by Lyka Bloom
My body shook and shuddered. My pussy convulsed. Her cheeks hollowed as the suction drew out more and more cum from the depths of my body. I quivered, fingers twisting my nipples. My pussy convulsed. Juices washed down my thighs, brushing my mother's fingers.
"Yes, yes, yes, Mom. Drink your daughter's futa-jizz! I love it."
My cock spurted a last time. I quivered.
Then Mom rose, a hungry look in her eyes. She kissed me hard, our bodies pressed tight. She shoveled salty jizz into my mouth. I savored it, her pillowy tits rubbing into my round breasts as she pushed me to the ground, following me down.
I stretched out on my back on the wood, our mouths never breaking our kiss. Our tongue dueled. Her legs straddled my waist. Her hot pussy rubbed up and down my throbbing dick as our nipples kissed, tingles racing through my body.
She broke it. "You make me so hot, Nicole."
"Yes, Mom," I gasped, loving her hot cunt sliding up my dick. "Please, Mom, fuck me! I need to be in you again."
"Yes!" she groaned, her pussy reaching the crown of my dick, labia engulfing my shaft.
And then she pressed down me.
I groaned, squirming beneath her as her cunt swallowed my futa-cock. My eyes widened as she rose, her heavy tits swaying before her. She stretched her arms over her head, her hips moving, sliding up my shaft as they swiveled.
Hot flesh slid around my dick as she rode me. I groaned, squirming on the hardwood floors. My dick ached and throbbed in her depths. I stared up at her beautiful face, the pleasure twisting across her expression.
"Ride my cock, Mom," I moaned, my pussy tightening as she slid down my shaft. "Mmm, yes, just fuck me so hard."
"So hard," she purred. "This dick is amazing. My daughter has the best girl-cock. The best cock! I'm going to cum so hard on it!"
"Yes," I moaned, my hands seizing her big, pillowy tits.
I shivered, finally massaging this delicious mounds with my hands. My fingers dug into her flesh as I groped them. They shook and jiggled in my hand as she fucked me. My thumbs massaged her nipples, her pussy clenching on my dick every time.
Hot, silky flesh slid up and down my cock. She gripped me hard, riding me so fast. She bucked and writhed, working her married pussy up and down my dick. Taboo rapture flooded out of my pussy, my ovaries boiling as I savored the forbidden.
"I love you so much, Mom!" I groaned.
"Yes," she gasped. "I love you, Nicole. And your naughty cock. I get it! Why you have those naughty comics!"
I beamed at her, watching her ride my dick, savoring my futa-cock. She understood how awesome futanari were. Why they made me so wet. And she was so lucky to get to fuck one. To get to savor this amazing moment. She worked her pussy faster and faster on my shaft, massing my cock, drawing the cum out of my ovaries.
I groaned, clenching her tits as the pleasure built and built. My own breasts jiggled as I squirmed. My toes curled. Her pussy felt amazing, so wonderfully hot and silky, sliding up and down my dick. A juicy peach embracing me in rapture.
"Mom," I groaned, my voice so thick.
"Mmm, yes, baby, cum in me. Cum in your mother's pussy. Flood her with your yummy futa-cum!"
"Yes, Mommy," I howled, my hips thrusting up. "Just a little more. I'm so close. Your pussy's driving me wild."
"Good!" She slammed her cunt down my shaft, engulfing me and grinding her clit into my pubic bone. She shuddered, tits heaving in my groping hands. "Cum in your mother's cunt, you nasty young lady!"
"Mommy!"
My pussy tightened. My body heaved. Cum fired out of my ovaries. Rapture shot through my body. I flooded my mother's pussy with my futa-jizz. Dizzy waves of delight spilled through me. Fuzzy darkness and colorful stars washed across my vision.
Ecstasy bathed my mind.
"Nicole!" she squealed, her pussy spasming about my shaft, milking my dick again. "Oh, yes, honey! Flood your mother's pussy! Give your naughty mommy what she needs!"
"I am!" I groaned, twisting, thrusting up into her.
The pleasure boiled around us. We both thrashed and heaved. I groaned, my eyes fluttering. Blast after blast of hot cum flooded her snatch. It boiled into her cunt, giving her just what she needed. What she craved. And I loved that. It was so hot. So exciting. I was so glad to share this with her.
"Mom!"
"Nicole!"
She shuddered on me, the last blast of my cum squirting into her. Our pleasure peaked. Both of us gasped and heaved. The barista winked at us as we savored the high of our forbidden orgasms. And then the world wavered about us.
We both gasped in shock, the coffee house rippling like I viewed it through water. It distorted more and more, bleeding into something new. Something familiar. My cock slipped out of my mother's pussy as she rose above me. Her dress appeared on her body, a trickle of my cum working out beneath the hem as a new reality sprang into being.
Hawaiian Burger.
Sound bustled. Wrappers rustled. People ate a nearby table. The buzz of alarms from the deep fryer sounded. Hamburger patties sizzled on the grill. That familiar smell of greasy food mixed with sweet pineapple filled my nose.
"Nicole, why are you on the floor?" my boss, a stout Hawaiian woman, asked. She stared down at me. "Your shift started thirty minutes ago."
"I..."
"My daughter is quitting," my mom said, hauling me to my feet. I wore my uniform again, my new futa-dick hard and bulging the front of my tight slacks. "She needs to help me out at home. A lot."
My boss gaped at us as my step-mom yanked me to the door. I didn't resist.
"Ooh, a lot of help, huh?" I grinned, smacking her ass the moment we were out the door onto the Seattle street.
"Yes," she gasped, her hand groping my futa-dick. "I need my daughter's big shaft stirring me up." Then she bit her lip. "I'm sorry I wanted you to throw out your comics. We could...read them together."
I leaned in. "You know I have videos of futas hidden on my computer. We could watch those together.'
"Yes! It'll be hours before your father's home from work! Let's go!"
My pussy clenched, my dick throbbed. I would love my new life as a futa and enjoy every moment with my step-mother.
A Queer Sort of Queen
By Sally Bend
Copyright 2017
"Brandi." The haunting, melodic tones of the Queen's voice rang out through the cold, silent halls of the palace. Even after a full year in her service, I still could not get over the way the exquisite marble floors and twelve-foot arched ceilings managed to create such seemingly impossible acoustics. It was as if the entire palace was built to obey her beck and call - which probably wasn't that far from the truth.
I froze in place, carefully bent at the waist, with my well-rounded ass in the air. My tight, binding corset did not allow for much freedom of movement, but it was a small price to pay for such a stunning figure. Of course, it helped that a regular diet of the Queen's futa cum had allowed me to develop a pair of C-cup breasts to go with that ass, and my corset did a stellar job of putting them on display.
"Your presence is requested in the throne room."
A delicious thrill raced down my spine. The only time she 'requested' my presence was when there were foreign dignitaries to be impressed. They came from all over the world to see the Islands for themselves, and to meet the mysterious race that both science and nature said should not exist. For the friendlier dignitaries, I served as something of a tease, a promise of what was possible with the assistance of the Queen and her people. For those who were less than friendly . . . well, they tended to see me as a cautionary tale of what such "ungodly, unnatural perversions" might inflict upon their world.
I gave the mahogany bookcase one last wipe before laying the pink feather duster aside. It didn't do to keep the Queen waiting, but appearances were important, especially before such important guests. As such, a moment to straighten my skirt, another to adjust my naked breasts, and one more to fluff my long, naturally (some might say unnatu
rally) pink locks, was entirely warranted.
How delightfully curious this all was!
I hadn't known what to expect of the Queen upon my arrival in the Futa Islands, a 'gift' of the Canadian government from whom her tiny nation had claimed its new homeland, but I had come to look forward to such surprises. There was still so much the world did not know about her or her kind, and I took great pride in being the first (and, so far, only) outsider to be granted secondary citizenship as a submissive of the Empire.
It was not just my duty, but also my pleasure, to obey.
I hurried down the spiral stairs, the sound of my three-inch, silver tipped stiletto heels upon the cold marble announcing my presence long before I arrived.
"You called, my Queen?" I halted just inside the door of the small, but sumptuously decorated, throne room, and curtsied deeply. As my training dictated, I lifted my leather skirt high enough to reveal the black satin panties beneath and waited.
"Hmm . . . smooth, no bulge, but I do believe that you are wet." There was no mistaking the knowing glint in her eye. "Is it fresh, Brandi?"
I blushed deeply as my own professionally manicured fingers brushed against the damp spot. While I was prohibited from pleasuring myself, some measure of excitement was expected in her presence. "Yes, my Queen."
It was funny, but even with everything I had seen and become during my time on the Island, this was the one custom that I still found somewhat awkward. I enjoyed it, and thought it a delightful alternative to the meaningless pleasantries and games of handshake dominance back home, but it still felt somewhat taboo. As custom dictated, I held my finger up for her to lick the spot of pre-cum from the tip, intimate proof that it was indeed wet and fresh, and that I was indeed delighted to be in her presence.
"Very good." She grazed the massive bulge beneath her skirt and presented me with three fingers that weren't just damp, but literally coated with futa pre-cum. As taboo as I found my half of the custom, I quite enjoyed this part.
I dutifully opened my mouth and sucked those fingers clean, one-by-one-by-one. Judging by the taste, not only was she delighted to see me as well, but she was excited about whatever it was that she had summoned me there to assist with.
When I was done, she dismissed me with a wave of her hand. "You may enter and prepare for our guest."
I curtsied low in gratitude, and then set to work.
The first step in my carefully laid-out protocol was to make sure that the heavy, pink velvet curtains were perfectly pleated and symmetrically seated in the burnished silver holdbacks to either side of the massive picture window. As much as the Queen loved her view of the lake, especially on these dark autumn evenings, she insisted that it be perfectly framed. The moonlight on the lake was really quite stunning, and its glow suited her complexion. She said it recharged her.
Next - and this was often the most difficult step of all - I had to guess the Queen' mood, based on nothing more than my taste of those fingers and the way in which she waved her hand. It had been a quick, almost looping motion, which told me that whatever anticipation I had tasted was to be formal in nature.
I stole a quick glance towards the throne and confirmed my immediate impression upon first entering the room. The Queen was dressed primarily in a dark burgundy this evening, with lace accents. That alone told me this was to be an intimate affair, as did the unusual absence of her thigh-high leather boots. It only struck me now that she didn't appear to be wearing any leather at all - a definite first in my experience. I was truly curious as to who our guest might be.
Her velvet dress was full-length with a high neckline, revealing only a glimpse of radiant flesh where the sleeves ended and her matching gloves began. Her makeup was sparse, yet elegant, as always, but her jewelry was rather subdued.
I carefully followed the prescribed lighting protocol, setting the white candles of the room alight, and banishing the harsh fluorescents of the day lamps. As always, I started in the far corner of the room, replacing the lighting there, and then gradually ushering the flame into the Queen' glorious presence. As my hand hovered above the final candle, though, I froze.
The Queen chuckled softly. "Is there a problem, Brandi?"
It was only now, as I held the burning match before me, that I could see the darkened figure sitting deep in the corner of the throne room. This was certainly something new. I had cleaned every corner of the palace more times than I could count, and there had never been a chair there before. "I . . . please forgive me, my Queen. I did not realize your guest had already arrived."
What I did not betray, of course, was the fact that I had immediately recognized our guest. It would not be polite of me to gossip, but as First Ladies of the world's governing bodies went, she was one of the last people I ever expected to see visit the Island.
My father, the Pope, and her husband being the others.
I quickly lit the last candle and laid the box of matches on the silver tray beside her chair, which I now recognized as having been borrowed from the Queen's own sitting room. I stepped forward and curtsied before our guest.
"Please accept my apologies, Ma'am, and be welcome." Without having been introduced, I had to play dumb, so I curtsied low enough to recognize an honored guest, but not so low as to honor a head of state. She was a woman of luscious curves and glowing skin, dressed in such a fashion that she looked as anonymous as such a beautiful woman can be. Truthfully, she was dressed more as a man than a woman, in a well-cut black tuxedo, with what I now saw to be low-heeled wingtip shoes.
"I do hope you will not think me rude. May I get you a drink, or – oh, my!"
The guest laughed as she gave my adorably imprisoned penis another squeeze. "So, there really is a boy under that sexy costume!"
Such stereotypical continental rudeness! Despite my training, and despite my submissive nature, I wanted to protest loudly. I wanted to cry out that she was wrong, and to deny her crude comment. It was not so much to protect my honor or defend my identity, but to honor the Queen's designation of myself as a Royal Sissy.
Fortunately, the Queen spoke up and chastised our guest herself.
"My dear, really . . . I thought I already made that clear." There was a dangerous edge to the Queen's voice that told me this was not the friendly affair I had expected after all. "As we discussed earlier, the genetic remnants of Brandi's mainland past are completely irrelevant to me. She is mine, a secondary citizen of the Islands, and she is precisely what I need her to be." There was a long pause. "There will be no more of this boy talk."
I was horrified by the First Lady's laughter, but utterly fascinated by the Queen's indulgence of it. There was a story here, and I was curious to learn the truth of it.
"Then perhaps we should get this show on the road and put her to the test, hmm?"
In response to her haughty arrogance, the Queen released a bored, drawn-out sigh. It was something, I am pleased to say, I had not heard for many months now. If she really held her guest in such disdain, though, why was she so indulgent of her rudeness? Something strange was going on here, but I sensed that things were going exactly as the Queen had planned.
They always did.
"Very well. I understand that your time is short. Brandi's handsome Prime Minister has promised to keep your husband entertained for the night, but I have my own doubts as to how much patience he'll have for hockey and poutine."
Ever the dutiful servant, I managed to contain my laughter. Instead, I shared a knowing smirk with the Queen, who never tired of poking gentle fun at Canadian culture. The truth was, she was nearly as fascinated by us as we were by her, which was why she had chosen to establish her Island futa nation here.
She pointed towards her guest's red cummerbund and waved her fingers dismissively. "If you would, please, Brandi?"
"Of course, my Queen." I knelt carefully before our guest, arranging my skirt around me. As I unzipped her pants, the dampness of her white cotton panties immediately caught my eye. I understood that she w
as in disguise – it must have been the only way she could escape the official function back on the mainland – but I had really expected something more exquisite from a such a well-known, fashion conscious woman.
I undid her belt and caressed those plain white panties. They clung tightly to her mound, outlining the swollen lips of her vagina. For a moment, I paused.
My feelings about this whole situation confused me.
I found that I was disappointed she wasn't futa. To my surprise, I was genuinely saddened that she didn't have a cock. Such a thought would have never entered my mind prior to coming to the Island, but the Queen had trained me well. She had taught me all about what would be expected of me as a Royal Sissy, and had thoroughly trained me to take pleasure from my duties. Not that my pleasure was ever to be my primary concern, but she firmly believed that the best sissies were those who took satisfaction in their submission.
The Island was not a place of slavery, but of submission. It was not in the futa nature to denigrate, but to dominate.
"Go ahead, Brandi. You know very well it is nothing that you have not enjoyed before."
She was right, of course, but the way she said it . . . well, there was clearly something at work here that I didn't yet understand.
I had always been submissive.
Prior to coming to the Island, however, that submission had always been to a woman.
I had actually been very well known in certain BDSM circles for my skill at cunnilingus, and my delight at being subjected to extended queening sessions. Whereas other submissives could boast about their ability to endure extended queening, I truly delighted in the sensation of being smothered by the moist warmth of a woman's sex, especially - and I suspect this was what had led me to the Queen's attention - when she has been recently fucked and full of a man's seed.
Whether she really had known that when she accepted me as a secondary citizen, my cunnilingus was a skill the Queen appreciated as well, coming equipped as she did with both penis and vagina - or, cock and cunt, as she liked to remind me when in the throes of passion. I had become so accustomed to her, however, that a simple vagina . . . well, it seemed to be missing something.
