot some thoroughly thick and forceful ropes and strings, catching the roof of my mouth and gumming up into creamy clumps from the obvious seed-packed nature of her naughtiness.

And slowly but surely I have to swallow bits, as little as I can manage, all for the sake of letting her precious payload swim freely about my mouth for as long as possible. God, I've craved this, wanted this like nothing else, and here it is. Here it is, and the blowjob itself has been satisfying. Here it is, and I don't have to even share it with Morgan.

'Mhm. Mhm-hm.'

Once Freya ceases shooting I sit back on my calves, releasing her spit-shined dick from my lips. I set about chewing, rolling her wonderful nut milk around my mouth, eyes fluttering with erotic euphoria. My cock strains at my boxers, and my mind races with the same kind of dirty density as the little white soldiers swirling about between my cheeks.

'Look at how happy he is,' Mistress says, sighing sweetly. 'Finally got what you wanted, huh, slut?'

I nod, and she chuckles. To my great surprise, Freya licks her lips and drops off onto her knees beside me, giving a wet kiss to the side of my face. Smooch. 'Thank you, you sexy, perfect, ideal cocksucker.' Mwah . 'But...' – she glances up at Morrigan, all dark and delicious, smirking salaciously – 'do you mind if we share this next one?'

Is this really happening? I slow my chewing, my savouring, and watch with trepidation as Mistress shuffles around me to nestle herself between Morgan's spread legs, her cheeks growing redder and redder as the realisation of what she's about to do really sets in. I start to swallow, almost choke on the thick carnal cream, as Freya wets her lips and then bravely dips forwards, doing the unthinkable.

Schlup. Schlap. Slurp.

'Mhm. Thank you, Blondie. See? It's not so–ugh–bad, is it?'

'Mumph. Mhm.'

Freya's eyes focus on her sister's, and as I manage to clear my mouth, I find the ability to speak useless without the capacity to form a suitable sentence. It's a very, very different kind of blowjob to that which I've just given. A thing of pride, of affection, but of exploration as well.

'Shit…'

Morgan chuckles, and brushes my cheek. 'Help her along, sweet Tom. I won't be–mhm–long, now. This is far too perfect.'

The gorgeous goth doesn't touch her little sister, simply letting her do as she will. And I, suppressing my surprise, shuffle closer, pressing my body beside my lover's, and give her a brief peck on the cheek before applying my lips to the side of Morrigan's large lasciviousness, feeling its heat and throbbing all the fiercer from Mistress's ministrations.

Schleck. Schlurp.

Mlep. Mwah. Schlup.

Fondling the black-haired beauty's balls with one hand, and stroking Freya's back with the other, all the while kissing and licking and sucking on the side of Morgan's massive member, I'm caught up in the dirty dreaminess of it all. Mistress looks between the both of us, focussing more on her sister than her slut. And as the latter's breathing quickens, as the much-feared and yet, now, clearly much-desired destination grows nearer and nearer, that attention becomes almost solely set on the pale sapphires of the older futanari.

'If it's r-eally not your thing, Blondie, at least you've–aahn–tried,' Morrigan says, sucking in a big breath through her nose. 'But…I love how your seed tastes, and it would be wonderful if you f-elt the same.'

I watch, in mad wonderment, as Freya's eyes widen right about the moment that Morgan's balls begin to ripple and pulse, rise and fall, against my hands. Yet after the initial shock of what must be a heavy dose of dick milk, far more strongly flavoured, not at all sweet, but potent and rich, Mistress's eyes grow pleasantly hooded.

Schlup. Schlap.

'Mhm-hm.'

'Fuck yes.' Morgan sighs sweetly, and relaxes back into the sofa. She casually brushes her sister's brow, and chews on her lower lip. 'You're wonderful, Blondie. We're going to have so much f-un, going forwards.'

And for a moment, I feel envious. Left out of something that should involve me, at least in passing. But Freya, incredible as she is, swallows as little of her big sister as is possible and then, the moment Morgan ceases her ejaculation, hurriedly leaves behind that big beautiful cock and seizes hold of my shoulders.

Mwah. Smooch.

What follows is the dirtiest, creamiest, most virile kiss I've ever experienced. Tongue tangling forcefully with mine, Freya shares . And I get a half-helping of a second Venyabildt, to pair with that heavy load shot out of Mistress herself. Morrigan's rich, tangy, salty spooge is every bit as thick as her little sister's, a great deal more vulgar on the tongue, pleasant and delicious in its own right.

And as we merge mouths, share her seed, the vampiric beauty slips off the sofa and gets herself on one side of me, holding tight to my body while I continue to sloppily snog her sisters. Morgan nuzzles the side of my head, sniffs my hair and kisses my cheek, right as I chew and churn about my own half-mouthful of futanari man milk.

'Mhm. Mhugh.'

When Freya at last breaks the kiss, and mirrors her sister, sandwiching me between herself and Morrigan, she leans her head against mine and continues to salaciously savour the strong-swimming sperm of the gorgeous goth.

Neither of them says a word of complaint as I slide my hands around their backs, cupping a hip of each busty, beautiful, dominant dickgirl. Because, I suppose, servile slut that I am, I'm not a threat. And…not a threat comes with its own rewards.

When I gulp down Morgan's thickness, to mingle with her sister's sweet-saltiness, I say, 'Thank you both. That was amazing.'

Mwah. Smooch.

And each of them kisses the sides of my head, and rests against me.

What a fucking perfect day.

Chapter 14: An Arousing Arrangement

Summary:

After the events of the sisterly "bonding session", Tom finds himself involved in a threesome with the beautiful Venyabildt futanaris. He, along with Freya's older sister, Morgan, submit to the Amazonian blonde, but not before an arrangement is decided upon. Things are going to get rather spicy from here on out...

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: An Arousing Arrangement

I'm not sure quite how to process things, in the aftermath of the day's perfection.

It did happen. Mistress is resting her head against one shoulder, and Morgan on the other, their breathing relaxed and slow on account of the powerful orgasms each of them has so recently enjoyed. A coalescence of warmth, of sweetness, their beauty unmatched beyond the confines of the Venyabildt Estate and their sensuality a thing to die for. The vampiric beauty's scents of dark fruits and musky femininity – the latter flavour they both share – mingles with the bronze-skinned blonde's tell-tale bubble-gum, a heady mixture.

Morgan is the livelier of the two, gently stroking my inner thigh, teasing at my yet-erect cock. She brushes against it, sometimes shifts her head up to look me in the eyes, studying my thoughts with great eagerness. The gothic goddess smiles at me, warmth and wickedness, but says nothing.

Mistress and I had a plan, but I don't know where it sits now. Freya swallowed her sister's semen. She sucked her off, helped me do so, and swallowed . Just thinking about it, just recalling the moment it came true, leaves my dick straining all the fiercer. All the fiercer, just for Morgan to flick it or otherwise prod or poke with petty playfulness.

And now the beautiful blonde rests against me, not asleep but wide awake, yet caught up in her thoughts as she stares ahead at the dimming line of the sunset against the powered-off flatscreen TV ahead of us. From time to time I squeeze her hip and she nuzzles against me, but says nothing.

Yet it doesn't feel like my place to speak, and the silence isn't unpleasant. It's a big jump for Mistress, after all. A dramatic shift from what she made so clear, into the territory of something she time and again implied was wrong or vile or otherwise undesirable.

'I really enjoyed that,' Freya says, at length, at last. The tension, imagined or real, fades. 'Your cock's almost as great as mine, Morgan.'

The older Venyabildt giggles. 'Almost will do,' she says. 'Is that to say you'll do it again?'

'Maybe. I think we need to talk about what this is going to look like, going forwards. Because if I'm sharing Tom with you, I don't want you getting the wrong idea about how things are.'

'Relationships do tend to need discussing, yes.' Morgan releases me and straightens up, rolling her shoulders and stretching a little. Her immensely plump breasts bounce about, and I lose myself in the fantastic physics of the wobbling white wonders. 'I want full access to Tom. But equally, I don't want to go back to not playing with you, Blondie. I love you very much, as a sister and more than.'

Mistress's cheeks redden, and while some of that is surely awkwardness, there's a deep appreciation for her sister's words there as well. This is, as far as I know, the closest they've ever been. Years of difficulties between them, familial concerns, and now there's this. Freya, partaking of the same Venyabildt vulgarity as her big sister, and realising that she likes it.

'I want to be your Mistress,' Freya says, turning sharply to look past me, to meet her sister's frigid blue gaze. 'I want you to submit to me, and when in that role, to wear a collar. And I want–'

'Sweet Tom is a fine thing, Blondie, but you haven't forgotten what I said already, have you?'

Mistress softly grinds her teeth, and shakes her head. 'I know it won't be real , like it is with Tom.' She glances at me side-on, wetting her lips. Love and lust combine in those beautiful blue eyes, intense and intoxicating. The look of someone who adores me but, as a caveat, believes me to be not quite her equal. It's…a complicated thing. Nice, and yet I imagine many would find it nasty. 'I don't expect you to ever think of yourself like Tom is able to, but I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not sure I can put into words how badly I want this.'

Morrigan leans into me, and her hot breath breezes luxuriously past my ear. Her lips come within an inch of contact, their warmth a radiant presence. A chill runs down my back, and I gulp air, hesitant, caught between both of them, some state of erotic Elysium. I can't pull my gaze away from Freya's eyes, nor can I escape Morgan's touch. She firms up her grip on my inner thigh, casually flicking at my helmet with her pinkie finger.

'If we're trading truths and secrets, then here's mine,' Morgan says, brushing her lips against my ear. 'There is a tremendous amount of pleasure in taking Tom's role. There's a very good reason he submits to us, but he's lucky to be a man. He can submit, because we're his betters, as you and I well know.'

Mistress nods. 'I'm not saying I'm your better, Morgan. I…'

It's unlike Freya to be at a loss for words. Like her sister, like her parents, she's wonderful with her wit, with her language. The brain that ticks over behind those superb eyes is a thing of glory, suiting her so well. On casual appearance, she might seem some tan blonde bimbo, even some brainless gym bunny, but that's simply Mistress's misleading aesthetic. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if she cultivates that look for good reason. There's such power, in surprise and subterfuge.

' Freya .' Morrigan's voice comes soft, and she slips her hand away from my thigh and delivers it gently to her little sister's face. Mistress accepts her touch, blushingly leans into those pale fingers and their dark talons. 'As I was saying, Tom is lucky . You and I, who could we possibly submit to? Daddy-dearest? I love her dearly, body and all, but I can't pretend there's not an innate imbalance there.' The gorgeous goth strokes her sister's cheeks, with a thumb and forefinger, and rubs her lips against the side of my face. 'You and I, we're true equals. You're the only person in all the world I can play this game with, but it has a catch. If I am to sate this fantasy of yours, then you need to sate my own.'

Mistress flicks her gaze between me and Morgan, then averts it entirely of us both. 'You want me to call you Mistress, as well. An act for an act.'

The black-haired beauty nods. 'I do. I admit, I'm rather captivated by how you treat Sweet Tom, and I've longed for a great while to explore my submissive side, yet have always lacked a suitable partner. You're that partner, Blondie. I am happy to make this exchange.'

Freya's cheeks grow steadily redder as her sister speaks, her blushing beautiful. If my cock wasn't struggling enough as is, Morrigan's words go and leave it almost on the point of pain from the pressure of how much blood my brain wants the heart to pump into it. Mistress brings her attention back to her sister, and for a moment I lose myself in the earnestness and severity of her peerless perfection. Her mouth is firm, her brilliant blue eyes unblinking, the only show of nerves being the flush strawberry contrasting with the bronze of her cheeks.

The plan was to dominate Morgan, yes, but I never imagined there would be any possibility of Mistress herself being dominated. Stranger still, that there's no instantaneous rejection, and Freya if anything seems…interested? A show of maturity, surely? To accept that sometimes, to get the things we want – especially when asking them of someone who is herself a natural domme, who is if anything more innately attuned to such a role than Freya herself – we need to make sacrifices.

'What does that look like?' Mistress says.

'Well, you have some idea of what I like. Blowjobs, in particular. How did your big sister's semen taste, after all of your worrying?'

The bronze-skinned blonde is erect now, her cock standing to attention in the relative dimness of the bedroom. As ever, the sight of it provokes a low salivation, for it's a thing of captivating carnality. So thick, so fat, so impressively virile, upright and engorged, veiny and vigorous, originating from that ever-pleasing bush of wild blonde hairs at its base.

'Strong. Interesting. Intoxicating.'

Morrigan audibly licks her lips, though I still can't lift my attention away from the arresting sight of my Mistress. 'I'm so, so glad to hear that,' she says, a smirk rich in her voice. 'Two days a week, you'll be mine. To obey me. To pleasure me, and, as I see fit, to be pleasured in my fashion in return. And in return, I'll be yours four days out of seven.'

Mistress visibly swallows, and I feel myself go a little bug-eyed. A conversation I never anticipated is happening before me, and all I can do is throb in the open air, cock in need but finding no relief. And it's not as if I can just start wanking. Not without being allowed .

'Five,' Freya says. 'Five days.'

'Four. Then there's a day off each week.'

Mistress twists her mouth, and looks between me and her sister. 'Five. You're getting full access to Tom. He's not just my pet, after all.'

'I had assumed that we'd almost always be playing as a trio. Was that an error on my part?'

'You're joking.'

Morgan chuckles. 'Why would I joke?'

'Morgan…I get you wanting me and Tom in the same room when it's your turn, but when it's mine? How would that work?'

'You intended to just abandon him for days at a time?'

'I intended to see you on those days as I saw fit,' Freya says. 'To give Tom a break, if anything.' The beautiful blonde makes an uncertain face. 'It'd ruin things for me if you didn't do what I told you, during our time together.'

Morrigan laughs again, lusty and sultry. 'Dear Blondie, what is it you have in mind that could be so repulsive I'd refuse it?'

Mistress's eyes grow slightly wet, and her dick pulsates powerfully. 'I couldn't have you both at my disposal without wanting to use the authority you'd be giving me,' she says. 'I…I like humiliating. At least a little bit. And I can't think of anything more potent a humiliation attempt than having you obey Tom , as well.'

The sound of my name is a strange thing. It's spoken regularly, of course, by both sisters, but said by Mistress in this particular fashion at this particular moment, it provokes a low chill up the bones of my back. As if some arcane word, it seems to freeze the world, to stop time, to make everything pause for a long and somewhat painful moment.

I can't bring myself to look at Morgan, and not for my interest in Mistress. I'm not sure I can envision the possible permutations of that face, twisting and souring, distorted, and perhaps even–

'If that's what you want. If it pleases my little sister, then I can please Sweet Tom, as well.'

Freya's confident calm cracks slightly. 'Are you serious?'

'Why wouldn't I be? But I will insist on four days, not five.'

Mistress twists her mouth, and glances to me. Her brilliant blue eyes are oceans of intellect, soulful and seductive, even without being utilised to their full and somewhat frightening superbness. 'Don't say I never doing anything for you,' she says, rolling them at me, focussing her attention again on Morrigan. 'Four it is. It's a deal.'

The older sister extends an elegant hand, its nails black and sharp. 'You're good, little sister. A deal indeed.'

When Freya takes her hand and shakes it, the reality of things dawns. The offer made, agreed on, is a thing of tremendous temptation. I mean, if Morgan is going to obey Freya, to do as she says – just as I do – and is even willing to involve me in things…

'For the first act of sealing your place, slut,' Mistress says, rising up onto her feet, 'I want you to pleasure Tom and me. You're going to use those fat cow tits of yours to milk me, and then milk him. Understood?'

My ears ring with the impact of the command. Not a request, given the circumstances. A command, given by the younger sister to the older. I can't seem to bring myself to shift my gaze, and so stare at Freya's lovely legs, hairless and tan, the curvaceousness of them hinting at the toned muscles beneath the surface. Even trying to passingly picture Morgan's massive mammaries, the only breasts other than Freya's I can reasonably consider perfect, seems illicit right now. Part of my brain expects a dismissal, a refusal, but none comes.

'If that is what you want, Mistress. Am I to clean up between acts, or do you want me to use your load as lube when I tend to Tom?'

'That's a lovely thought. Yes, use my load to smother my other slut's filthy little cock afterwards.' The beautiful blonde gives me a gentle kick. 'Up, toy. Don't think you're just going to sit back and do nothing.'

I'm on my feet in a moment, awkward and excited, cheeks aflame and the world surely having spun off its axis into some mad mirroring of the place I know. The two towering futanaris loom over me even without being directly adjacent, each wielding a smile like a scythe, flashing brilliantly in the low sunlight of the evening.

'Is this actually happening, Mistress?' I ask. How can I not ask?

Mistress Freya gives my backside a powerful slap as she moves past me. Smack. 'Of course it's happening, slut. We have a new arrangement, don't we? You heard the words. The deal. Morrigan is going to be joining us, from now on. And we'll use her proper name, during our scenes with her. Understood?'

'Y-es, Mistress.'

Freya chuckles, her usual confident and charmingly cruel self. The busty blonde walks towards the bed with a sway to her hips, their width wonderful and the jiggle to her captivating curves a thing of mind-boggling bounciness. Again, again, again, I can't make sense of my luck. Whichever God or Gods decided this, they clearly love me. Though judging by Morrigan's smirking countenance, in this room, I have two goddesses to thank for the lascivious luxury of serving them.

'It's real,' Morrigan says, her colossal cock twitching with arousal. 'I believe I've found myself at the bottom of this little hierarchy, haven't I?' She considers me with those icy pale eyes, the smirk on her black-ringed red lips vampiric in its nigh-supernatural sensuality. 'For the moment.'

'What was that, slut?' Mistress says.

'Nothing, Mistress. I was just teasing your other slut.'

The pale-skinned sister turns, her own voluptuousness a fair shake wobblier than Freya's. Less toned muscle, less raw athleticism, and the result is a fantastic fattiness in all the right places that has an appeal of its own. Both Venyabildt girls are gorgeous, the older and the younger, and I wouldn't change them for a moment.

'How do you want me, Mistress?' Morrigan says, walking up past the sofa towards the bed. She seems to make an extra effort to sway her hips, giving both Freya and myself a show where her appealing bits bounce or swing. 'On my knees?'

'Have Tom kneel first,' Mistress says, sitting herself on the bed. Freya spreads her legs wide and shuffles slightly forwards, until her nuts are dangling slightly over the edge. 'I want you two to get acquainted with cooperating while servicing me. Tom, I want you to suck and play with my nuts while Morrigan uses her tits. Nestle beneath her like a good and lucky little cock-tease. That's a command.'

'Y-es, Mistress. Anything for you.'

But despite the eager meaning of my words, they come out a bit messy. It's a tremendous ask, and not because I don't want it. Each futanari is large enough, their cocks big enough, their tits heavy enough, their heights tall enough, that I could easily be squished and forgotten between them. I'm not the smallest guy, of course, but Freya and Morrigan are both over six feet tall, and next to them I'm a dwarf.

It takes a surprising force of will to walk over to Mistress, knowing that Morrigan is going to come up behind me, knowing that I'm going to basically be stuffed beneath two sets of large lumps, above my head and pushed against it. Honestly, it's rather remarkable that the gorgeous goth doesn't attempt to touch me as I pass her by, though I'm sure it's her stare that burns into my back, real or imagined.

With every step, Freya's smile grows fiercer. She's never seemed this smug, never seemed so…in her element. I suppose I have my answer, to the question I asked Persephone. At least half of it. It certainly doesn't seem impossible to picture a future where Mistress ends up utterly on top, given how readily she takes to command of not merely her experienced male slut but also, and very interestingly, her traditionally dominant sister-whore.

'Closer and closer, ball-sucker,' Mistress says, gesturing lazily with a curling finger. 'Make sure to do a good job, so there's plenty of my sperm to lubricate that piddly little man-dick of yours.'

Humiliation is definitely the name of the game, today. It feels…slightly boastful, maybe? Like when a friend starts being extra-abrasive in the presence of another, to show off, but it's not so bad. Freya's said plenty of nice things about my dick, too, so the impact of her cheeky remarks does nothing to diminish my vested interest in seeing this to its creamy conclusion.

'Anything for you, Mistress. I'll make sure to give your big beautiful balls all the loving they need to completely cover Morrigan's tits in your cum.'

' Cow tits,' Mistress says. 'From now on, when you refer to Morrigan's oversized fun bags, you'll call them cow tits. Understood?'

I swallow a lump of nervousness, the naughty nastiness contained in her suggestion devilishly delightful, surely far too much of a thing for some mere man to remark towards a Venyabildt goddess like Morrigan. It takes all the will in the world to glance back at the beautiful elder sister and for just a moment lock gazes with her pristinely pale blue eyes, finding in them no hint of disgust but instead a lascivious appreciation for the gutter-minded proclamation of her little sister.

Turning back to Mistress in an instant, I nod twice in quick succession. 'Yes, Mistress. I…I can't wait to feel Morrigan's, uh, cow-tits around my cock. Especially if they're all slippery with your sperm.'

Freya glides her upper teeth against her lower lip and smirks. 'Go on, then. Get your face nice and stuffed against my nuts. I know you live to fucking worship me, so feel free to let loose.'

Words are unnecessary, deeds all. I drop my attention to the beautiful blonde's bollocks, presented there beneath her mammoth manhood, and my mouth responds with a swell of saliva. My purpose, in this house, is to serve. To serve Mistress most of all, but…to serve futanaris, be they Freya or her relatives. And big balls are a siren's song I can't ever bring myself to resist.

I press my hands to her inner thighs and dip forwards, whereupon Mistress pats my head in a degrading fashion, as I'm some pet. 'Good boy,' she says, a lustrous lilt of lustful humour in her tone. 'So dutiful and obedient.'

Her skin is soft against my palms and fingers, those muscular yet curvaceous thighs warm to the touch and cushioning, yielding to my dutiful presence. The way her lovely legs bulge slightly around my fingers and between them makes for a momentarily delicious distraction before the wanton woman collects up her big beautiful dick with one hand and lifts it to give easier access to those sublimely smooth sperm factories.

No command is given, for none is needed. I lean closer and closer to her fat cum makers and sniff at regular intervals, adoring the musky scents of her recently washed nuts, faintly dirtier than they were a short while ago on account of the trading of blowjobs and the inevitable releasing of such fragrantly delightful fluids.

Each of Freya's testicles is huge, a mouthful by itself, a couple of glorious gobstoppers that jiggle and shiver slightly as she flexes her legs. I'm dimly aware of Morrigan's presence behind me, looming above, awaiting her own orders or perhaps simply appreciating the sighting of a submissive suck-slut going to work on her sister's lovely loins.

Smooch, mlep, schlep, slurp, mwah.

What begins with a quick kiss promptly proceeds into a full tasting session, my tastebuds gliding generously over her heavy hangers and finding no end of desirable qualities. The silkiness of her sack, the firmness of the lumps themselves, the warmth of her body and the faint saltiness of her skin. Each lick and kiss begets another, my saliva quickly prompting a glossiness to her opulent orbs and bringing out a pheromonal potency that reminds me of that sublime Venyabildt virility I crave like little else on Earth.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlurp, slup, schlep.

It's the natural progression to get the entirety of her left nut inside my mouth and nurse on it, bath it in spit, treat it like the royalty it is. Freya fills my senses with her rich smells and musky flavours, hardening my cock to the point of throbbing discomfort.

'Ooh. That's a good boy,' Mistress says, playing roughly with my hair. She relaxes somewhat against the bed, and clicks her tongue. 'Come, cow-tits. I want to feel those beauties around my shaft.'

'Whatever you desire, Mistress,' Morrigan says, her voice that of some dark angel. Sultrier than usual, dialled up on all of its dirtiest aspects. 'Excuse me, Sweet Tom. This might get a little tight.'

The warmth of the older sister's body hits me before the moment of contact, which begins with the mammoth shape of her swollen dick against my bare back. Heat and heaviness, and if I'm not mistaken she makes a definite effort to briefly grind up and down against me, the bulk of her bell-end a noticeable presence upon my spine.

I pause my testicle worship for a few heartbeats, shivering and aching with need as Morrigan, so much taller than I am, drops down to all but encompass me with her thickly voluptuous form, her legs coming to rest on the outside of my own. With my head nestled between Mistress's thighs the gorgeous goth's gigantic tits come to rest heavily atop my head for a moment before she goes ahead and lifts them up to seize about the sordid swelling of her little sister.

The elder woman's cock presses powerfully against my back, practically aligned with the ditch of my spine, and her warmth shrouds me and seals me into this tight little luxurious space between Freya's parted legs.

'Allow me to milk you, Mistress. Please, cover my cow-tits in all that thick delicious seed.'

Fup, fup, fup, fup.

'Ugh. Good girl. I can't wait to mark my territory.'

Morrigan begins moving her big breasts, and Freya groans sweetly, body shifting around me. Two bodies, in fact, moving as if I'm not here, as if I'm just part of the scenery, and it's…fuck, it's ever so hot. The wonderful weightiness of the vampiric beauty's massive mammaries bouncing up and down atop my head as she makes a concerted effort to both tend to her little sister and to make undeniable the fact that I'm kneeling here, doing this, a part of so sublimely sensual a scenario.

Schlup, slurp, schlep, schlap.

I begin sucking again in earnest, earning my keep, doing my bit, and Mistress's fat nuts heave and pulsate against my face, upon my tongue, between my lips. Her virile pheromonal tanginess thickens inside my mouth, the flavour passingly driving the potently pleasant image of all those healthy swimmers deep into my most primal of thoughts.

'Ooh. Two perfect pets.'

Freya's voice is luxurious with pleasure, sultry and proud as we take care of her needs. My ball-sucking and Morrigan's titfucking combined must have Mistress in utter paradise. Her nuts pulsate against my lips, upon my tongue, and she's awash with all these little movements. The straining of her legs, the stretching out against the bed, the salacious sighs of her breathing.

Fup, fup, fup, fup.

Schlep, schlup, slurp, slurp.

It's so humid, so carnally cosy down here between her legs, beneath the cushioning mass of her elder sister. The gorgeous goth's heavy cock presses against my back, throbbing away, while her big bouncy cow tits wobble up and down atop my head with every masterful movement of her hands.

Their bodies are divine, so large and lust-inducing. Two tall temptresses, each with such a capacity to dominate me utterly, to make me feel small and submissive, and here I am between them as one services the other. The younger in charge today, the older obeying, and all the while I get to appreciate the heft and heaviness of Morrigan's H-or-whatever cups.

Slup, schlep, schlap, slurp.

The sordidness of things only inflames my appetites all the more, leaves me a quivering wreck of my usual self, set upon pleasuring my Mistress with frenetic abandon. I dig my palms into the plushness of her muscular bronze thighs and go from the left nut to the right, provoking a low tremble in Freya and relishing in the fresh taste of the untouched bollock.

Her pheromonal glory, the flavoursome mark of her abundant superiority, sets some primal part of my head all atingle with need. The need to bring her pleasure, the need to feel her release, the need to taste her quality. Such big, beefy balls, so much larger than mine. How can a mere man compete with a dickgirl demigoddess like Freya Venyabildt, after all?

'Mhm-hm. Mumph.'

'Slut,' Mistress says. ' Sluts . Both of you. Ugh. Earn my load.'

Fup, fup, fup, fup.

Mistress's voice pairs with the playful percussion of her big sister's cow tits, smashing up and down atop my head, around her bronze and beautiful cock. She's starting to tremble, noticeably. Flexing more, straining more, gradually losing herself to the vulgarity of things. I can only imagine how tight Morrigan's breasts are, pressed around an erect cock. Freya's were exceptional, and her sister's boobs are even bigger. Paired with the fact that a bigger dick means more exposure to such plump and paradise-borne things…fuck, it must be sublime.

'Are my cow tits meeting your standards, Mistress?' Morrigan says, all sharp and sultry, composed where I can't be, with mouthful or no.

'They're–aahn–doing a fine job, slut. Finally, you having such ridiculously fat tits makes–mhm–sense to me. They're meant to be around my–ooh–cock.'

Schlurp, slup, slup, schlap.

Fup, fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

Our sordid sounds form a symphony, a magical merging around Mistress's crotch, the most important place in all the universe right now. My frantic sucking, Morrigan's passionate pumping. Meaty sounds growing wet where Freya's cock is doubtless leaking, smearing those perfect pale breasts in sticky oily precum.

'I'm so glad, Mistress. I've always wanted to milk you like this. It's good to know I can put to use such oversized and embarrassingly perverse parts of me.'

The vampiric beauty is a terror with language. Her words, spoken so calmly, as if so well-rehearsed, prompt a deeper straining of my dick, and what kind of effect must they be having on Freya? Her nuts seem to swell that much more, her thigh muscles twitch and strain, and she moves her body in a fashion that suggests a deep and building satisfaction.

Even with eyes open, there's this powerful mystique of the unknown. The way I'm jammed between her legs, pressed up against her sizeable sagging sperm-makers, I'm left attending to the sounds and the changes of her posture – what little of them I can notice – to make sense of the overall scene.

'Ughn. You're a fucking natural at this, Morrigan,' Mistress says. 'I've wanted to be milked for so long. Why were you being so–ooh–selfish with your affections?'

'I simply had to know that you were worthy, Mistress. I am going to let you mark my big stupid cow tits with your seed, after all,' Morrigan says, her voice that perfected perverseness, a risqué richness in the ear. 'Please cover my cow tits, Mistress. Please. I want you to own them. I want you to mark them as your property. Give me all those lovely strong sperms.'

Fup-schl-fup, fup-schl-fup, fup-schl-fup.

'Argh. F-uck.'

Suddenly Morrigan picks up the pace, the bouncy beating of her big beautiful breasts atop my head growing all the more impactful. Her tremendous tits and the sound of their slippery servicing dominates the room, and I hesitate with my oral worship out of sheer intrigue, for a long moment caught up only with the salaciousness ringing in my ears.

Mistress whines, not noticing my pausing, completely content with her sister's efforts. The gorgeous goth really knows what she's doing, it sounds like, feels like. Freya is completely beholden to the buffet of those cow tits, their milky paleness working wonders to milk fat wads of stickiness out of her bronze behemoth.

And all the while, subtly, slowly, Morrigan grinds her fat-headed cock up and down the ditch of my back, thrusting gently away, making her presence known. It provokes a low arching, a faint shivering, as if a threat, as if a warning. As if…as if her games aren't quite done, with me at least. Although, if I'm to be hers to do with as she pleases whenever Freya is caught up in other things…

'K-eep sucking,' Mistress says, bucking her hips forwards, driving her left nut to smack against the side of my mouth while the right lavishes in a warm bath. 'I didn't tell you to–mhm–stop, you slut. Or do you want my sister to be my go-to, from n-ow on?'

'Numph. Nhmf!'

Schlep, slurp, slurp, schlick.

'Ooh. That's what I thought. Now don't you dare stop again.'

I suck hard, suck passionately, suck wildly on her right testicle. Treating it with reverence, treating with utmost depravity, treating as though it's the most important thing in the world and nothing else matters whatsoever. Even though it tires my tongue, even though it strains my lips, even though it makes my jaw ache a little to contend with the combination of suction force and the sheer immensity of the size of the plumply proud thing.

'He's very good at that, Mistress,' Morrigan says, her praise every bit as sweet as Freya's lack of it. Filthy that I am, submissive that I am, it matters not to be complimented or cursed. 'It's very much like he craves your genes, isn't it?'

'He does,' Mistress says, a touch breathy. 'Mhm. Isn't that right, Tom? You want my sperm to swim all about that slutty little mouth, don't you?'

'Mhm-hm. Mhm.'

She chuckles, and Morrigan joins in, for a moment their little play broken while mine – not a play, not really, simply a natural order I've taken to like a fish to water – continues on without interruption.

Fup, fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

Schluck, slurp, smooch, schluck, slurp.

'I do love him, though,' Freya says, as Freya , not as Mistress. She lets out a sigh, and brings a hand into my carnal crevice, this realm of wonders trapped between both of their beautiful bodies, and playfully prods at my cheek. 'I do , Tom. You little slut.' She pauses, and I've no idea what they look like up there. What their faces show. 'Does that bother you, Morgan?'

'You can keep calling me Morrigan,' her sister says. 'And no. It would've. But I see it. I see why.' As she speaks, she pushes her prick against me with increased urgency. 'I'm going to be honest, Blondie. If he wasn't yours, I'd want him for myself.'

The movements above fall still, and yet – obedient as I am – I keep sucking. Holding on for a little too long onto her right nut, but sucking all the same. Little by little, the pause becomes…curious. I slow my pace but don't stop – schlick, slup, schlup – and find myself waiting, wondering.

Mistress chuckles. 'Oh, you've got his attention.' She flicks at my cheek this time, prodding a moment later. 'Don't worry, slut. I'm not bothered. Mhm. Tell me all the things you'd like to do to him, Morrigan. Tell me while you pull out this–aah–approaching load.'

Schl-fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

The gorgeous goth begins working her tits again, bouncing them away, invoking a surge of pulsations in the beautiful blonde's big bronze balls. Her climax can't be far away now, provoking twitches in her thighs, a quickening of her breathing, the little tell-tale markers that are the undeniable signs of a building orgasm.

'Hmm. Where do I begin? Let's see…I'd stop masturbating, for one. My cock would barely ever leave his mouth. He'd get so good at sucking me off that you'd be hard-pressed to imagine he ever did anything else.'

Schl-fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

Schlup, slurp, slurp, schlep.

Mistress moans sweetly, and shudders against my face, against my hands. 'I already know that. Mhm. I know you're blowjob-obsessed.'

'Oh, you haven't seen anything yet. I'd use his face like a pussy , Blondie,' Morrigan says. As she speaks, visualises those fantasies, her cock strains all the fiercer against my back, oozing away, leaking its lascivious fluids down the ditch of my spine. 'I'd have his head hanging over the edge of my bed, and he'd basically be a cocksleeve. Bound up, perhaps. Ready to go, whenever I feel I'm needing release. None of that slow sweet romantic bullshit, that traditional cock-worship – not on my meaner days. I'd simply fuck his face and get on with my day, and leave him there until I wanted another go. A deposit box for dick milk, you might say.'

'Would you–aah–let him taste you?'

The vampiric beauty laughs, putting special effort into bumping her boobs atop my scalp. 'Oh, definitely not. That makes it crueller, doesn't it? All of that use, and he'd never taste a drop. I'd wring out every last spurt deep down his throat…at least initially.'

As arousing as the idea is, it bothers me as well. I can't pretend I don't want to be used, to have my face practically the property of one Venyabildt futanari or another, but my psyche is too hard-wired to crave their cum at this point. Freya's or Morrigan's, it doesn't matter, but all those blowjobs and no heavy mouthfuls of sticky thick cum?

'Initially?'

'Oh, yes. For all of Genevieve's evils, she did something right,' Morrigan says, using her breasts expertly, grinding gently against me. I keep sucking, keep slurping on Mistress's nuts, but hang on her sister's every word. 'Venyabildt Pharmaceuticals manufactured a series of very naughty drugs. They do different things, and the ones that Granny Gen really liked are no longer in production, but–'

'W-hat were those?' Freya says.

'I'd admonish your rudeness, but you are my Mistress.' Schl-fup, schl-fup, schl-fup. The older sister puts extra effort into her movements, extracting a low sigh as Mistress's creamy conclusion grows more and more inevitable. 'Gen had addiction pills. Pills that would, when taken, induce dependence on those fed her semen. They don't work on futanaris, though.'

'Y-ou'd have him addicted to your cum?'

'Hmm.' Morrigan makes a thoughtful sound, but then says, 'That's not quite as interesting. Not in light of how much I do appreciate the sluttiness of Sweet Tom, having gotten to know him better.'

Schl-fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

Slurp, slurp, schlup, schlip.

'Mhm. He i-s a right proper whore, isn't he?'

The gorgeous goth chuckles. 'He's a superb one.' She firmly presses her length against me, managing to disguise such vulgar advances with the perfection applied through her fat and fantastic tits. 'But no, you've convinced me. I wouldn't want an addict…I want free choice. For which, there's a different pill. One that suits my tastes down to a tee.'

'T-ell me,' Mistress says, breathing strained now. 'What does–aah–this one do?'

'It transforms the nutritional value of your load,' Morrigan says. 'So that Sweet Tom, for example, could – only for short periods, we're talking a few days a week – live off it. It would be filling enough, sustaining enough, that for a few days each week…he'd spend all day worshipping me, and treating my semen like an all-you-can-eat buffet.'

'Ughn. F-uck.'

Mistress suddenly grunts, and she brings her legs in tightly around the sides of our pressed-together bodies, thick thighs squishing against my palms. Her nuts violently pulsate and ripple within my mouth, against my face, and I know what's happening above without needing to see it.

'Oh, thank you, Mistress,' Morrigan says, her voice an audible smile. 'Thank you for blessing me with all this thick, healthy sperm.'

Schl-fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

'Mhm. Ugh. Y-ou're w-elcome, s-lut. F-uck those cow tits are g-ood.'

Mistress must relax against the covers, because the bed shifts beneath her weight. Her sultry sister continues to use her breasts like tremendous weapons, thoroughly milking her big bronze cock between them while it doubtless releases shot after squirt after spurt atop them and surely across the vampiric beauty's lovely face.

Schlep, schlep, schlurp, schlep.

I passionately suck on Freya's nuts, doing my best to remind them of their most loyal and loving pet, the luckiest man in the world who nonetheless wants nothing more than to give them the affection they deserve and guzzle down their perfectly perverse produce. Every shudder and shiver that races through them feels that much more intense today, more than I've ever witness first-hand.

The presence of her sister is surely a potentiator, but the conversation seemed to be the trigger. Freya, exposed to the possibility of feeding me in the most literal and vulgar of senses, has clearly been pushed right into that most desirable and delectable of states. Cumming hard, cumming heavy, creaming her big sister's face and tits while having her nuts noshed upon by her loyal male slut in the process.

'Oh, G-od. This is fucking great.'

Schl-fup, schl-fup, schl-fup.

Morrigan continues to milk her little sister, but steadily slows her pace as Freya's climax softens, the bulk of its dirtiness delivered. Mistress continues to tremble and shudder, whole body struck with such sublimeness, but her nuts pulsate with decreasing power as the moments go by.

'C-ome on up,' Mistress says, all of a sudden. 'See the m-asterpiece I've painted, slut.'

Ordinarily I'd be reluctant to leave behind her balls, but my curiosity is too much. Morrigan makes an effort to withdraw slightly, to give me a little bit of space to remove myself from the carnal crush between the both of them, and I give each of Mistress's lovely nuts a parting kiss before slipping free of the humid heaven.

I stumble out in my hurry, almost tripping over myself, but manage to just about stabilise before looking more of a fool than usual. Morrigan turns to me as I get up onto my knees, and her sudden lack of perverse proclamations is instantly explained.

The vampiric beauty smirks at me, beholding me with a single open eye. Her right eye has been overwhelmed by two fat ropes of creamy cum, those two explosive efforts being the highest shooting of the whole climax. Her lower face clearly took the brunt of it, her lovely lips utterly smothered in semen, plenty of it drooling down from her chin at irregular lengths like little gooey stalactites, steadily being dragged towards her breasts by gravity.

Her tits, of course, are plentifully basted. Mistress's loads are usually heavy, but this one in particular – the combination of tantalising teamwork on my and her big sister's behalf – is enormous, a colossal quantity of jism that has left Morrigan thoroughly marked with her little sister's genes and nonetheless smiling away, appreciating the salacious side of the dirtiness in a way that speaks to my very soul.

Freya gives me a smirking wink from atop the bed, now resting upon her back, happily spent and trembling softly as the risqué ripples course through her bodacious bronze form. Mistress sighs sweetly and shuts her eyes, relaxing into the sweet release so deftly delivered by the dutiful efforts of her temporary and permanent sluts.

'You two make a good team,' she says, voice breathy and rapturous with pleasure. 'Give me a little while and I'll–aah–oversee you getting that titwank, Tom. In the meantime, help Morrigan clean up a bit. Mhm. You know what to do. Only her face, m-ind.'

'Y-es, Mistress,' I say, the words coming out a touch shakily. Am I to lick? To kiss? To…? Regardless, beneath the gorgeous goth's gaze, I'm well aware that this is going to be its own wonderfully wicked experience. 'I'll h-elp.'

But Morrigan does little to assist me, in that area. She keeps her tits around her sister's steadily softening cock, ensuring that it remains cradled in a realm of utmost warmth and welcomeness. Kneeling down, the black-haired beauty is so tall that I have to stand hunched over to involve myself in the cleaning process, because I'm simply too short beside her when kneeling. She does, at least, present her face to me, that one good eye sparkling with interest and excitement, beholding me in a fashion which – without her words to disprove it – seems almost inviting, almost eager for me to be so close to her.

I steady myself on the edge of the bed and lean in close, finding only vague hints of the vampiric goth's own innate perfumes and familiar scents. Instead, the appealing muskiness of Mistress's abundantly released load dominates, thick and cock-tingling on the nose.

Morrigan smirks as I extend my tongue to her left cheek, relishing the moment of contact. A thick splatter of salty sweetness covering my tastebuds, sending a low shiver through me as I taste, yet again – and yet never enough! – the reproductive flavours of her lovely little sister.

'Mhm.'

Schlep, slup, mlep, mlep.

'Ooh.' The gorgeous goth chuckles, moaning slightly. 'That really tickles. It's a good thing I don't wear foundation. I certainly wouldn't want to ruin your treat.'

Somehow, I forget the relative disparity between us. It comes naturally, to rest my hands on the elder sister's shoulders and practically eat the side of her face, licking lustily, adoring every moment. Mistress's spooge is so delicious, so divine, even when it's not directly fresh from her dick. I scoop it up, tongueful after tongueful, making sure to savour and chew it before gulping it down without a care in the world. Noisy and naughty and nasty as can be.

'Holy shit, he's so fucking filthy,' Freya says. She brings up her left leg and pushes the foot into my back, playful yet pointed. 'Jeez, Tom. Is this because it's Morrigan, or because it's me?'

'More the latter,' I say, between mouthfuls. 'But, um…honestly, some of the former as well.'

Schleck, slurp, schlurp, schlep.

I shut my eyes and lose myself in the magic of the moment, licking the vampiric beauty's face clean. She allows me to do it, has no interest in stopping me. The most intervention she applies is to scoop the thickness out of that assaulted eye and deliver several coated fingers to my mouth, forcing them right in there without hesitation.

'He's actually ideal, I think,' she says, laughing lustily. Morrigan seems to enjoy the suction of my mouth around her fingers as well, and seems to be in no rush to yank them free. 'You are ever so lucky, Mistress. I can't quite say how grateful I am to be part of this. The second in your little harem.'

Freya persists in prodding at my back with her foot as I finish up on the left side of her sister's face, but the pointedness loses some of its power in favour of a kind of fond massaging, a stroking up and down. 'Why's his back sticky in places, cow tits?'

I freeze up as Mistress drags her big toe through the offending regions, and stare the gorgeous goth dead in her pale blue eyes. The lower right side of her face is still smeared with jism, and yet it seems to be completely irrelevant to her. Her expression walks the tightrope between that undiluted inner confidence and her playful pretence of submission, and being marked with another cock's release does nothing to sway the balance.

'Because Sweet Tom might be the first man I've ever wanted to fuck deep in his dirty little boy-pussy,' Morrigan says. My heart becomes a large lump at the back of my throat. 'I'm sorry, Mistress, but I do find him ever so fetching.'

Behind us, Freya sits upright, but the look on her face is one of flushed arousal, not a hint of disdain. To think how uncomfortable she was when this whole thing started, and to behold her now…the transition is immaculate. A turn for the better, for all involved, but most of all for herself. Freya is never going to be quite like her sister, but I'm starting to think she might be even better .

'Snog him,' Mistress says, smiling sweetly. 'Suck on his tongue. Taste his boy-spit. You're less than he is, in this room, on these days. Understood, cow tits?'

Of course, the vampiric beauty can't simply settle for being told. She's naughty , in the best of ways. With no need to cup together her colossal tits, all smeared and stained with semen, she instead brings her right hand to my cock and her left up to my chin. Morrigan wets her luscious lips, in the process catching a fat rope of her little sister's load across the pretty pinkness of her tastebuds.

She swallows it and smiles all the bolder, playfully and noiselessly massaging my erection with the silken supremacy of her dextrous fingers. 'I'd be happy to, Mistress. If you believe I'm his lesser, then I'm his lesser.' Morrigan turns her alluring attention to me, seizing me with those captivating eyes. Arctic ice, blue and pale. 'Please, Sweet Tom. Let me suck on your tongue and taste your dirty boy-spit. I want to make our Mistress ever so happy.'

And she says it all, pitch-perfect, while wringing my dick with her hand. Masterfully tending to me, but not putting in quite enough effort to make me cum too quickly. Saving that, of course, for the – and I can't believe it's going to happen – titwank I'm to receive afterwards.

'O-f course, um, cow tits. I…I'd be happy to let you do that.'

'Do what ?' Mistress says, giving me a poke.

'S-uck on my tongue. I'd be h-appy to let Morri–uh, cow tits –suck on my tongue.'

'Good boy.' Freya returns to that playful massaging. 'Dirty her perfect mouth, slut. I own it now, so enjoy yourself.'

This cannot be happening. This can't be real. It's one thing to service Morrigan, but to make out with her, and in so vulgar a fashion? Just like Freya says, her mouth is perfect . Just like Mistress, just like this whole genetically sublime family. And she's coaxing me forwards with that gentle grip on my throat, egging me to put my lips against those black-rimmed scarlet curves, and to let her suck on my fucking tongue .

Oh God. Oh fuck.

Her lips are like heaven, fire against my own. Plush, plump, welcoming. It takes a moment to work up the courage to stick my tongue inside her mouth, but the moment I do I'm awash with the sweetness of her spit, faintly tinged by the taste of Freya's luxurious load.

'Mhm. Mhaah.'

Schlup, slurp, slurp, schlup.

It's extremely erotic. The act itself, the passion she puts into it, the fact that the both of us are doing this in front of Mistress. Morrigan keeps her eyes wide open, staring at me with those pale and perfect blues, as if asserting herself even now in this private battleground between the both of us.

I can't help but tremble, shudder madly, beset by her on two fronts. Her mouth is magical, the suction of her velvet-soft cheeks around my tongue phenomenal in itself, but then there's her hand as well. That deviant hand, fiddling with my cock, giving it a steady massage up and down the length of my shaft, with enough energy to bring great joy and yet not so much that it provokes the familiar meaty fapping of masturbation.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

Schlup, schlup, slurp, schlup, slurp.

My cheeks grow hotter and hotter beneath Morrigan's gaze, no hint of her demonic dominance absent as she beholds me. This is still that gorgeous goth, pale and vampiric, completely in control whenever she needs to be. There's no illusion or trick, simply an application of her sublime will to at once torment me and please her little sister.

'That's a fucking fine sight,' Mistress says. She laughs, and pokes at my back with a toe. 'How's that, slut? My sister's mouth. Shit, she seems to be way more into it than I'd think for someone with such a superiority complex.'

And the thing is, Freya's not exactly wrong. The black-haired beauty is absolutely into what she's doing. This is above and beyond, this is the kind of thing that's meant to convey a message. But it makes little sense, especially to my lust-addled brain. So what if she's into me? I mean, she's got that coming anyway. That's the whole point of the arrangement the two of them just made. But then–

Morrigan suddenly pulls away, ceasing all movements upon my body. Her hand leaves my cock, her lips my mouth and tongue, and she makes a vulgar effort to languorously lick them of any residual spit.

'He really is sweet , Mistress. Sweet Tom, indeed.' She hurriedly scoops up a dense dose of spooge from her left cheek and cleans off the finger, moaning softly as she swallows. 'Not as sweet as you, of course. Those big balls produce such exquisite loads.'

'Yeah, yeah. Butter me up all you want.' Freya moves, and I turn around just in time for her to come up behind me, a looming and lovely shape. Amazonian and alluring, the blonde bronze-skinned goddess gets my throat in the crook of an elbow and gently but firmly yanks me further onto the bed. 'If you were trying to get him to shoot his load early and avoid marking those fat fucking titties, then you've got another thing coming.'

I'm struck by the delightful bubble-gum of Mistress's body spray as she pulls me up against her naked body. The fat warmth of her cock presses against my lower back, softened but not quite soft, and her tremendous tits are a pair of pillowy mountains against my back, nipples hard and glorious where they brush against my skin.

She rests her chin atop my head and brings her other hand around my front, rubbing it against my belly. Captured like this, held in her grasp, I can't help but throb and swell, my cock acting as the perfect weathervane for my happiness.

'I wouldn't dare,' Morrigan says, sitting back on her calves. Her milk-pale body is thicker in some ways than Freya's, especially heavier in the breast department, and noticeably jiggles as she moves. What a fucking sight. 'I'm happy, outright eager, to give him that titwank you asked for, Mistress. Though, given that I did such a good job for you…I wondered if I might make a request?'

Mistress shakes her head, the movement obvious against my scalp. 'Nope. Come on, cow tits. Let's add some loser male jism to those stupid bouncy fuckers.'

They are distracting. It can't just be me staring at them, because Morrigan makes sure to act all showy as she rises up onto her knees and shuffles forwards. She collects them up, one hand beneath each boob, and gives them a wicked wiggling of their magnificent massiveness. The tops of her tits are utterly glazed with jism, so thick and gooey it hides in places any hint of the pallor beneath. Not much of it has dripped down into the gap between them, but her lurid movements ensure that some of the excessive ejaculate leaks down as she shuffles forwards, ready to act as improvised lube for the second big-breasted tittyfuck of my life.

'Whatever you desire, Mistress. I am after all your cow-titted slave, am I not?'

'Ooh, slave, I like that,' Mistress says. She gently tightens her hold around my neck, resting the weight of her head against my hair. Her hand squeezes my shoulder, and the other softly strokes my belly. 'Be a good girl and milk the slut who outranks you. And if he tells you to do things differently, or better, then you'll obey. Is that understood?'

Morrigan's eyes dip down to mine, and she smirks seductively. 'Of course, Mistress. I'll treat him as I would you, for the duration of the act. Does that suit you, Master ?'

If my cock could launch like a rocket, it surely would. No way this is happening. No way. The gothic woman is utterly and unrelentingly gorgeous, just like her little sister, but where Freya has a deep and apparently unerring love for me, what does Morrigan have? Why do this? Why use her perfect body to pleasure a "mere" male ?

'It's f-ine,' I say, somewhat mewling. 'G-ood, even.'

Mistress chuckles, and the vampire beauty approaches, the cleft of her colossal chest coming within mere inches of my throbbing length. Those talented hands slide slowly up around the sides of each bountiful breast and of course she pushes them together, exemplifying their enormousness.

'It's more than fine. He's just being a little bitch about it.'

Freya squeezes me tighter, and I'm surprised I don't just instantly bust a load for the combination of her body pressed against my back, cock and tits and everything, and her older sister's approaching milky white mammaries to my front. With every passing second, with every decrease in the distance between my apparently God-chosen self and the gothic goddess before me, I count my blessings that the sheer volume of orgasms in my daily life has given me some fleeting degree of inoculation against anything so unbecoming as shooting before the moment of glory.

'I had figured as much,' Morrigan says, gazing upon my face, icy blues devouring my features as she smilingly considers me. 'I don't blame him. It's not every day you get to feel such a perfect pair of cow tits around your little male dick.'

Schpup-plup.

'Ughn!'

It takes all the strength in me not to lose my mind as she presses her cum-covered cleavage against the underside of my cock, promptly swallowing it between them. The delicate deliciousness of her perfectly pale skin pairs dirtily with the slathered silkiness of her sister's spooge, that most lustful of lubricants making my initial entry into the tremendous tightness between her breasts deceptively easy.

That is, however, where the simplicity ends.

'Milk him,' Mistress says. 'Be a good slut, cow tits, and milk my bitch-boy.'

Schpup-fup, schpup-plup, schpup-fup.

The vampiric beauty smiles sensually at me, obeying without need of acknowledging the command. She keeps her hands pressed against the unmarked sides of her colossal chest and lifts them up as one, those long and lovely fingers exhibiting a surprising strength that I couldn't quite appreciate when I was beneath the booby bonanza. The way they rise and fall is so rhythmic and carefully curated, her degree of control exceptional given that each breast is way more than a handful.

To be between them is…well, I'm amazed that Freya didn't cum quicker. There's such heat and humidity born of the size and weight of her massive melons, and for this second encounter the fantastically filthy presence of all that semen, gooey and perversely pleasant against my cock. As if it wasn't enough that her tits are so fucking profoundly fat that with the simplest application of her hands the space between them becomes some captivatingly carnal crush, I have to contend as well with the semen of my favourite person in all the world generously applied between them to squelch against my shaft.

Schpup-fup, schpup-plup, schpup-fup.

'Ugh. F-uck, Mistress. It's–ughn–too much.'

I writhe on the spot, eliciting cruel and charming laughter from both sisters. All the world is Venyabildt perfection, before me and behind me, holding me in place with some mixture of hands and mammaries. Freya throbs against my back and her sister tends to the swelling at my front, seeming to steadily increase the pace with every completed up-down gesture.

Morrigan's pale blue eyes are at once unearthly beautiful and yet enigmatically terrifying, for her power over me seems to extend into every encounter we've shared. I am so vulnerable to her, just as I am to Mistress, and it's at once troubling and tantalising to think that I'm going to be exploring that side of myself a great deal more in the future that was decided upon today.

'Such a lovely sound.' Freya plays with my body with each of her hands, massaging my belly and teasing at my collarbone with a finger. 'I'm sure her tits are even better than mine for this, aren't they? Given that my sister has such servile fat fucking cow tits.' Mwah . Mistress kisses the top of my head, all affectionate and appreciative, but the loveliness does nothing to quell the cheekiness in her tone. 'You can have this whenever you want, slut. I give you permission to demand titwanks, when you need to cum. No more wanking for you, not when there's Morrigan's milkers to paint with cum.'

'Argh. F-uck. Th-ank y-ou Mistress.'

It takes so much from me to speak, it feels like. Just the up and down, just the bouncy bouncing, just the carnal clench between those H or J or whatever cups is enough to sap my strength of will. Things are only worsened by the fact that Morrigan Venyabildt is utterly gorgeous, and the faces she pulls are so charmingly carnal that it's impossible to separate her overall appearance from the sublime squishiness of her tits around my cock.

Schpup-schplack, schpup-plup, schpup-schplack, schpup-fup.

All of a sudden, it gets harder. Worse, and yet all the more wonderful. The pale-skinned seductress leaps from the steadiness of her pacing to something bordering on violent, clamping her hands tighter around the sides of her magnificent mammaries and delivering unto my dick a voluptuous vice made out of the jism-jammed valley of paradise that is her chest.

'Good girl, cow tits,' Mistress says, chucking cruelly. 'Ruin him. Drain those slutty little balls.'

'As you say, Mistress. Anything to make you happy.'

'G-uh. Ughn.'

I can't keep my eyes open. Can't do anything but fight to hold on. The sloppy sordidness, a symphony of sublime squishing and squelching, grows louder and louder in my ears. Any attempt to twist or writhe, to regain some fleeting instance of control, is met with absolute resistance by the twin temptresses. Freya's hold is unrelenting, those strong arms keeping me firmly in place, and even if I did by some miracle get free of them, her big sister's big boobs are a velvet prison all of their own.

It's too perfect, too much for me. I want to last, want this to go on for ages, but how can it? Already, there's a powerful pressure building beneath the base of my cock. Already, there's that fantastic fiery warmth seeming to bubble away within me, ready to release. I stand no chance against Morrigan, not when she's this combination of Venyabildt beauty and titillating talent.

'Argh. F-uck.' I grunt, louder than ever, forcing my legs out to full extension and straining my toes in the process. It's oppressive, how good Morrigan is. How profoundly plump those cow tits are, wrapped around my cock. 'M-istress. I'm…I'm gonna…'

It's almost like that silence in the wake of thunder, deafening. A sensation so powerful I can't really think of its equal. One moment, my dick is in that paradise of pushed-together titty tightness, and the next it's all cold. In the open air, alone, abandoned. I open my eyes and find on the gorgeous goth's beautiful face not some tendency towards torment, but instead something wicked and wonderful.

Morrigan flicks her pale blue eyes between my face and my dick, which throbs away all splattered with Mistress's creamy load. I need release, and it's nowhere more obvious than in my upright and swollen shaft. She extends the tip of a teasing finger to the underside of my cock, giving it the briefest of strokes.

'I've got an idea, Mistress. To humiliate me further, of course.'

Freya doesn't say anything. I'm too mind-blown to comment. The sight of the vampiric beauty is somewhat paralysing by itself, but the way she moves leaves me on the cusp of true breathlessness.

'Holy shit,' Mistress says at last. 'Holy fucking shit.'

Schlup, slurp, schlup.

I don't quite register it. The swiftness of her sister's decision, the intensity of what follows. Suddenly I've got those voluptuous lips around my helmet, around the first third of my cock. Such beautiful lips, red lipstick with black edges, the tell-tale styling of the older Venyabildt daughters' mouth. And what a fucking mouth.

If only I weren't on the edge of ejaculating already, I might enjoy it for longer. Such warmth and wetness, the silkiness of her lips and the dedication of their grip. Her tongue, which acts as some wanton whip, this constant shifting between fiery firmness and spit-slicked softness where it races about against my helmet.

'Ugh. Guh.'

Morrigan meets my eyes the moment my load begins to spurt free, that magnificent mind setting its focus upon my own as it learns the taste of my meagre male sperm. At best I manage a whimper, a pathetically minor sound given the tremendousness of what I'm experiencing.

'That's it, cow tits.' Mistress brings her hand from my belly forwards, resting it in a proprietary fashion atop her sister's head. 'That's a good fucking whore.'

'Mhmf. Mhm.'

Schlup-slurp, schlup-schlep, schlup-slurp.

I fight, tooth and nail, to keep my eyes locked on Morrigan's. She keeps sucking, keeps working that tongue, using her mouth like that of some succubus. I've never shot a load so forcibly, never had anyone treat my dick quite like this. Like royalty, like a god, like something deserving of worship despite the relative quickness of the deed.

This is some defilement, some act of heresy, to paint a Venyabildt's tongue with my load. It clearly turns Freya on to some absurd degree, given how powerfully her cock throbs against my back, pressed there much as her sister's was not long before. I can't quite fathom how I ended up as part of this, here between the two of them, emptying my nuts in the goth's mouth while the bronze-skinned beauty practically cheers me on.

'Feed her, slut,' Mistress says, kissing my head. Mwah . 'Feed that cow tit whore those dirty little tadpoles. Some Venyabildt scion she is, tasting cum out of a boy's inferior dick.'

'Mhm-hm.'

'Ughn. F-uck, Morrigan.'

Schlup-slurp, schlup-schlep, schlup-slurp.

The gothic beauty shows no signs of slowing, seeming to take her sister's words in her stride. It's an incredible sight, an intensely amazing sensation, to be the lucky receiver, inferior dick or no, of Morrigan's magical mouth. Has any other man ever done this? Am I the first? Shit, as if it matters. It's a glory beyond words, and even though I'm pretty sure I'm done shooting, the elder sister continues to bob her head and swirl her tongue and suck in her cheeks to give me the most satisfying release my cock has ever received.

As my eyes grow hooded, as a sense of profound relaxation sweeps over me, the pale-skinned dickgirl slowly releases me from her lips. She makes sure not to spill a drop, letting my helmet go only when no trace remains of my jism upon its pink contours. The fact that she allows the creaminess of her sister's load to remain on my shaft speaks volumes as to what compelled her to do what she just did.

'Mhm.'

The sound of Morrigan's moan, doubtlessly loudened for the sake of highlighting the perversion of what's just occurred, hits the ear just right. It sends a chill down my back, a rippling spiderweb of shivers outwards to my fingers and toes. Paired with the faintest of slurping noises, the churning about of my male milk behind the paradise of those plump lips, it's practically an auditory orgasm.

'Jesus Christ,' I say, sighing softly. Mistress's hold on me remains pleasantly powerful, the plushness of her big breasts against my back and the throbbing of her needy thickness both potentiating the relieving glory of my release. 'You…you're just…'

'Good girl,' Freya says, stroking her sister's head, making an effort to maintain the neatness of her straight black hair. 'Show me. Show me that inferior load that's dirtying your tongue, cow tits.'

The gorgeous goth makes a determined effort to look at her little sister's eyes, to obey the command, but at the moment she parts her black-and-crimson lips Morrigan's attention is solely upon me. Some taunt, almost. Some frighteningly fantastic suggestion that she can service me with her tits and her tongue and nonetheless remain my superior in all things sexual. Remains in complete control of the situation, and revels in it.

It makes our cocks, mine and Mistress's, throb something fierce. The sight of such a pretty tongue covered in my jism, an unsurprisingly large load given the degree of arousal present in Freya's bedroom right now, is enough to completely command my gaze and disregard the world around it. The vampiric beauty's tastebuds, slathered in my seed, putting on a show to highlight just how far she's gone, how far she's willing to go, in pursuit of this most vulgar arrangement between the three of us.

'Shit, you're so dirty.' Freya chuckles, and pats her sister's head. 'Swallow it. Put it inside you. Dispose of the evidence.'

Morrigan does so without a hint of reluctance, happily drawing her tongue back between her lips and gulping down my pride, swallowing the sperm of some lesser male into her divine Venyabildt physiology. A moment later she makes sure to reveal the emptiness of her pretty mouth, white teeth and pink tongue utterly spotless, before smiling up at our Mistress.

'All gone, Mistress,' Morrigan says. 'It must say something about how disgustingly depraved I am, because I'd happily do that again. Sweet Tom continues to live up to his name.'

Freya slowly slides her hand down from atop her big sister's head and strokes the side of her face, appreciating the paleness and perfection of her right cheek before gently cupping Morrigan's chin with sensual strength. 'I've got a present for you, cow tits. For being such a good girl.'

The gothic beauty sits herself straight on her calves, hands down across her needy erection as if to urge the disobedient thing to sit. As a result her arms press together those tremendous tits, a show for any who looks upon them. There's still plenty of Freya's load between them, given the vastness of both the older sister's boobs and the volume of the younger's ejaculation.

'Mistress?' Morrigan cocks her head to the side, and smiles stickily. 'A present for my good behaviour? You don't need to do that. I'm yours to do with as you please, I was simply obeying you.'

'A present for me , then.' Mistress lurches forwards, the strength of her Amazonian physique momentarily obvious as she so easily pushes me off the edge of the bed in the process of climbing onto her feet. 'Slut,' she says, not yet releasing her hold of my throat. 'Clean my cum off those cow tits, using your mouth. I'm going to get ready on the bed. Join me, both of you, when there's not a drop left on those fat fucking things.'

When Freya lets go of me I'm forced to immediately adjust to her absence, the world being such an easier thing when you've got her magnificent body keeping a firm grip on your own. There's a momentary awkwardness as I stand before Morrigan, still on her knees and yet no less intimidating for that fact, while Mistress leaves me with a firm spanking of my backside and continues to exude nothing short of captivating coolness as the lustiness of the evening continues.

The vampiric beauty brings her arms up beneath her breasts and crosses them, each hand gripping each elbow, making her tits even more of a feast for the eyes as they press together and seem to be all the larger as a result. That magical mingling of the creamy white of her skin (with plenty of sperm all gooey across it) and the pretty pinkness of her nipples and their surrounding haloes is enough to shunt blood back into my dick, and give it a slight firmness despite the after-effects of her titwank-turned-blowjob still cascading through my system.

'My cow tits are yours to clean, Master,' Morrigan says, giving her chest a slight wiggle. 'I hope their stupid size doesn't put you off.'

Freya chuckles somewhere behind me, and the bed springs go faintly as she climbs atop it. 'I don't think we can quite put a price on how much you owe me, Tom,' she says, the cheeky contentment in her voice so rich and ripe that it further enflames my cheeks. 'I figure this at least counts for all birthdays and Christmases and other gifts to come, forever.'

'Y-eah.'

'Yeah, what ?'

'Th-ank you, M-istress.'

Mistress chuckles. 'Stare all you like, but the longer you take, the rougher it's going to be.'

Stare all I like, she says, but it's more than that. I can't bring myself away from Morrigan, can't seem to pull my attention off of those colossal cow tits. The older Venyabildt seemed so out of reach, so impossible an object of interest unless I drop to my knees and worship her like the goddess she is, but I'd be lying if I pretended that her body at large doesn't appeal.

There's a look in those eyes that suggests she's all about this, with some misgivings. That our places haven't shifted, even if she's happy to let me taste the spooge-soaked beauty of her boobs. Morrigan keeps her hands there, pressed neatly beneath her melons, ensuring that they're all the more enchanting to behold.

She smirks slowly, the expression building with the faint clumsiness of my descending. So mesmerised as I am by her mammaries, it's as if I've lost all control of my body. What should be the simplest thing is now difficult, because my brain can't wrap itself around the reality of the situation.

It's more than the fact that they're such lovely things. Freya's are often a pillow for me, and it's far from unheard of that she'll let me touch and kiss and suckle on them. But Morrigan is different, and now…now she's different again, in quite the reverse. Master . It rings in my head, fake and yet nonetheless ridiculously real.

'Come on,' Morrigan says, soft as silk, practically a whisper. 'I'm not going to bite. Nor am I going to get funny about my nipples, even though there's clearly no cum on either of them.'

The lust in her pale blue eyes is discomforting, if only for the fact that it's in many ways a mirroring of that I see so often in Mistress's. Somehow, by some abject madness, I've earned the affections of both Venyabildt daughters. Two of the most beautiful women in the world, and what little I understand of my future involves me tending to their bodies as and when they demand it. And better yet, I'm to be part of the vulgar game each is inevitably going to play with the other!

Her words spur me, and I move with ravenousness. It's a miracle I don't manage to fuck up my knees, dropping forwards towards her. The gorgeous goth lets out a lustful laugh as I bring my hands to her hips, steadying myself on my knees before her. Our mismatched heights gives me an easy time shoving my face forwards, hungrily hunting every last spurt of spooge basted upon her bountiful boobies.

Mlep, slurp, schlurp, slurp.

'Mhm. Mhmf.'

'G-ood boy,' Morrigan says, mask on the cusp of slipping. She clears her throat, and moans softly. 'Ooh. I mean, good Master .'

Mistress chuckles to herself atop the bed, doubtless watching the whole thing unfold. My tongue touches time and again upon the silkiness of skin and the bounciness of breast meat, her big sister's body its own exquisite playground. Even cooled slightly, Freya's thick load is more than pleasant, salty-sweet and sensually sticky. I scoop it up on the blade of my tongue with each lurid lashing, caught between savouring the substance and relishing the act of earning it from the pale sister's massive mammaries.

It's impossible not to moan as I slide my tongue through the top of her cleavage, infinitely grateful that Morrigan had me empty into her mouth instead of polluting Mistress's milk with my inferior male produce. There's such luxury in appreciating Freya, of course, of tasting those strong Venyabildt genes, but I can't pretend that her sister's tits aren't sublime with or without their carnal coating.

Slurp, mlep, mlap, mwah.

'Aah. He's such a good–mhm–slut, Mistress.' Morrigan gives her chest a wiggle, kind of reverse-motorboating me. Her sticky breasts practically batter my face, wonderfully warm and weighty. They slap my cheeks, produce an ear-tingling schfup, schfup, schfup as our bodies collide. 'Such a dirty Master, loving my cow tits.'

'Hurry up,' Mistress says, tone sounding…bothered. But it's not annoyance, as such. 'Clean those fucking things faster.'

The faintest of a background sound, a schl-fap, schl-fap, schl-fap of messy masturbation, perfectly explains her discontent. I can only imagine how horny she is, to have gotten hard again so quickly, to be desiring nothing more than yet another release. Our afternoon, and now evening, has proven quite the unrelenting fuck-fest.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

'Almost there,' Morrigan says. 'Aah.'

Slurp, mwah, slurp, smack, slurp, smooch.

I finish things up, getting the last of the wayward dollops of dick milk inside my mouth and for a few extended moments appreciating the texture of the gothic goddess's skin, the way her areolas brush against my lips, the fierce firmness of her nipples which are so easy to suckle on. I can't quite process my journey here, the distance between who I am now, what I am now, and what life was like before Freya Venyabildt.

Freya Venyabildt, who can't delay things any longer. 'Fuck it,' she says, dropping to the floor behind me. 'You take his mouth, cow tits. I give you permission. Little fucking tease.'

I suck in one of the most delectable breaths of my life, tasting the perverse perfume of the day. Sex smells and body smells, of deodorant and shower gels and cock juices and slick coochies and a hint of sweet feminine sweatiness. For just a moment more I'm in titty paradise, able to nurse on the older sister's mammoth milkers, and then Mistress yanks hold of my arms just above the elbows and roughly pushes me forwards.

Morrigan's arms move swiftly out of the way, letting her breasts sag a bit, but most importantly allowing my face to slip between and beneath them so that I'm nose-first against the plushness of her belly. Her throbbing cock pokes up at my collarbone as Freya forces me face-down, arse-up, exerting a demanding degree of strength in pursuit of her lusts.

'M-istress!'

Schlop, schlock.

Her fat-headed cock rams against my sphincter, but now it's her turn to tease, clearly. She presses the bulbous bell-end into that tight and sensitive place, her helmet plentifully lubed, and hopefully that slickness paired with the oozing of her precum is more than enough for Mistress to comfortably assert herself over her domain.

'So I can call him slut, too, Mistress?' Morrigan says, bringing her hands against the sides of my face. Delicate touch, silken skin, paired with a subtle but inescapable possessiveness.

'Be my guest, cow tits.' Schlop. Schluck. Mistress pokes at my rear, brushes her helmet around in a quick and crude circle. 'Just make sure to put him in his place. Sexy little slut. Ugh.'

Freya jams her bell-end against my sphincter and pushes, getting the very tip of her tip wedged firmly in place. I try to glance back, to take in her beauty and the sensuality of her body, her face, but her gothic sister has too firm a hold on me. She keeps me facing her pale belly and steadily shuffles backwards, her cock leaving my collarbone and brushing against the underside of my jaw. Her loose foreskin is all that separates me from the stickiness of her helmet, that most carnal of kisses.

'Thank you, Mistress. I'll make very good use of your precious little slut.' Morrigan brushes the sides of my face with her thumbs, a lustful humour edging her voice. 'Can I make him tend to my balls first, before I pump a fat load in his mouth?'

Freya keeps herself on the very edge of entering me, halfway pushed inside of me but not yet completing the motion. 'Sorry, who is the Mistress right now?' she says, tone suggesting a roll of those beautiful blue eyes. 'He can tend to your nuts when you're hilted in his face, but not a moment before. This is my game, cow tits. Play along.'

'Of course, Mistress. How rude of me,' Morrigan says, faux-sheepish. 'I'll simply have to adhere to your suggestion…'

The gorgeous goth guides me downwards, urges me more like, and subtly shuffles herself backwards. My chin presses down against the top of her cock, which throbs fiercely, demanding attention. The sweet scent of her body, and the potency of her pseudo-feminine musk, inescapably fill my nostrils. I push out my lips a little, dragging them down the softness of her belly, shivering as my chin comes into contact with the fuzziness of her dark triangle of pubes.

There's a long pause on Freya's part, and I can only imagine that she's watching with interest as her sister takes control of the oral side of our tantalising tryst. Morrigan's erection might as well be prophetic in nature, the way it's pulsating proudly against the underside of my jaw. It faintly curves against my outstretched neck, its head fiercely swollen where it comes to rest just below my collarbone. As if it's mapping out its journey on the outside, before achieving it within.

I can barely breathe for the excitement, for being at the mercy of them both. The atmosphere of the room has clearly shifted, my position going from above the elder sister to now beneath her, beneath both of them, and it's…it's right where I want to be. Less worrisome, definitely, to be under the goth's guidance than anything like in charge of her.

'Faster, cow tits,' Mistress says. 'I like the show but I need to drain myself in my slut, so do this in your own time.'

'I will,' Morrigan says, gently stroking my cheeks. 'I'll do it plenty.'

She suddenly shifts backwards, dragging her helmet up against my neck, along it, over my Adam's apple. It leaves a notable trail of stickiness, the glistening goo leaking from that giant glans marking me as it goes, further instilling the very real fate of my throat in the near future. To be stuffed , just like my arse is going to be. To be spit-roasted , between two futanari goddesses. I've dealt with both dicks before, but not like this.

'Shit,' I say, the word escaping so naturally.

It comes out right as the vampiric beauty's big bell-end brushes up the front of my chin, halting half an inch from my lips. Gorgeous, just as she is. A very suckable tip for a very enticing erection, visibly swelling and shifting right before my face. Morrigan brings her hands up to the top of my head and I cling all the tighter to her hips, right as Mistress enters me properly.

Schlup-schlop, schlup-schlop.

The bodacious blonde's big bronze dick spears me, its fat head readily parting my sphincter and sliding within, radiating heat and glory as it fills me out most excellently. My eyelids flutter and my back instinctively arches, further lifting my backside up for Freya to firmly take hold of me. She digs her fingers into me with erotic eagerness, massaging my buns and pushing inch after inch of her prick deep within.

'Ughn. Fu–mhmf!'

Schlurp, schluck, slurp, schluck.

'There we go,' Morrigan says, all pleased with herself. 'Aah. Whine around that, cocksucker.'

I moan, but it's cut short. The heavy helmet ahead of me barges into my lips without delay, passingly straining the limits of my mouth with its hugeness. Salty precum floods my tastebuds as the big bell-end slides across my tongue, moving with energetic insistence towards the tight opening of my throat.

'Mhm. So tight,' Freya says, her cockhead such a noticeable presence inside me. Slap . She wallops my backside, the sting blending perfectly with the sweetness of her heat and hugeness. 'Ugh. How's that, slut? Lucky little you, taking two cocks at once.'

'Mumph. Mhmf.'

Schlurp-slurp, schlup-plup, schlurp-slurp, schlup-plup.

They chuckle, carnal caramel on the ear. Two lovely voices almost in unison, both subtly strained with pleasure, taking great glee in turning me into some depository for their dicks. Mistress thrusts and then Morrigan does, alternating their timings. Thankfully the goth's hips are plentifully fat, cushion to contend with the tight gripping of my fingers, holding onto her body for dear life.

I'm not sure which is harder to handle, but for drastically different reasons.

Mistress's member is obviously in a part of me that's more, uh, naturally capable of contending with its massiveness. It's a path well-trodden, at this point, carnally conquered by her many, many times. Despite her thickness, despite the violent vigorousness of her throbbing and thrusting, her size itself isn't an issue.

'Ughn. Let me in,' Morrigan says, poking at my throat. 'Relax and let me–aah–in. Know your place, cocksucker.'

Freya's big sister, on the other hand…well, as much as I'm lately practising a lot with my face and throat, her helmet is particularly prominent and my throat remains troublesomely tight. The bulk of her bell-end alone is such that it practically fills my mouth by itself, without starting on the following firmness of her proud pale shaft.

Schlup-slurp-glugp, schplup-plup-fup, schlup-schluck-glugp, schplup-fup-plup.

'Mhmf. Mumph. Mhaah.'

Moaning, moaning, moaning. Mistress goes deeper, and Morrigan wedges the first third of her glans into the tightness of my throat, tickling my tonsils. My mouth is soaking, my arse a shuddering convulsion wrapped around the ridiculousness of the bronze beauty's cock. That cock, which might just edge it in terms of difficulty, simply because my prostate is so fucking sensitive and Freya's dick seems to be pretty much designed for ravaging it.

My own cock strains and aches, my balls swinging about beneath it with every fearsome thrust delivered by my dickgirl dominatrix. Little by little her big sister pushes that much further into my throat, doubtless causing my neck to bulge slightly with the impressiveness of her fat-headed cock. I hazard a glance up at Morrigan and find the most viciously voluptuous of smirks upon her lovely black-and-crimson lips, her real satisfaction showing in full force.

'This was a–mhm–fantastic idea,' Mistress says, giving my backside another slap. Smack.

She presses her hands against the backs of my hips and adjusts herself, applying a bit of her weight to my body as she lifts herself up to get a better angle on my arse. Throbbing fiercely, her cock slides that much deeper, its huge head alluringly noticeable as it plunges back and forth against my sensitive innards. My sphincter is stretched by her sizeable shaft, the monumental member being so girthy that I'm tight around it even without actively clenching.

Actively clenching being somewhat hard, given that at the front of things, I can't really do much but hold tight while the gorgeous goth uses my face like a pocket pussy. The beautiful paleness of her form takes up all my world, wide hips and heavy breasts a paradise to pair with her prick. Her bulky bell-end pushes again and again at the opening of my throat, half of its thickness wedged into such a cramped space, but she grins viciously all the while. Morrigan could get on with it, but she's taking a great deal of satisfaction in making me squirm.

Schlup-glugp, schlurp-glugp, schlup-glugp.

Schlplup-plup-thwap, schplup-plup-thwup, schplup-plup-thwap.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

Freya's big balls begin slapping against mine, further enhancing my ecstasy. There's something alluringly assertive about the weight of them, how they're so much bigger and fatter than mine, highlighting further that disparity between our male parts. Her sister slides, at long last, properly into my throat, but continues to take great joy in withdrawing into my mouth only to plunge back into the depths. The result is an increasing sordidness to the sounds produced by her pumping.

I'm a shivering mess, my dick throbbing fiercely as it jiggles about between my legs, set into wobbling motion by the combined efforts of the two voluptuous Venyabildts and their vigorous ploughing of my juxtaposed holes. In heaven, certainly, but the pair might as well be succubi for their combination of endurance and endowment.

'He's built for this, that's–aah–why,' Morrigan says, playing with my hair. 'He's a very special thing, your Sweet Tom.' I try to behold her face, but her impalement is becoming thorough enough that to look up is to find only the beautiful bouncing of her breasts. Moment by moment, the shorn velvet darkness of her pubes grows nearer. 'Ah, but my–ughn–manners: thank you for letting me use him, Mistress. Mhm.'

Schlplup-plup-thwap, schplup-plup-thwup, schplup-plup-thwap.

Mistress chuckles, all lust and fire, pushing herself so deep into me that her hairy crotch brushes up against the top of my butt crack. Her heavy hangers are so welcome against my smaller nuts, their contents as ever craved beyond compare.

'You're welcome, cow tits. Ugh. He's a good fuck, that's for sure.'

Her voice falters in the finest of ways as she says the last bit, the dominant persona conflicting with the deep-seated affection she holds for me. Especially deep right now, given that she's embedded up to the hilt inside her favourite person in all the world. But it's the kind of little vocal distortion that makes my insides fuzzy as well as being a mess of dicks, and despite the vulgarity of things the veiled romantic parts drive me closer than ever to my climax.

'A hungry–mhm–mouth, as well.'

Schlup-glugp-thwup, schlurp-glugp-thwap, schlup-glugp-thwup.

Morrigan swings her hips with increased urgency and the combination of that momentum along with the fact that I've got two-thirds of her throbbing titan occupying my mouth and throat results in her heavy nuts beginning to smack against my jaw. Despite her desire for such, I'm stretched too thin by the two of them to put my tongue to effective use in licking at her lovely loins. The alternating movements of the two – growing more aligned by the moment – means that at any given moment I've got big beautiful balls bouncing against one end of me or the other, their skin silken and their weight wonderful.

I shut my eyes and bask in it, as the fiery conflagration building around my crotch and backside creeps closer and closer to the moment of full and fantastic release. The vampiric beauty's furry mound brushes at my nose and her nuts almost entirely enveloping the pointed portion of my chin, slapping sweetly against my skin.

All I can make sense of is dick , delicious and divine dick, filling me at both ends and utterly taming me, putting me in my rightful place between the two of them. The sense of heat, of being home , overwhelms those last ounces of resistance and suddenly I'm spurting, shooting my load upon Mistress's bedroom floor, writhing in wickedly wanton glory beneath the titillation of the twin temptresses.

'Mhugh. Mughn. Mhmf.'

They each proceed to hilt themselves within me and stay firmly wedged in place, stuffing my crack and my face with silky-soft pubes, throbbing away inside my throat and my bum. Not cumming, because their endurance is so much better, but giving me some brief interlude in which to enjoy the rawness of my climax without being further overwhelmed.

'Good boy,' Mistress says, stroking my hips, massaging my buttocks. 'Cum for me. Let out all of that–ugh–slutty spunk.'

Morrigan says nothing, simply playing with my hair, but the delicate deftness of her touch is suggestive of much the same appreciative affection. She slips a hand down the back of my neck, brushing over the goosebumps, and strokes my upper back from shoulder to shoulder. Amazonian as they may be, virile and potent beyond any mortal man, my dickgirl demigoddesses are nonetheless every bit as in love with this situation as I am.

The respite is vital, in fact, because I'm not sure I've cum so hard before. It's as if my whole body is some tectonic fault, quaking under the divine duress of being double-stuffed. There are no extra erogenous zones in use, but I really am, undeniably, a submissive slut. This is my element, my place, between the both of them. Beneath them, at their mercy, a toy in which to empty themselves. That passing notion, the fact that before long I'll be taking two Venyabildt-grade ejaculations into me on opposite ends, being thoroughly loaded with my favourite of filthy substances, ensures that the psychological component in all of this burns exceedingly bright.

'Mhm. Mhm-hm. Mhugh.'

'I love how–aah–tight you get around me when you're cumming,' Freya says, squeezing my buns, one in each hand. 'Your body knows its place.'

'Men do, Mistress,' Morrigan says. 'Genevieve was wrong on a whole host of things, but–ughn–there's no equal in joy to using a man like this. They crave cock, and who better to provide it than futanaris like us?'

Schlup-glugp-thwup, schlurp-glugp-thwap, schlup-glugp-thwup.

It's the older sister who resumes her movements first, in the wake of that risqué remark. She pulls back and thrusts, pushing her crotch into my face, swinging her balls against my chin. In combination with the way she holds me, strokes me, I feel almost used , and it's a perversely perfect sensation.

Her statement, as my nuts empty upon the floor, as she so easily glides her gargantuan shaft into and out of the deepest parts of my throat, seems wholly self-evident. No answer on my part could be more truth-affirming than the ongoing scene itself, my lucky male self skewered between the two fantastic futanaris.

Schlplup-plup-thwap, schplup-plup-thwup, schplup-plup-thwap.

Mistress follows suit, rapidly achieving her previous pace and sending ripples of glory through me, causing my body to shudder all the more as the combination of my continuing climax and the wonderful working of her womanly hips. For a long moment there's a kind of dedicated quiet, the only sounds in the luxurious bedroom being the meatiness of our movements, the muffled moans my strained mouth lets out, the breathy exhalations of the seductive sisters as they use my body for their own ends.

Use me, yes, but my reward is a seemingly endless ejaculation, because for so long as Mistress continues to pump herself back and forth against my prostate, there's no pause to the pulsations that surge out from it. If not for Morrigan's cushioning hips upon which to hold, I'd probably fall forwards completely and utterly impale my face on the older sister's dick.

'Ughn.' Freya grunts, her helmet swelling more prominently. 'I don't think I'll be all too long, now. You're r-ight, cow tits. You're so fucking right.'

The pale beauty chuckles. 'Of course, Mistress. One of my better qualities, understanding sluts like Sweet Tom.' She digs her fingers into the back of head, knotting clumps of hair between them as best she can. 'I think I'll–aahn–reward him with something to swallow. If that's okay with you, Mistress?'

'Mhm-hm. Go for it.' Smack . Freya wallops my butt again, and the sting of pain only enhances the pleasure. 'But you'll have to–ugh–hold on. I'm cumming first.'

Schlplup-plup-thwap, schplup-plup-thwup, schplup-plup-thwap.

Mistress picks up her pace, applying more of her weight atop me, hands again pressing down on the backs of my hips. Her nuts slam and smack against my own, working in unison with her colossal cock to thoroughly milk me of every last sperm, and all the while her length seems to swell thicker and more impressive. Her breathing quickens, becomes frenetic, and my thoughts turn hungrily towards the double-dose of dickgirl deliciousness I'm soon to find myself stuffed with.

Morrigan slows her pace, clearly appreciating the sight of her little sister pushing powerfully towards the finish line. A luxury I can't partake of, though I'm the lucky bastard who gets to experience the body-shattering pleasure delivered by the mighty motions of Freya's tremendous dick.

Schlplup-plup-thwap, schplup-plup-thwup, schplup-plup-thwap.

'Argh. God, you're such a fucking–mhm–sexy little slut, Tom,' Mistress says, her bulky balls battering against mine, the fronts of her thighs smacking again and again against my cheeks. 'I'm going to–guh–fill you with so much–ughn–fucking c-um.'

As she nears her climax, every piston-pumping of her body against and into mine, Morrigan subtly shifts herself backwards, sliding out of my throat. She sits comfortably back on her calves, and I chance a look up at her, finding such blissful happiness in those icy blue eyes. Her fat helmet glides back across my tongue, throbbing fiercely as she brings it all the way back against my lips. I'm forced to widen them further as the thick rear crest of her bell-end pulls against them, an act of illicit intent: the lining up of her eyelet with the blade of my tongue.

'You know what I want, Sweet Tom.' The gorgeous goth smiles at me, eyelids fluttering faintly with every schplup-plup and thwap-thwup of her sister's energetic efforts. 'I know you want it, too. Suck it out. Suck it all out. Ooh. Yes. G-ood boy.'

Schlup, slurp, schlup, slurp.

Schlplup-plup-thwap, schplup-plup-thwup, schplup-plup-thwap.

As Mistress continues to ravage my rear with such potent strokes, slamming herself up to the hilt and drawing back only to repeat it time after time, growing that much more frantic in her throbbing as she persists, I put my mouth to good use and pleasure her elder sister with the hollowing-out of my cheeks and the titillating twisting of my tongue against the opening of her helmet to ensure a big delivery of her body's most sacred and intimate of substances.

'Guh. Fuck, I'm…I'm going to…'

Schplup-plup-THWAP.

My back arches reflexively as the bronze-skinned beauty pushes herself balls-deep into me, her nuts ringing resoundingly against my own where they ripple and shiver on the cusp of dispensing a tremendous quantity of Venyabildt pride inside me. As they settle into a rising-falling quiver against me, her throbbing thickness bucks and strains, and Freya digs her fingers into my hips.

'Ughn. Mhm. Good slut.'

The eruption of molten heat arrives in the most fantastical of fashions, leaving me wide-eyed in satisfaction as I continue to slurp and suckle on Morrigan's bell-end. Every dense rope and splattering string is noticeable, obvious, filling me with intense heat and a perverse notion of being claimed, filled, marked, conquered. So familiar a feeling and yet no less profound than it was the very first time, so naturally attuned to my lusts.

Schplup, schplup, schplup.

Mistress grinds against me, milks herself into me, wringing out every dense globule of creamy cum she can muster. Her nuts shiver and shudder, rise and fall against my own. All the while, by some impressive resilience on my part, I manage to suck, and nurse, and tend to her big sister's proudly plump helmet where it stuffs the entrance to my mouth.

'Ughn. That's it. That's–ugh–it.'

Slurp, schlurp, schlup, schlurp.

The bronze-skinned blonde trembles and bucks, erupting into me, splattering the walls of my rear with the thick produce of her loins. It just keeps coming, a seemingly unending torrent of titillating gooiness that heightens the heavenliness bestowed upon my backside by her massive and magnificent presence.

'Ugh. Fuck yeah. Aahn. Take that–guh–load.'

Freya's groaning pairs with the slow massaging motions of her hands against my hips and buttocks, her efforts erratic and inconsistent and thankfully leaving me with just enough capacity to continue servicing her sister.

Schlup, slurp, schlup, slurp.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

As one Venyabildt empties herself deep within me, the other grows closer and closer to her climax as I moan around her more-than-a-mouthful bell-end. Morrigan winces a little, strains, makes sweet and sultry faces as the pleasure builds and builds and builds. She continues to tussle my hair with her fingertips, maintaining some veiled degree of control that makes rolling my tongue around her beefy helmet and sucking feistily on her cock all the more satisfying.

'Aah. Almost there,' Morrigan says. 'Just…a…little…'

'Just fucking cum, cow tits!'

Schplup-PLUP.

Mistress gives one sudden final thrust, knocking me forwards and adding just enough momentum to send her sister over the edge. The gorgeous goth sucks in a sharp breath and bucks her hips, helmet growing immediately firmer as it pumps out the first dense shot of dick milk straight across my waiting tongue.

'Ugh. Mhm.'

Schlurp, slurp, slurp, schlup.

Morrigan moans contentedly as her load splatters my tastebuds, viscous like jelly in the ropier parts, some filthy reminder of her virility. It's salty and tangy, overwhelmingly vulgar, a distinctly sexual flavour compared to the sweeter creamier qualities of her sister's cum. It readily conquers my mouth, a series of sizeable spurts that fill my face-hole to the utter limit.

I'm forced to promptly swallow, because there's just too much. By itself, without Freya's assault on my anus, I might be able to manage somehow, but everything is a little too overwhelming. It's not as if it matters, hugely, as Mistress's big sister is so startlingly virile that savouring is practically a reflexive activity when it comes to her spooge.

'Such a good little–ughn–cumslut,' Morrigan says.

'Isn't he just?' Smack . Freya gives me an assertive spank across the tops of my buns, straightening herself up and seeming to have passed the most intense part of her climax. She lets out a sweet little yawn, so peaceful compared to the battleground that is my mouth. 'I don't recall having had a better day than this. It's really taken it out of me.'

Mistress keeps hold of my hips while the last pleasurable pulses ripple out of her dick, which is notably softer than the giant glans in my mouth, erupting like a volcano. Morrigan smiles at her sister, ignoring me, despite the fact that she's borderline impregnating my mouth.

'We'll join you on the bed, Mistress. I feel I might be–ooh–a touch drained as well, after this.'

Given that I can barely keep my own eyes open as the pale-eyed beauty looks down at me, smirking smugly, I'm in full agreement. Another mouthful and a half goes down into my belly, leaving everything rich with Morrigan's moreish flavour, distinctive and delicious on account of its erotic intensity.

'I'll stay inside him,' Freya says. 'You just finish up. He's a nice little cockwarmer. Very snug.'

'Mhmf. Mhm.'

Mistress chuckles warmly at my face-filled agreement, the muffled sound nonetheless loud enough to get the point across. She strokes the dip of my back and I can easily imagine her watching me with great interest, deeply approving of my role as the on-call slut for both sisters.

The gorgeous goth's payload shrinks in quantity as I gulp it down, a rolling sticky warmth that glazes my throat all the way to my belly, ensuring that both ends of me are utterly blessed by the beautiful sisters. Morrigan starts to slowly soften, while the aftershock of my powerful orgasm leaves a clenching that sustains a certain sturdiness in her little sister. When the elder Venyabildt draws back, freeing her cum-drained cock from my lips, it comes away without a hint of remaining jism. Sucked wholly dry, and left sensually sated.

'Good boy,' she says, patting my head, and relaxing onto her calves. Morrigan looks to Freya, a definite calmness oozing about her. 'To the bed, Mistress? Shall I help you lift him?'

'Oh, I'm quite able,' Mistress says, dipping forwards. Her heavenly breasts push against my back, the plush humidity of them furthering the lingering loveliness gifted to me by her prostate pummelling. She slides her hands across my chest and gets a firm grip of me underneath my armpits, putting to good use that Amazonian physique I so adore.

Mwah . Smooch . Freya kisses my throat as she hoists me up, keeping her slightly softened cock wedged within me to prevent any sudden leakage. All I can do is smile a big idiotic grin, ear to ear, which Morrigan clearly finds hilarious given the strength of her smirk.

'Come on, cow tits. I want those fat fuckers in my face.'

'As you say, Mistress.'

Mistress keeps hold of me right up to the moment she flops us down on the bed, spooning me from behind, making good use of my relative shortness for when her sister joins us. The gorgeous goth lays herself on her side to my front, positioning herself so that Freya gets a faceful of marvellous mammaries to enjoy while the warm crush between them ensures that sleep dawns on me thick and fast.

Schlup, slurp, mwah, schlup.

'Ooh, Mistress!'

'Mhm. Mhmf.'

Their incestuous play surrounds me, and the sensation of warmth within – two heavy loads, filling me up wonderfully – pairs with the fading ripples of my climax. Caught between their sensual and sweet smells, the softness of their skin against me on both sides, it's no wonder that my eyes fall shut. Just to rest them, of course.

Just for a little while.

Chapter 15: Pleasing Perspehone

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Pleasing Persephone

Things are different, following my enjoyable escapade with Morrigan and Mistress.

Waking up between them is one thing. One fucking incredible one. By some perfect fluke I'm in the middle of that superb sandwich, huge breasts on either side of me, fat cocks brushing against my sides, lazily hugged by the two sleeping beauties.

The first breath of the day is a thing of glory, inhaling their mingling sweet smells, appreciating the warmth and humidity of their proximity to me. Turning left or right, I find myself staring at natural cleavage, G-cups or H-cups squished upon themselves, one atop the other. God, I must be the luckiest dude on the planet.

For a long moment all I can do is stare at Freya, and then at Morrigan, and then back again. The contrast of pale and tan, the contrast of muscular athleticism with raw voluptuousness, the contrast of darkness and light. I don't want to move, partly to stay here forever, and partly not to wake them. Thankfully Freya is a fairly deep sleeper, and given yesterday's activities, I'm not sure she's going to be quick to mobilise.

Morrigan on the other hand seems lighter, but it could well be some innate aspect of her intimidating nature that suggests she might, at any moment, comment on my wakefulness. Besides, it's not as if I'm in any rush to get away from them. It's paradise here, warm and sweet-scented, tremendously comfortable. I happily shut my eyes, and bask in the moment.

Yet when I open them again, it's closer to…midday? I find myself alone, and hastily move towards my phone on the bedside table. Shit. It's even past midday.

'Two o' clock?!'

Jesus Christ. I didn't feel all that tired when I woke up earlier, but to have my body clock betray me in so brutal a fashion Is absurd. Such is life, I guess? I rub the sleep from my eyes and slip off the bed, the sweet-tangy odour of last night's activities still faintly prominent in the air. The curtains are closed, so I open them, but there's no hint of Freya or Morrigan. Not that it's super unusual, given the business of them both, but it's still strange. Especially after last night's agreed-upon arrangement.

After a quick shower I get dressed, and sit back down on the foot of the bed to shoot Freya a text. She gets back to me almost instantly – she's at work, and will be back later. Mistress makes sure to quickly add that it's not Morrigan's day today, so I'd better not do anything with the gorgeous goth!

Which is fine, anyway, because the older Venyabildt daughter sends me a message not long after, telling me that I've got the house to myself and (jokingly, I hope) not to burn it down in the absence of the family, or go rummaging through her underwear drawers. I'm a pervert, sure, but I'm not sketchy like that!

The various maids and butlers and so forth only do bits and pieces, and usually the main house is off-limits – the Venyabildts like to maintain some modicum of self-sufficiency when it comes to basic human functioning.

The crux of this all being that I am, weirdly enough, home alone. For a few hours, anyway – Freya will likely be back in the evening, though there's no telling when the others will be. It's a sweet little daydream to imagine Mistress and I having the house to ourselves, and all the possible places we might explore together…but it's the kind of fantasy that usually gets delivered in some form or other simply by existing, so it doesn't pull me too far out of appreciating the novelty.

I pop down to the kitchen and grab some of the leftovers from the other night, some remarkably good aubergine pasta recipe Persephone made. Pasta alla…n-something? I forget. But with a bit parmesan on – and I didn't think there were multiple grades of parmesan, or that they really mattered much, but the Venyabildts always stock some brand of it that's the best I've ever had – it's one of the most delicious meals I've ever eaten, even cold.

Munching on a reasonable bowl of the stuff – Persephone always makes huge quantities, because the girls have inhuman appetites – I wander around the ground floor, feeling ever so slightly as if the world has ended. Not a sense of gloom or dread, mind you, but this far out from mainstream society, without any other people around, it's as if there's nobody else alive anymore.

Every room becomes different, something to marvel at, to appreciate in subtle isolation. The huge lounge, with its enormous television and sofas which cost God knows how much. The grand hallway with its two staircases, the walls adorned with art and the alcoves fitted with sculptures. The vast conservatory on the southern face of the house, overlooking the endless green gardens, with not a gardener in sight today.

Certain rooms particularly appeal, if just for their mystique. Persephone and Alicia's office, for instance, which is never locked but always occupied and despite having lived here for a while I still tend to avoid the parents if only out of awkwardness. "Daddy" is always professional and straightforward, but Alicia…Alicia is a dangerous woman, especially given my propensity for being quite the slut.

But inside, it's just a normal office. A bigger desk than I might expect, and a fancier computer – though not especially so, mostly in the monitor department – but otherwise it's simply well-furnished. Something like the beating heart of the Venyabildt family business, or at least that heart away from the tower. If it's a tower. I've never really asked, and definitely haven't visited.

The only thing that really catches me by surprise – or not, but…it probably should? – is the sight of a special kind of pillow under the desk. Memory foam stuff, it looks like, with the distinct imprint of a pair of knees and shins across it. A kneeling pillow. Under the family, uh, patriarch's desk.

It's not the kind of thing to be proud of, but it provokes an immediate reaction in my boxers to consider Alicia and Persephone in this room, the busty MILF kneeling below the desk of the gorgeous dickgirl DILF.

'Shit,' I say aloud, thought becoming word.

I can't help but stare at the thing, the importance of it, everything it implies. Erotic events, occurring here, perhaps when everything else in the house otherwise seems normal. How often have Alicia and Persephone retreated to this office solely for relieving their lusts, under the guise of doing "family work"?

'Should you really be wandering around in here?'

My heart almost jumps out of my chest, to hear Persephone's voice. I turn about and almost fall back against the desk, very nearly knocking off one of the fancy widescreen monitors. The oldest of the futanaris, the Daddy, stands somewhat lazily in the doorway, half-leaning against the frame. Blonde hair like Freya, skin as pale as milk like Morrigan. Blue eyes, but they shift between bright and icy, depending on how the sunlight hits them.

'S-orry, I didn't mean to trespass or anything.'

'I'm glad you went with that answer, and didn't try to justify it with our absence.'

'Sure, I mean, I was just exploring.'

Persephone pushes off the doorframe, standing upright and tall. Taller than her daughters, at least by a fraction. She's in business attire, a blouse and blazer, and a dark skirt that runs down to her knees. Hair flowing freely, jacket slightly opened to reveal the heaviness of her breasts where her blouse is unbuttoned. Not quite as big as Morrigan in the boob department, but a bit bigger than Freya.

'Exploring,' she says, repeating the word, feeling it out with her voluptuous mouth. The tall woman steps forwards slowly, a noticeable sway to her hips. 'I suppose that was why you were staring at Alicia's spot, beneath my desk.' Satisfied with her tasting of the word, the blonde beauty pulls a faintly vicious grin. With every inch that she moves closer, her height becomes more and more intimidating. 'You know, she told me how you ate her pussy. How you swallowed my semen.'

Like a deer caught in headlights I stay put, right up until Persephone is before me, smelling sweet and fresh, a more muted fruitiness compared to her daughters. Sugary, almost. Fainter. She puts her hands on the sides of my arms and slowly strokes, up and down, while I stare up at her face, cheeks burning red.

'Um…that was just…it only happened the once.'

'That's a shame. Not to your liking? My wife's cunt? Your future, shall we say, father-in-law's cum?' She does this thing with her mouth, opening it enough to show off the top row of white straight teeth, and brushes them with the blade of her tongue. 'I've been wondering how to broach this topic. What with you being so popular with my daughters.'

I tremble beneath her touch, hands running up to my shoulders, squeezing and appreciating as they go. My cock, already hard, is even more dangerously demanding as it juts out, obvious and more than a little embarrassing on account of how easy I must seem.

'P-ersephone, I don't think–'

But she so easily gets me beneath my jaw, lifts my head in one smooth motion, and practically drags me up onto my tiptoes so as to dip down and meet my mouth with hers. Mwah, smack, mwah, schlep. Her lips are fire, sticky and sweet, and for what feels like some fraction of eternity our mouths are locked, mine frozen in fear, hers urgent with its controlled, captivating passions.

She breaks the kiss with a lick, around my lips, tasting my spit, our spits. 'Call me Daddy,' Persephone says. 'The others all do.'

'I…I didn't agree to this with Mistress or Morrigan.'

The older woman, the much older woman – old enough to be my mother, or father, if I'm honest about her preferences – tastes her lips and smiles ever so sweetly. 'You're a lovely boy. It only makes me want you more, but I'll respect your wishes.' She strokes the underside of my jaw for a moment, then draws back her hand. 'For whatever it's worth, I don't want to be part of your little games with my girls. There's no need to fit me in, or anything like that. Though you might be surprised what Morgan – or Morrigan, if Freya has managed to change her preferences – is willing to do.'

She pulls away suddenly, turns from me, incidentally swinging the breadth and bounciness of her well-sculpted backside ahead of my feasting eyes. It's not that I don't want to, but…Mistress was hurt, when I played with her sister. The possibility of hurting her again, of giving into the lascivious charms of her family – her own fucking father – is too much to consider.

'It's not that I wish for this, but I can't hurt Freya,' I say, feeling all the more ashamed of my throbbing erection. 'I…don't know what to do.'

Persephone chuckles. 'You could always call her? Ask permission?'

The prospect runs a chill down my back. I swallow a lump of nerves, and stare at the futanari MILF (DILF?), though her exact fine and physical specifications are irrelevant. All that matters, all that comes to mind, is the possibility of that conversation. The awkwardness. The overt weirdness. Hey, Mistress, can I play with your dad's dick, or what?

'C-an…can you?'

The tall, elegant, intimidating woman turns to me, side-on. Her grin is a thing of lusty legend, beautiful and baleful. To think, I'd always found Persephone straightforward, always easy to work with, but the truth is that her daughters don't fall far from the tree. The seed, clearly, is ever so strong. It definitely tasted that way.

'I'd be happy to, if that's what you want. It certainly makes sense as to why both of the girls act as if you're their property, Tom. You really are quite a soft, submissive man.'

She draws back the sleeve of her blouse, revealing one of those expensive smart watches, the sort of multimedia hub things that are verging ever so slightly into the realm of science fiction. Persephone smirks at me, winks, and lifts it up to her face. 'Call Freya,' she says to the device. 'Put her on loudspeaker.'

'Calling Freya,' responds the little machine voice, practically human. 'Putting her on loudspeaker.'

The dickgirl patriarch lowers her wrist, the speakers filling the office with the ringtone. She watches me without a word, smiling away, all hint of straightforwardness and ease having dissipated now. These Venyabildts are, one and all, voracious specimens. Beautiful, predatory, completely enrapturing.

A lump of nervousness solidifies in the back of my throat, right as the ring ceases, and Freya's voice replaces it. 'Dad?'

'Hi, darling,' Persephone says. 'Do you have a moment? I've a little request to make. Something requiring your permission.'

There's a crisp silence, an uncomfortable thing. A shuffle of movement, and then Mistress's voice again. 'What's this about?'

'I'll be blunt with you, darling. I've got designs on that boy of yours.' In the wake of her words, there's another pause. Even more discomforting. 'Darling?'

'Is this Tom's doing? He's come to you in my absence?' Freya says, at length.

Persephone smiles all the wider. 'No, Freya. In fact, he refused my advances, which is the entire reason I'm calling. You have a loyal little pet, and I wouldn't want to hurt either of you to get some enjoyment out of him.'

Another pause, but this one is broken by a single note of laughter. 'He's a good boy, that's true.' Quiet, thoughtful, fertile. 'Hmm. I don't like the idea of everyone getting a piece of him, but I trust you more than Mum. If…if Tom is okay with it, you can play. But if this goes further, and you start bidding for some actual control, I'll never forgive you, Daddy.'

Persephone shuts her eyes, seems to almost drink in the world through a faint flaring of her nostrils. 'You're sure? Just like that?'

'I'm sure. I'm his owner, and I know we were meant to be together today…you can look after him, in the meantime. Just don't get any funny ideas. Only when I'm not around. And always ask permission.'

The older futanari chuckles. 'My, darling, you're giving the faintest impression that it's you who rules the roost.'

'I'm serious, Dad. I don't blame you for wanting a piece, and honestly it's another reminder of how much a catch he is, but he's not yours. The moment I get home, he's mine again, and I swear to God if you fill his head with any naughty little notions of rebellion–'

'It's me, Freya. Remember that. It's only me.'

Mistress exhales loudly. 'Mum's nothing to do with this, okay? She doesn't know, she has no part in this. Right?'

'If that's what you want, then that's how it'll be. Of course.' Persephone, lust-glazed as she is, nonetheless softens sweetly. 'If this is making you uncomfortable, it doesn't have to happen. It's just a request.'

But Freya's voice comes back clear, firm, powerful. 'The opposite, actually. He's mine, and this just affirms that. Good of you for asking,' she says. 'Tell Tom – if he's not there listening – that he's a good boy. I'm proud of him. He'll be well-rewarded.'

Mistress's sweetness turns my cheeks a shade of strawberry, warm and wanton. I…this can't be real, surely? I'm getting to play with Daddy, and getting praised for it? New Freya is…she's remarkable.

'I'll pass the praise along,' Persephone says. 'I love you, darling. Thank you so much.'

'Yeah, yeah. Don't get sappy, Dad.' I can practically hear the eye roll. 'I've got work to do. Someone has to. Bye.'

'Goodbye.'

The line cuts, the call ends, and…my heart races. 'Bet you didn't expect that outcome, did you?' the dickgirl DILF says, smile becoming a gorgeous grin. 'I don't know what you've done to her, for her, but consider what follows something of a thank you. You've been such a force for good, in this house.'

Persephone wastes no time, loosening the catch on the side of her skirt. It drops instantly, falling into a dark rumpled clump around her ankles, and she steps out of the heap to plop off her stylish slip-on shoes. The older woman's exposed lower half is exquisite, of course – how could it not be? – but most enrapturing is the fact that she's dressed for the erotic arts, those pale thighs clad in a pair of garter stockings and her crotch badly concealed by a beautiful pair of lingerie knickers.

Knickers which, by the very nature of her family's virile lineage, struggle to handle the package contained with them. Struggle being the complete wrong word, as that implies a degree of success leaning towards failure…where in this case, the dam has already broken. Her cock isn't yet fully hard, but it juts out of the left side of her panties, hanging along her thigh, some tremendously thick and sizeable shape.

'Fuck.'

Persephone chuckles. 'Perhaps, but let's start with introducing you to Alicia's spot. You did show quite the interest in it, after all.'

She strides closer, in full control now, completely content with the way things have turned out. Again I find myself paralysed in a sense, succumbing to her overwhelming authority, feeling small and ultimately like some kind of prey animal in her possessive presence.

Persephone makes no effort to take off her blouse, much as I'd love to feast my eyes on the upper half of her curvaceous contours. She reaches out to brush my face with a few fingers while she moves towards the desk, stroking me with silken fingertips. 'Alicia seemed to think you loved how I taste,' the dickgirl DILF says, licking at the corner of her mouth. 'It's much better fresh, I should say. Released right into your mouth, for instance, without any obstacles.'

It's somewhat chilling, how she acts, speaks. The oldest of the futanaris rounds her desk and pulls back the chair slowly, acting with utmost confidence. It's enthralling, almost a kind of magic, something that neither daughter has. Mistress is growing all the time, it's true, and lately seems to have found some unrelenting bastion of inner glory with which to partake of these most interesting and illicit situations. Morrigan has the confidence, yes, but there's almost a competitive, fighty streak to her. Something to prove, something that might well soften as my adventures with her continue.

But Persephone is a breed of her own. Utmost charm, utmost grace, and utmost control. As if she could, quite happily, take or leave this. A blowjob, from a boy the same age as her youngest daughter, and she could take or leave it.

Somehow, that's more enticing than it has any right to be.

'Did you mean what you said?' I say, stepping forwards, brushing against the side of the desk for some kind of physical support. My heart is thunderous, after all, and it's difficult not to get lost in the dirty dreaminess of this.

'What I said?'

'To Freya just then. About Alicia, about following Mist–Freya's rules?'

The older woman – though in some ways, she barely looks a decade older than Morrigan – dips forwards, resting her arms crossed on the back of the resplendent office chair and pushing out her near-nude and delightfully shapely backside.

'You have some odd ideas about me, and I wonder why that is,' she says. Persephone cocks her head to the side, the mane of brilliant blonde shifting. 'Much as any talk about my mother would be a turnoff if not for how badly I want to cum in that teenage mouth, if you have things you need clarified, ask away.'

'It's not…not that.' I shuffle a bit closer, catching her scents. The familiar ones now, the pleasant ones, but her exposed crotch brings with it something musky on the edge of it all, provoking a stirring in my balls. 'Just that, well, Morrigan…'

'Morrigan what?' She's smiling now, rich and playful. 'Well, Tom?'

'She seemed to imply' – honestly, imply is charitable – 'that you and her were…that you were doing things together.'

It provokes a distinctly dirty response on the patriarch's cheeks, giving them a deeper colour than I've managed to bring forth. She runs the tip of her tongue around the borders of her parted lips, and gently eases the chair aside. 'Let me show you something. To make something clear.'

The tall woman takes hold of the mouse, and the screen grows light and alive. She pulls the keyboard tray out and types in the password, getting onto the desktop. A picture of the family, as the background. Innocent-looking, when the more I learn of them, the more perverse their situation clearly is.

I can't help but creep around, almost coming to rest beside her as she brings up a folder, password-locked, and dips into that. I'm honestly surprised I don't gasp, but the way she glances at me suggests the shock has reached my face, if not my lips. 'Pick one,' she says. 'I'm happy to send you some, if you want to enjoy them in private. They're rather good, I think.'

Two folders, one titled Alicia, the other, Morrigan. Persephone slides the mouse towards me, and I hesitantly take it, unable to resist the curiosity surging. A click, into the Morrigan one, and there's a seemingly endless series of videos. Recordings, with dates as their titles, all of them roughly suggesting the presence of–

'Holy shit.'

The camera is there in the corner above, positioned perfectly to catch the filthy goings-on occurring in this chair. From the thumbnails alone, they all seem to be blowjobs, but it wouldn't surprise me if some simply start that way.

'There's another one here,' Persephone says, pointing towards the inside of the desk, about head height for a kneeling person. 'And another on the other side, nearer the back. The footage cycles. I've got a little program to compile it perfectly.'

It's ever so slightly shameful, that my cock is so hard. Incest. The word repeats, and yet despite having seen it several times now, between the sisters, to consider their father partaking with one of them is somehow all the more perverse. 'Your own…your own daughter sucks you off? And you film it?'

'It's just a bonding exercise.' The dickgirl DILF wears the sultriest of smirks. 'I don't expect you to understand, Tom. We're not like most families. I love my daughters, and hopefully you've noticed that I only deal in consent. Which Morrigan – I'm looking forward to using that lovely name, going forwards – gives enthusiastically.'

She commandeers the mouse and picks one seemingly at random, tapping on the keyboard a few times to forward it to the more intimate moments. There's dim sound from the speakers, a lurid schlup, slurp, schlep of oral appreciation, passionately delivered. Paired, of course, with the high-definition footage of Morrigan Venyabidlt bobbing her head eagerly up and down her father's absolutely enormous dick, unable to pull her eyes from the older woman's own.

It's only by merit of Persephone pinching hold of my tenting cock at the tip, firm yet playful, that I don't lose myself in the incestuous pornography.

'I'm glad to see it turns you on so much,' she says. 'The offer stands, I'm happy to send you some of my favourites, for your perusal. But…let's make a game of it, instead.'

'A g-ame?'

She leans forwards, breath sweet, eyes intoxicating in how they swallow me up. 'A game. The rules are simple enough: for each video you help me make, for a brand-new folder with your name on it, I'll give you two videos in return.'

'But I…'

The thought is so vulgar, so immediate, that it gives me pause. I trail off, blushing, feeling completely inebriated with the fires of my lust for this much older, borderline-forbidden futanari.

'But what, Tom?'

'I've…I've never made videos before.'

Persephone chuckles warmly, softly. 'Oh, it's easy. You leave it to me. Just climb under my desk and wait until I give the word, and we'll make something beautiful.'

She pulls the chair aside and allows access to the underside of the desk, that little alcove with its memory foam pad with the faint indents of prior cocksuckers telling without further description what the real purpose of the hollow happens to be.

I move without another comment, from either of us, because the lust that sweeps through me – permissive lust, allowed lust – is a current that cannot readily be tamed. It draws me around to that opened spot, some invitation whispering on the alluring winds that travel the erotic corridors of the mind. I'm dimly aware of Persephone watching me, her smile a thing of full and feisty adoration, but my focus is almost wholly hinged on the simple transition from the openness of the office to the cramped carnality of the underside of the desk.

There's a faint, very faint, smell. It hits my nostrils as I drop to my knees, doubtless not picking the best of approaches. As I shuffle into the alcove, getting my knees onto the memory foam pad, I'm struck with the unmistakable tang of sexual encounters. Familiar enough that I know, at the very least, that Morrigan has been here. Alicia, as much as I only encountered her in such lascivious circumstances the one time, is clearly, obviously, the other presence. More strongly than her daughter, which makes perfect sense.

'Get comfortable,' Persephone says, sitting herself down on the chair. I watch for a moment, paralysed by her beautiful nude lower half, leaving myself halfway out from beneath the desk. 'You've seen my daughters plentifully now. Am I really so distracting?'

She speaks playfully, but it draws attention to my awkward state, and I promptly shuffle myself backwards, into the alcove proper. The fatherly futanari brings the chair closer and closer, her widened knees coming to rest just inside the opening beneath the desk, barely brushing the varnished dark wood. As she comes to a halt, the wheels ceasing to spin, her heavy balls and fat cock wobble about a little bit.

Still not hard. That gives me pause. An age thing, or…?

'It requires a little attention, if that's what you're wondering.' Reading my mind? No. These dickgirls are divine, but the far more likely explanation is that, guilty as charged, I'm very noticeably staring at her dick. 'Touch it, darling. Get your hands around it, and see how it responds. Once I'm nice and hard, we can get the cameras rolling.'

I glance about myself, noticing the small but clearly advanced devices, precisely placed for her viewing pleasure. A kink I understand, at least, but one I've never had the opportunity to engage in. The passing thought of seeing myself played back, with Persephone's perfect penis wedged into my mouth and at the amorous mercy of my tongue and lips and cheeks, provokes a low shiver down my back.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to stare.'

'Stare all you like,' she says, 'but just know that I need more than eyes on it.'

Persephone leans back against the rest of her chair, and in the process juts her legs forwards, her cock and balls dipping over the rim of the luxurious seat. In the limited space of the alcove, her scents are thicker, moreish, fresh and yet noticeably sensual in nature. Those heavy, productive orbs hang low in their silken hairless sack, and her cock droops down above and between them, a length of maybe seven or so inches despite lacking anything in the way of hardness. It's no wonder that her daughters are so well-endowed, all things considered. In some ways it reminds me of Freya, but in others, Morrigan. A larger cockhead, like the gothic daughter, but the oldest futanari's dick looks as though it might well possess even more length than Mistress's.

I almost go to speak, to ask permission, but it seems a foolish thing. She's presenting this to me, offering for me to take matters into my own hands, and my fingers are already twitching in anticipation of getting to grips with her large – and soon to be larger! – loveliness.

'Fuck.'

I do, at least, mutter under my breath some lurid word of appreciation as I bring my hands towards the radiant heat of her body. Her thighs are thickly curved and perfect, the skin hairless and pale, like delicious cream. My brain leaps between a few different senses of déjà vu, considering the sight before my eyes, the way that this body is at once familiar to multiple different sets of memory and, at the same time, a novelty.

To brush my fingertips against her dangling balls is to experience softness and firmness, intermingling, the outer looseness silken and the inner solidity plump, warm, cooler than the surrounding area. Persephone sucks in a soothing breath as I allow myself to cup her nuts, relishing in their weight, the cumslut in me deeply craving another taste of their contents.

'I can't believe I've already tasted your sperm,' I say, perversely weighing the lumps, one on either hand, up and down, up and down. The older futanari's lustful laugh draws my attention back to my words, still lingering in my ears. 'I…don't know why I just said that.'

'I'm glad you don't shy away from the scientific word, honestly. So many people get a little bit put off when you remind them that you're going to pump a veritable sea of little wriggling things upon their tongues, or into their bodies.' Persephone slowly slides back, and I go with her movements, not wanting to let go of the pair of opulent orbs. 'Come out here, Tom. That I can watch your face while you get used to the most productive pair of balls in this household.'

To come out into the light of the room is to be struck, most importantly, by her smiling face looking down at mine. Beheld by her, I'm no longer hidden away beneath her desk, and so the presence of my hands on her balls transitions from something faceless into something completely intimate. Persephone's cock grows a little in response, filling out a touch and lifting slightly off of her nuts, leaving my exploratory thumbs with a powerful pulse.

'We're filming now, by the way,' she says, relaxing atop the chair, which might as well be a throne. Arms on the rests, head lazily lolling to one side. Her hair is white gold in the sunlight, her smile a thing of devastating deliciousness. 'Say all that you want to say. Your hands are doing a fine job of that already.'

I don't slow my massaging, though the sensation of being watched grows all the more intense for the presence of the cameras, and the fact that they're recording all of this from multiple angles. Persephone's eyes distract me like nothing else, the most captivating things in all the world, the equal of both her daughters.

'You have, um, very beautiful balls,' I say, the first thing that comes to mind. Heavy fucking things that they are. 'That kind of stuff?'

The fatherly futanari giggles, a sound too young her in many ways, but all the sweeter because of it. This side of her is…ever so tantalising. 'My, how cute you are. Do you say such things to my daughters, as well?'

My cheeks become fiery, more so than they were, and the full-body tremble that rocks me culminates in a shuddering of my fingers and thumbs against her big balls. The result being a further hardening of that huge cock, which must easily be nine or ten inches now, becoming fatter and longer all the time. It lifts a little more with each shudder, veins bulging along its pale length, the foreskin-shrouded head becoming ever more noticeable.

'I…say lots of things.' It comes out meek, but most of all slutty. It dawns on me, in the heat of this most magical of moments, that I am a verifiable fucking whore in the Venyabildt house. It might once have bothered me, but right now, it simply fills me with pride. 'I call Freya Mistress, because she owns me,' I say, continuing. 'I call Morrigan…well, things are a little bit complex with your older daughter.'

'As is always the case,' Persephone says. 'Go on. Tell me what you like to do with them.'

It feels like some carnal confession, all the more so to realise that it's being recorded. The tantalising temptress smiles dirtily at me, watching with endless eagerness as I continue to grope and toy with her dangling balls, working up a doubtlessly extra-heavy load and yet wanting, craving, to give them a much more intimate form of attention via my mouth, lips, and tongue.

'I like to please them. I like to make them happy. I like it when they use my body. I like…I like worshipping them like the goddesses they are.'

Persephone hardens, and hardens, and hardens. I find it suddenly impossible to keep my focus on her gaze, because her dick is now over a foot in length and, on account of its particular combination of qualities – length, thickness, and especially the fatness of her helmet, I imagine – it can't seem to quite get completely straight, stiffening with a gentle curve with the base being higher than the tip.

'I…like to…' The enormous erection rises to the point that its heat brushes against my chin, and the sexual scents of her potent musk fill my nostrils, provoking instinctual salivation. '…suck their cocks…'

Persephone's cockhead bumps up against the underside of my chin, and I draw in a ragged, sudden breath. It's definitely a bit bigger than Mistress's, combining the best qualities of both, and I barely notice that my hands are moving of their own accord. My fingers slide up the sag of her sack and gingerly take hold of the heavy base of the girthy, gigantic thing, its fierce throbs sending lewd shockwaves through my hands.

I lick my lips, and pull my face a little backwards, so as to lift her bell-end towards my mouth. The sight of the glossy pinkness lurking within the soft folds of outer skin is captivating, the broadness and bulk of that badly-hidden helmet leaving me without words for a long and lustful moment.

'You can suck mine all you like, Tom,' the older woman says, straightening her neck, smiling graciously down at me. As if she's the queen, the empress, the goddess, and I'm some very lucky serf confronted with the highest and noblest of honours. It certainly feels that way, given how lustful I am towards her, towards her family, towards this fantastic life of mine. 'There's only three rules you need to abide by, though I imagine it's one you'd adhere to without me needing to give it.'

At last the seductive older woman reaches for me, bringing the tips of a couple of fingers belonging to her right hand softly against my left cheek, stroking about the bone, forming little fleeting circles. 'Firstly, you always have to swallow. Every single drop. Secondly, you need to show the camera as much of my loads as you can. And thirdly, best of all, I need you to thank me afterwards. To thank me for the luxury of filling that handsome mouth with the source of those two daughters of mine that you so very much adore.'

Persephone is, completely and utterly, an enormous pervert. The apples clearly don't fall far from the tree, and I can't begin to comprehend just how grateful I am for that fact. We both relish the wickedness of this, the depravity, the sharing of such a sordid, lustful, dirty game. Her little comments throughout, referencing her daughters, bringing me back to the wider picture…it only makes my heart beat more thunderously.

'I…agree to your rules, um…Daddy?'

She smiles all the wider. 'Wonderful, darling.' Relaxing into her throne, drawing back her fingers, Persephone lets out a warm sigh. 'Show the cameras what you can do, Tom. Let's enjoy our day together.'

I don't have an appropriate response, not a verbal one. I nod, however, and wet my lips, and softly squeeze the throbbing base of her enormous erection. A slight shift of my chin, side to side, brushes its hooded helmet against my skin, and the heat and opulence are obvious. Part of me wants to simply tug back the foreskin, to reveal the bulky prize, but…there's no rush. No rush, and to even passingly reflect on the quality of the thick white cream which I sucked out of her wife's pussy that night is to come to the resounding conclusion that this is not something to be done, but something to be lived.

To begin with, I slide my hands a little upwards on her length, appreciating the veins, the heaviness of the monumental pole. Some of the movement is simply about relishing her size, adoring the massiveness of her manhood, but there's another benefit as well.

'Good boy,' Persephone says, as I dip my head forwards, wetting my lips on the way towards those fat stuffed balls. 'Sperm lovers are my favourite kind of cocksucker. My girls certainly have good taste in their playthings.'

I don't formulate a comment, snarky or sensual, completely mesmerised by the hugeness of those hairless lumps. They sag low, and the silkiness of their surrounding sack is loose, forming a few wrinkles towards the bottom, dangling lower than her big beautiful balls. The closer I get the finer her scent becomes, musky and virile, fitting a futanari of her quality. Stronger than that of her daughters, but that's not unsurprising, especially given what Morrigan has told me. If this is the future of their biology, well, I am certainly the luckiest man on the planet.

Mwah, smooch, mwah, smack.

Starting with the left testicle, I deliver a few quick kisses, successively deepening them as I apply my lips again and again to her lascivious lumps. They're warm, cooler than her cock, possessing a firmness that doesn't throb aggressively like the monster they'll ultimately fuel with spunk. I divide my attention between both, smooching and kissing, treating them with such affection, only passingly aware that this whole submissive display is being filmed.

'Very good. Make love to them, darling. Make out with them.'

She doesn't have to tell me, for it comes so naturally. Bit by bit, my lips grow sticky with whatever residual sweat coats her loins, and when I taste the stuff – always hungrily tasting it, relishing the combination of saltiness and pheromonal intensity – my lips return to her nuts with a spit-slick wetness which assists in the transition.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

Schlup, slurp, mwah, smooch, schlep, slurp.

Before I know it, I'm nursing on her right bollock, struggling to get the fat thing in my mouth but doing a fine job of at least suckling on the underside of it. The loose skin, the firmness of the orb itself, are wonderful within and against my lips. My tongue works wildly, soaking the soft flesh, drinking in the potent sexual flavours of her virile seed-makers.

'Ooh. God, I've missed men's mouths,' Persephone says, shuddering against and around me. 'I love Alicia, I love Morrigan, I love those slutty girls at work who–aah–can't help but think relieving my tensions will result in bonuses or promotions…but there's nothing like having a man do this.' She brings a gentle hand down atop my head, not for guidance but simply to pat, to stroke, to appreciate. 'If it were up to my mother, every man in the world would do as you do, but not of his own volition. Personally, I–mhm–find it far more sexy that you're doing this because you want to, rather than because you have to, but she did always think me weak.'

The tall temptress chuckles warmly, and I leave her right ball with a parting suckle, moving towards the left. 'I'd do this every day, Daddy. I'm pretty sure your daughters think this is my place, though Mistress does enjoy mounting me quite a bit.'

Schlep, slup, schlurp, slup.

'At least for these videos, I prefer to be serviced, but I might be convinced to let you ride me,' she says. 'I'm not fond of putting in the work, you see. Rather lazy, in my dominance.' Persephone continues to play with my hair, to pat my head. 'Ooh. Darling. I'm going to feed that naughty mouth such a banquet. Have either of my girls told you about what age does, to futanari balls?'

'Mhm-hm.'

She chuckles. 'You're quite the man, Tom. To be so confident in himself as to allow his tongue to act as a dumping ground for the excess produce of a bigger cock, a larger pair of balls, than he himself possesses.' Persephone trembles lightly as she talks, throbbing firmer against my hands. 'It doesn't intimidate you, does it?'

I pull away a moment, smacking my lips, tasting the delightfully dirty flavours of her big beautiful balls. 'It's divine,' I say. 'I can't think of a finer thing than tasting you, or your daughters. Your seed is clearly superior, so why shouldn't I be grateful for the chance to earn it, to taste it, and to swallow it?'

Schlep, schlurp, slurp, schlep, mwah, slurp.

The shiver which results, as I return to her right bollock, is profound. Persephone even slightly lifts from the chair, flexing her powerful legs, consumed for a few moments by something glorious and impossible to deny. Simple words, the kind of words I happily recite to her daughters, but despite her years and sexual sublimeness, it doesn't seem that the futanari father is hugely acquainted with such statements of absolute ascension to her needs.

'God, I wish I'd–mhm–prepared for this.' She seems reluctant to fully relax, as if on the cusp of something like a climax already, though I doubt she can be that near after such little effort on my part. It's psychological in nature, I'd assume. Made more than clear when she says, 'We make these p-ills. But they need a bit of preparation. Three days.'

I hesitate to leave her loins, but I know exactly what she's referring to. Understand intimately, in fact, given what Morrigan was talking about just the other day. The recollection of that passing comment provokes a shiver through my dick, to say the least.

'So what Morrigan mentioned to me wasn't a lie? She wasn't just teasing?'

Persephone seems to regain some of her faculties, immediately setting her gaze upon mine. 'Oh, of course she'd mention the pills. It works both ways with her, how silly of me to forget.'

'So you really can make, um, futa cum…filling?'

The pale, blonde, beautiful dickgirl DILF nods slowly. 'Of course. It's exactly the kind of naughty thing we like in this household. Does that interest you?'

'Y-eah.' Shit, I practically splutter the reply. Persephone's cheeks redden, and she smirks up one side of her mouth. 'I mean, um, yes.'

'We'll have to arrange that.' She slowly licks her lips, right around the curve of her mouth. 'Get back to me, darling. Make your way up to the prize.'

She doesn't have to tell me twice, nor do I delay even for a moment. To bury my face back between her large and lovely loins comes so naturally to me, some illicit imitation of motorboating, getting her spit-wetted orbs slapping wonderfully, warmly, against my cheeks.

Schfup, schfup, schfup, schfup.

'Ugh. Good boy. Know your place. Mhm.'

Even that seems to give her pleasure, though she still makes no effort to touch my head, to play with my hair. Her appreciation for oral worship is so severe that even with my clumsy, in some sense inexperienced techniques – it's only been a few months with her daughters, after all – I'm nonetheless having a wonderful effect on her. Giving her no end of joy, as her beautiful balls bounce and wobble against my face, slapping my skin, leaving their distinctive and delightfully virile musky scent upon my features.

Mwah, smack, melp, smooch, mwah.

Bit by bit, I rise upwards, shifting my head about, continuing my appreciation for her proud and perfect male organ. The loose skin of her sack is gentle against my skin, wonderful upon my lips. I taste it a little, licking the tops of her balls, but ultimately passing beyond them, working my way to the bulky base of her supreme member. The first pressing of my mouth against it, the kissing of its enormity, gives me a good insight into her captivating power, for the throb I'm met with leaves my lips tingling with the feisty force of it.

'Fuck, I love big dick.'

I say it proudly, only recalling after the fact that it's going to be on film now. It reddens my cheeks, but is there any lie to it? Anything to be ashamed of?

'Of course you do, darling. And you're in the–mhm–right house for that.'

Pressing my lips against her cum vein, I glance past her thickness in some hope of catching her gorgeous blue gaze. Her chest is too big, however, and I'm too low down her dick, to get a glimpse of the beautiful blonde's amorous stare. Doubtless watching me, all the same, or viewing on the computer behind and above me the film in progress.

Mwah, mlep, smack, mlap, smooch, mwah.

She shivers with each application of my appreciative mouth against the underside of her cock, every slick swirling usage of my tastebuds. Her manhood is less thickly flavoured than her balls, possessing a saltiness from her skin but lacking the overwhelming sense of virility that seems to exude from those powerfully productive orbs. Nonetheless, the skin is silky soft, the inner hardness rigid and wondrous, and I like the taste of her flesh. Salty, simple, but ever so pleasant.

As I get higher up her cock, dragging my lips, my tongue, and taking my time, I'm met with Persephone's perfect eyes and her winning smile. She looks down at me with a kind of pride I can only describe as fatherly, and it suits her character. The patriarch, the dickgirl DILF, the "man" of the house. But gorgeous, where no man has ever seemed to me. Sweet as sin, affectionate, sensual. It only makes me love what I'm doing all the more, knowing who I'm doing it to. Knowing that before long, I'm going to be tasting Daddy, first in the form of her precum, and then her cum proper, doubtless released in a particularly heavy helping upon my lucky and lustful tongue.

'Good boy,' she says. 'So nice to see you again.'

I'd chuckle warmly, if I could stop my mouth from its obvious natural purpose. 'Thank–mwah, smack–you–smooch, mlep–Daddy.'

'So very welcome, darling boy. I'll have to–mhm–work from home more often.'

I dip my head to the side, smooching the flank of her thickness, pressing my lips against its largeness and running them up and down. To glance to the left is to see those previously-adored balls, drooping over the seat of her chair between her thick thighs, and to glance right is to not quite catch a glimpse of her huge helmet, my near future, awaiting me.

Her prick pulses particularly firmly, the gorgeous woman doubtless making sense of my appetites. It can only empower her interest in me, to know how badly I want to taste her, to service her. Willingness, just as she said, is so much of the beauty here.

'You really are a born cocksucker, Tom,' Persephone says. 'I can't believe how little time it's taken for–aah–Freya to turn you into this.'

'Maybe I always was,' I say, smirking as I say it, as I apply my mouth again and again. The sides of her cock are sufficiently large that it almost strains me to get my lips against them, to rub my mouth side to side and glaze them with spit, but I've got a powerful need within me to explore every inch of this dick. 'It…it doesn't feel like something I learned, so much as something I discovered about myself.'

'Born, then.' Persephone smiles, and cocks her head to the side. 'Born to drop to your knees for us. You act as if you'd go a lifetime without getting any pleasure in return, as well. Men like you are such fine, rare things.'

She shuts her eyes and sighs, seeming to be in paradise. To be sitting in her opulent chair, a veritable throne, and being tended to like this. My teenage lips, her middle-aged dick. I've no doubts it arouses her as much as it does me, the naughtier elements of this.

Mwah, slurp, smooch, mwah, schlep.

Persephone doesn't open her eyes, as I continue to make my way up her cock. Somehow that lack of action makes things all the lustier within me, to watch her bountiful chest rising and falling, to witness this goddess in mortal form effectively seeing me as nothing more than a source of pleasure. A source of pleasure she's entitled to, and understands implicitly will cater to her sensual needs without protest or delay.

'Mhmf.'

I let out an unavoidable moan as my questing tongue brushes over, and scoops up, its first taste of her precum. A few inches yet separate me from her helmet, clad presently in foreskin, but in combining a slight tilting of my head to the side and glancing in that direction I find a surprising abundance of the delightfully salty, potently sexual stuff dribbling down those final few – or first few, depending on your starting point! – inches of glorious girlcock. The way her bell-end bulges outwards, wider than the shaft leading up to it, only furthers my interest in that gorgeous gobstopper that I'm soon to arrive at.

'Don't pull back my foreskin,' Persephone says, eyes still shut. 'Not that I expected you to suddenly do so, but I want it to roll back naturally. In response to your nursing.'

It's a particularly perverse choice of phrase, and it makes my cock noticeably ache. 'R-ight. Anything you say, D-addy.'

I'm struck with this dirty notion that the futanari father's particular flavour of kink involving her cock and semen leans towards a kind of nurture. Where for Freya it's this act of great satisfaction and joy, and for Morrigan it's a means to make me submit and acknowledge her as my superior, Persephone seems to have a different shade of excitement about the whole act. As appreciative as she is to my worship, as much as it clearly makes her happy, it's almost as if she sees the ultimate end-state here to be almost akin to a feeding.

Mwah, slup, smooch, mwah, schlup.

As I continue my adoration over the last few inches, her powerful penis and its silken skin now constantly glazing my tastebuds with her rich and salty, almost faintly tangy pre-ejaculate, my eyes remain in a state of tantalisingly thoughtful wideness as it sinks in just how horny the prospect of being fed by Daddy, and her daughters, makes me.

I am no stranger to their semen. No stranger to considering what that thick white creamy stuff is, knowing that it's some combination of various fluids and thicknesses produced inside of their beautiful bodies. The prospect of tasting sperm alone possesses great eroticism to it, the prospect of receiving into my mouth this effectively living substance, this veritable legion of little wriggling white tadpole-looking things that are intended for reproduction's sake as opposed to something so utterly vulgar as being consumed and digested for pleasure.

But as my lips glide beyond the tip of her throbbing majesty, glazed in her juices, I'm struck with the insistently powerful notion that nothing seems quite so submissive, nor so sexy, as the possibility of spending the odd day, now and then, effectively relying on Mistress, or her father, or her big sister, as a source of meals. That joke about protein and cum has never before felt quite so intimate, or intimidating.

'Why the pause, darling?' Persephone says. In my thoughtfulness, I hadn't noticed her opened eyes, her curious smile. 'You don't seem to have stopped for the sake of marvelling at the scenery.'

I shake my head slowly. 'I'm just thinking about…those pills. And…what they would mean.'

She grins a little, lush lips hinting at such perfect white teeth. 'Well, it's quite simple, isn't it? Imagine how special you'd feel, how important you'd feel, how sexy you'd feel if someone willingly chose to forgo normal food in favour of dropping to their knees and servicing you. I can hardly think of anything more erotic, honestly. It's why I like that word. Nursing.'

I shiver, and she seems all the happier for it. 'Have you…have you done this with anyone?'

'Alicia and I tried it, a while ago, but she found it too degrading. Wonderful a cocksucker as my wife is, as much as she loves gulping down the same seed she eagerly took into her womb to give us our gorgeous girls, she found the idea of dropping to her knees for breakfast, lunch, and dinner a little bit too much.'

It makes me feel ever so passingly judged, but it's not a bad feeling. A kind of…realisation that I'm the sort of person who would willingly degrade himself, to such an extent. But perhaps it's because I'm a man, and I've got that latent fascination with cocks and their capacity to shoot out cum, and alongside it the awareness that there exists no finer set of dicks than those of the Venyabildt family.

'Fuck.'

Persephone chuckles, and licks her lower lip slowly, left to right. 'The degradation is part of the point, Tom. Besides, Morrigan and I do it sometimes.'

'You feed her your cum?'

'Oh, yes. You seem so surprised.'

'I just…tend to think of her as…' No. No, it's clearer and clearer that Morrigan is a great deal more variable in her kinkiness than Freya. 'Morrigan is complicated.'

'She is,' Persephone says. 'But we can discuss that some other time, when we're not being recorded, and when my cock isn't urgently in need of release.' She slowly reaches for me, lowering her right hand down upon my head. 'Go on, darling. Worship me. You deserve the opportunity.'

There's wisdom, in focussing on the present. I nod and wet my lips, saliva flowing voluminously at the prospect of sating her lust, and savouring the divine dick offered to my lucky mouth by this mortal goddess. The time for kisses has passed, now, given how much slickness glistens up the length of her. I could give some more, of course, but more than anything I want her hooded helmet inside my mouth.

It's not much larger than Morrigan's, but as I close that final distance, I nonetheless hesitate on account of its hugeness, its radiant heat. My lips tremble as they come within reach of the glazed exterior folds of that slightly loose foreskin, a familial trait of these futanaris clearly being that I always have to unwrap these perverse presents they so readily offer me.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

I let out a muffled moan, as I get the very forwardmost bit of her bell-end – yet shrouded – between my lips. Her skin is ever so soft, though the core of her cock is anything but. Its heat is radiant, making my lips tingle and quiver as they come into contact with that captivating combination of the loose gentleness of her helmet's hood and at the same time, the hints of abject rigidity beneath it.

Schlup, slurp, schlep, schlurp, slurp.

It comes so naturally, to suck, to run my tongue across the interesting softness of her protruding bit of foreskin. To soak my tongue with her salty, potent, virile fluids, distinctly stronger even than Morrigan's. Aged futanari, the chief of this little tribe, the empress of this household realm. It glazes my tastebuds, seems to flow excessively, and my suction readily helps it load my mouth with such sensually filthy flavour.

'That's it,' Persephone says. 'Suck, and use your tongue. Get that–mhm–naughty thing inside my foreskin. Roll it around. Taste me utterly, absolutely.'

She speaks with such perverse passion, clearly adoring this. I meet her eyes and blush harder, my cheeks aflame, my heart racing. I obey, of course, because what else would I possibly do? The inside of her sensual shroud is like velvet, ever so soft, and those titillating tastes grow all the richer, all the more bountiful. Dirtier, as well, reminding me consciously that this is a penis, no matter how perfect it is, but that only makes me enjoy it more. To sanitise this by distracting myself from the truth of what I'm doing would be a terrible insult not merely to Daddy herself, but to my true nature.

Because I am, in this house, with these women, a cocksucker.

'Mhmf. Mhm-hm.'

Schlurp, schlup, slurp, schlup, schlep.

Her helmet is pearly-smooth, all the more interesting for the faint sense of constriction that its hood offers. I'm not moving my tongue about freely here, bound instead to the faintly elastic limits of that looseness, and so appreciating at once the lustrous nature of that lascivious lump and, as well, the velvet interior of those naughty dirty folds.

'Ooh. Darling. That feels wonderful. My girls have taught you ever so well.'

My eyelids flutter as my lucky tastebuds soak thoroughly in her precum, the stickiness ever so delicious. I try to keep eye contact with Persephone's beautiful blues, but my position is such that distraction comes in an unlikely, and greatly enjoyable form. Movement at the bottom of my visual field draws my attention to the way that my exploratory tongue, going so far into the older woman's foreskin that it visibly bulges while I trace out its limits and the chunky contours of her cock's crown.

It makes it ever so real, ever so wonderful, to know what my mouth is doing. To know what part of her body I'm so thoroughly engaged with. To watch, mesmerised, as if it's not under my control. I even pause, to remind myself, and it only makes it better. God, I love sucking cock!

Schlup, slurp-schlep, schlurp, schlurp-schlup.

'Aah. Mhm. Darling Tom, you're such a fine pet.' Daddy exhales through her nostrils, the pretty things flaring faintly, and she tangles her fingers through my hair. 'You'll never, ever go a day without dick for the rest of your life. And honestly, I'll have to see to it that you m-arry my daughter, because then you'll somewhat literally be my son, and this will be–aah–all the sweeter.'

The way she bites her lip, slightly tilts back her head, coaxes some innate need to watch her gorgeous face and begin bobbing my head in earnest. I keep swirling my tongue about within her foreskin, appreciating those bulky curves of her bell-end, adoring the stringy band that links the skin to the underside of her glans, but in taking more of her cockhead into my mouth I'm forced to slowly but surely withdraw my tongue.

Luckily, luxuriously, her loose hood begins to slip away in turn, as if knowing that more than anything that humungous head needs to be exposed raw and unprotected to the horny hunger offered by my young mouth. Right now, it's hers, belongs to her, is dedicated to her. Were I not so distracted by her erotic expressions, her immensely pleasing mature good-looks, and the anticipation of her helmet slipping fully free of its confines, I'd make some effort to tease at her balls and remind myself that this is going to end in a thoroughly creamy fashion.

But that little detail will have to wait.

'Mhmf. Mhm.'

I moan in a muffled, slutty fashion, as her foreskin slides backwards and frees an explosion of sexual juices into my mouth. It liberates that lustrous head completely, so that my sucked-in cheeks can get used to the velvet fire of the profoundly plump prominence, and it makes my tongue's job easier albeit at the cost of that confined carnality of a moment before.

'Ooh. Darling boy,' Daddy Persephone says, her whole body rocked by a sudden salacious shiver. 'Suck that cock, you dutiful little dick-pleaser. It's only right that you–mhm–get a fresh helping of that seed I bet you've been craving ever since you ate it out of sweet Alicia.'

Schlup-slurp, schluck, slurp, schlurp, schlurp-schlup.

It spurs me on like nothing else in the world, the prospect of much sought-after semen for my cum-crazed mind. I bob my head and fill my mouth with as much of her as I can, without going so far as to deepthroat her just yet. It's barely a dent on the full and fantastic futanari glory of her length, the big pale cock possessing only two peers that I know of in the entire universe.

The act of suction is so natural to me now, so innate. I do it for her daughters, and now it seems that I'm going to be doing it for their father, as well. Cocks need to be served, but perhaps despite my submission there's also a delightful truth to the possibility that it's these cocks that are solely deserving of my affection. I wouldn't do this for just anyone, but a Venyabildt beauty…who am I to deny them?

It doesn't matter that she's not looking at my face, doesn't matter that right now I'm nothing more than a source of sexual satisfaction for her. I would do this anytime, anywhere, so long as it involved one of those fabled three. To roll my tongue around their bulky bell-ends, to swallow down their sticky salty juices, sweeter in Mistress's case and saltiest in Persephone's, is a reward for myself as much as for them. Whatever pleasure they get from this – and judging by their continued demands of me, it must be quite a lot! – I get from them the sordid satisfaction of tending to their beautiful bodies and devoting myself to their deliciously delightful dicks.

To bob my head in this fashion, to flick my tongue at the eyelet of Daddy's glans, and to do my best to create a cuddling crush around her thick throbbing contours, makes my member twitch and my balls ache. What she said earlier is doubtless the case, doubtless speaks to me on some primal level. That I'm a man, and recognise the masculinity in these organs, even if they're attached to such gorgeous girls. Like recognises like, and it finds in them a sublime superiority.

Schlup-slurp, schlurp, schlep, slurp-schlup.

'Mumph. Mhmf.'

My body agrees with my mind, agrees with the primal hunger in me. Everything else in the world falls to the wayside, irrelevant in comparison to the need to do this thing, to take care of her gorgeous cock as best I can.

I kiss the tip of her helmet with the opening of my throat, time and again, with every completion of the back-forth movement. Her bulky bell-end is sufficiently large that it touches upon everything, even without much effort on my part, not dissimilar to Morrigan's. Yet with her cock being so phenomenally thick and long as well, like Mistress's, I'm strangely intimidated by the prospect of taking her deeper.

It's not like her daughters are much smaller than she is. I run my eyes along her length, appreciating the soft bush of wispy blonde at the base of her prick, and the loveliness of those thighs that frame the sight as if it's some world-class painting. And Persephone is, despite her innate dominance, particularly soft and comforting.

As she sets her eyes on me again, somehow it clicks.

The cameras. There, in the back of my head, the thing I keep intermittently forgetting, because it's so easy to imagine that this is simply a normal sexual situation and not something involving a permanent recording of the erotic events.

My eyelids flutter, and my cheeks grow fiery hot, as the low-grade anxiety makes sense. I'm comfortable with my sluttiness, to some degree. Comfortable doing these dirty deeds with the Venyabildt futanaris, day in, day out, but…the prospect of hearing the lurid sloppiness of my deepthroating played back to me in recorded form, the absolute sordidness of my throat making and breaking that most salacious of seals, is a peculiarly powerful one.

'Something the matter?' Persephone says, cocking her head to the side. The lust and attraction in those shifting blue eyes is inspiring, but not entirely liberating.

'I've just…' I casually pull my mouth from her glans, letting the thing pulse and drool ahead of my lips. Turning quickly to the left and right, I vaguely catch the locations of those cameras, and my cheeks burn all the hotter. '…never been recorded before.'

She smiles warmly, possessing of a friendly humour. 'Now you've got my curiosity. What's changed, Tom?'

'Well, I was planning to deepthroat you, but–'

Persephone chuckles. 'Darling boy, I appreciate the offer, but it's not quite my thing. I'm rather good at holding back, but the prospect of loading your throat instead of your mouth seems more than tragic. Disastrous, when I want you to taste me. When I want you to want to taste me.'

She brings her right hand to the side of my face, gracing it with the tips of a few fingers, passing them down to take gentle hold of my jaw. 'Just suck the tip, darling. Just the tip, and I'll fill that mouth. It's the most sensitive part, after all, and as much as I understand you wanting to appreciate all of me, you've got me rather worked up as it stands. Snog the head of my cock, and you'll work wonders, I promise.'

It's a curious surge of uncertainties, the wave of feelings that skid through my head. I do very much want to deepthroat her, relishing the prospect despite the nerves surrounding the sloppy slutty sounds that will inevitably result. But there's also the powerful insistence on obeying her, on doing what she wants of me regardless of what I want for myself.

And I would be lying to myself if I pretended that sucking on futanari bell-ends, such fat gobstopper things, was anything short of divine.

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

'Mhmf. Mhm-hm.'

'Good boy. Don't you dare stop, now. Don't you dare–aah–kill something so perfect as this.'

She's back inside my mouth in a heartbeat, the kiss upon her lustrous helmet followed by what amounts to a smooch upon the entirety of my mouth's interior. A wave of foreign and fantastic heat, an explosion of her dirty and delightful juices, and so much throbbing spongy-firm pearly-smooth paradise to worship with my tongue.

Our eyes remain locked, now, and she keeps her hand against my jaw. Fingers softly fidgeting, teasing and toying with me. Her touch is ever so silken, her hand suggestive of strength despite its beautiful womanliness. And it's all too easy to lose myself in the sapphires of her eyes, to become nothing more than a head that bobs and a mouth that sucks and a tongue that tends, forgetting the world and affirming my adoration for this futanari who in some indirect sense I've tasted many times now.

'Ugh. You're such a fine boy, Tom. So g-ood at this.'

'Mhm. Mhm.'

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

I respond with an appreciative moaning, continuing my carnal sequence, having found a sufficiently suitable rhythm for making her day. My tongue rolls around her curved contours, tickles at that band beneath her helmet, pokes and laps from time to time at the eyelet at the front which so generously releases a constant flow of sensual saltiness.

My mouth is thoroughly lubricated, and no amount of guzzling her juices changes that fact. Every surface is slick and slimy, making her presence all the easier to contend with, making every movement a thing of flowing magnificence. The heat of her massive penis is practically incendiary, warming my cheeks, deepening their constant blush. I swoon over every little pleasure-induced shifting of her perfect face, the happiness writ upon those excessive good looks practically addictive in nature.

The subservience of this act is part of its beauty. The fact that I've tasted both of her daughters' semen multiple times across the past perfection that is my life since Freya's arrival in it, is not lost on me. It floats around, pokes and prods, enhances my already-immense adoration for this woman and the blowjob I'm so eagerly giving her.

'Ooh. Darling, that's wonderful. You're such a natural at–mhmf–taking care of a cock.'

Her praise is breathy, a little shuddery, and I'm dimly aware that her thighs are clenching and quaking on either side of me. A trick of my peripheral vision, possibly, given that I can't take my eyes off the older woman, but it wouldn't surprise me. Endurance is one thing, and she clearly has an abundance of it, but Persephone is unbelievably aroused right now.

Just as I can't pull my eyes from her, her own gaze stays rigidly affixed on my face. Such a force of focus provokes twitching around her lips, even on the prettiness of her throat, as if every part of her wants sorely to throw her head back and yet she's consciously choosing to maintain the stare. To maintain the only insight she has into the workings of my whorish brain, and in doing so bask in the fact that this spur-of-the-moment perversion is entirely mutual.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

The sounds of my service tickle the bones of my back, make my balls stir and shiver. What she spoke of before is so clearly the case, this innate recognition of her own male qualities, and the lurid result it has in turn. A superior penis, and I'm taking very good care of it. A superior set of balls, and within them, superior futanari seed. It provokes a particular shade of pleasure, a sense of satisfaction originating not from anything physical but purely born of the magic of the mind.

Her cock, just like those of her two daughters, is meant to be inside my mouth. Made to be sucked on, to be worshipped. I can't pretend that this isn't my true nature, can't deny that Mistress clearly woke up an unquenchable hunger deep within me. Doubtless Daddy can't see it, but I'm smiling around her dick, smiling at the passing curiosity of what life I'd have lived without Freya Venyabildt having entered it.

A tragedy, but not one I have to face!

'God, Freya and Morrigan deserve all the praise in the world for this,' Persephone says, on the very cusp of chewing on her bottom lip. It almost seems a passingly immature gesture, for a woman of her age and authority, and yet it simply emboldens my sense of pride. 'I don't know how I'll–aah–broach the topic. Perhaps a family viewing.' My eyes instinctively widen, and she chuckles a touch cruelly, and gently teases at my jawline. 'I'm joking, darling. This can be our–mhm–little secret. Only shared when, and if, you feel comfortable doing so.'

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

I would nod, if it wouldn't get lost in the servile bobbing of my head, the swallowing of her copious precum. Hopefully my eyes show some hint of gratitude, though the need to give it comes from a place of submission as opposed to logic. Her kindness, even in the throes of practically owning my mouth, is nonetheless very much appreciated.

'Mhmf. Mhm.'

She smiles at my sounds, relishing every little naughty noise that manages to escape my lips. Barely, given how tightly I'm sucking on her, but the sounds are loud all the same. Perhaps enhanced by the semi-confining nature of the office desk on either side of me, and the fact that in some lovely lurid sense I'm hemmed-in here between her cock and a hard place.

Persephone goes to speak but her lips hang open, the beautiful curves of her mouth failing to find the right choice of words. It's that, and all the little things like it, which build this fiery sense of pride in me. More so than with her daughters, who in many ways feel more, I suppose, on my level. But to be having such an effect on the futanari patriarch herself is a thrilling thing, a mark of my quality as a cocksucker.

'Aahn. D-arling,' she settles for saying, a testament to her pleasure. Persephone, so beautiful and so authoritative, seems so close to being undone now. Her bountiful chest rises and falls, her shoulders seem intent on rolling and flexing to give her some semblance of control, but it's all futile.

I keep sucking on her helmet, keep lavishing it with licks of the tongue, keep slurping down her tasty salty juices, and relishing the way the massive thing shudders and pulses. It won't be long, but she seems to be holding on as much as she can. It won't be long, and yet I find myself recalling the rich flavour of her seed and wanting nothing else in the world quite so badly at this moment.

'Mhmf. Mumph.'

Schluck-slurp, schlep-slurp, schlurp-slurp, schlap-slurp.

'You just…don't…ugh…quit, do you?' Persephone grits her teeth, and presses her feet against the floor. Her knees strain, and the tidal wave of spooge seems to be on the very cusp of release. 'God, you're…far too…g-ood at this.'

It's like a playful war, between us. Me, continuing my ministrations, and Daddy, doing her best not to empty her balls. And yet, like entropy, the need to cum is a force of nature that cannot be delayed for long.

Persephone shuts her eyes, ending our staring contest. She shakes her head, blonde hair shivering about her shoulders, and lets out a single-note lustful chuckle. 'Fucking hell, Tom. You're–guh–too good!'

The only real warning I get, beyond the overarching familiarity with this act, is the powerful bulging of her cum vein against my lower lip. It gives me just enough of a warning, quick as my tongue is, to get it nice and flat to catch all of the thick creaminess those beautiful balls have in store for my lucky mouth.

It comes out in dense squirts, much heavier than that of either daughter. Premium virility, aged and creamy, rich and savoury, salty and tangy. It splatters across my tongue, possessing a weightiness to it that surprises me, even though I've experienced it before. From a very different orifice, admittedly, but nonetheless, it catches me off-guard that her jism is simply so gooey and viscous fresh out of her cockhead.

'Ooh. Darling. God, yes.'

Persephone tries to look at me, but the pleasure is too great. She throws her head back against the chair's headrest, and quakes and quivers, rocked by body-wide ripples of gleeful satisfaction.

My mouth is already full, and I can do nothing but swallow her pride. It goes down in thick gulps, warming everything it touches, coating the insides of my gullet as it rolls messily into my belly. Naturally, Persephone simply releases more, and I'm more than thankful for the sheer heaviness of her load. There's no risk of it shooting right at my throat, or otherwise overloading my capacity to handle it. It's an almost perfect consistency for devouring, in fact, and as the growing sensation of filthy fullness builds, and her balls steadily drain to a more manageable state.

'Mhmf. Mhm-hm.'

It feels like it takes many minutes, but it surely can't be so long. My mouth is filled twice, thrice, and I make sure only to guzzle down what's absolutely necessary, ensuring that I get to savour her delicious spooge for as long as possible. Not necessarily better than that of either daughter, but possessing distinction – as they all have – to make it unique. A flavour already burned upon my memory, but now absolutely engraved into the fabric of my neurons.

'I love to see you swallow,' Persephone says, wetting her lips. She opens one eye at me, smirking broadly. 'A fine sight. The finest. A handsome young man, earning his–aah–keep, in my household. You're such a horny thing, darling Tom.'

The perverse playfulness, the taunting, makes my eyes flutter. She is powerful, after all, and there's a dynamic to this that appeals greatly as a result. Something about swallowing down the delicious dick milk of so authoritative a woman, the father of my Mistress, tickles at the lustiest portions of the soul. It's more than fine for me, so it must be absurdly good for her, to be served like this, to get just what she wanted without so much as lifting a finger. Just sitting back in her office chair, being tended to, taken care of.

As I swallowed the last of it, I felt a pang of guilt, wishing that I hadn't. Wishing that I'd kept some back, to show it to her, to exemplify just how crazy I was about dickgirls and their deliciousness, but what's done is done. And as I lick my lips, contended, her thick flavour lingering across my tastebuds, I'm aware that this certainly won't be the last time I do this.

'You taste so good,' I say, letting go of her bell-end from my lips. Her cock continues to tremble, but it gently softens, having spent its prodigious payload. 'Really good.'

'I imagine I would, for a cocksucker like you,' Persephone says, shooting me a naughty wink. 'Do you want to see the footage?'

I'd forgotten about that side of things. 'Right now?'

'Why not? I might tweak it a little later, but there's no shame in wanting to take pride in one's work.' Daddy smirks, mischievous and magnificent, and rolls her chair slightly backwards. Much as I long to continue playing with her cock and balls, I'm dimly aware that I've spent…a fair while here, with her. 'Up you get, darling. Much as Freya agreed to this, and as much as I'd love to see how embarrassed you might get caught on your knees for Daddy, I'm not so cruel as to risk that.'

She helps me to my feet, stronger than she looks. That same overall build as Morrigan, in many ways, lacking for Mistress's marvellous muscles. But despite the womanliness of these futanaris, they possess a degree of strength that sits at odds with their surface-level appearance.

'Thank you,' I say, generally.

Generally, because I want to thank her for letting me suck her dick as well as for the helping hand, but I find myself surprisingly coy. Her dominance seems the sort that inspires one to come towards her, as opposed to Morrigan's approach of bringing herself to me. Somehow it seems especially kinky to be eager to thank her for the opportunity of servicing her, but thankfully I don't let it show on my face. Not any more than the rest of my blushing enthusiasm.

'You're very welcome,' Persephone says, voice like song, velvet lustiness. She nods softly towards the monitor on the desk. 'Have a look at this.'

My cheeks grow all the redder, as I follow her gaze. A solitary video file, in a new folder, titled "Tom's First Time with Daddy."

And when she clicks it, and the speakers produce the sound of my voice…for the first time in my life, I'm confronted with a very different angle to my sexual adventures with the Venyabildt futanaris.

Before this moment, it has always been something private.

But now, it's possible for anyone to see it.

And as I watch myself beginning to suck Persephone Venyabildt's big beautiful cock, I feel a fluttering twist of the soul that makes clear I've still got quite a bit to learn from these effortlessly gorgeous goddesses…