The New Girl, Ch. 12

 

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.