Chapter 314 - The New Girl part 6 by Thalaxian

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 Mom 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 "Mommy" 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, Mommy,' the pair say at once. Two sweet, sultry voices mingling. It puts a chill down my spine, especially, to hear "Mommy".

'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. 'Mommy'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 Mommy. 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 goth 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 Mommy'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 Mommy, 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 Mom 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 Mommy'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 Mommy, 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 Mommy.'

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 Mommy.'

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.

'Mommy 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. 

------X------

 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.