The New Girl, Ch. 11

 

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.