by Jay Aury
Station SS9: The Futa's Revenge
Jay Aury
[email protected]
This book and its contents are copyright 2017 by Jay Aury. All rights are reserved and no portion may be reproduced aside from brief quotations for review purposes.
Photo credit Mayer George
All characters appearing in this story are over the age of 18. This is a work of parody and any resemblence to real people or situations is coincidental.
The Procedure
The station deck rang under Amala Carr’s boots as she stomped through the narrow corridor. Men and women avoided her path, slinking away into side passages carved into the meteor rock or hallways worked from durasteel and tarnished chrome. Not even the whores in their shimmering clothes of light dared try and catch her eye. She looked ready to do murder. Or worse.
She had a plan.
It was illegal. Absurdly so. But on Station SS9, things like laws were a held looser. She knew where she was going. How deep into the station her destination lay. Past the blazing neon signs of shops and the cold hard durasteel walls. Down dark corridors lit with flickering chrono lamps where aliens from beyond the stars haggled with merchant, smuggler, pirate or splicer. Where debtor slaves whimpered or moaned at the ends of sado collars depending on their master’s desires. She let her anger carry her past these. Replaying the memory. Of entering her apartment. Walking in to find the lights off. Opening the bedroom door. The startled eyes. He still inside of her, their sheets tangled around them like snakes.
“Oh, Amala,” Jalt had said, words dull. The naked blonde beneath him said nothing, merely stared without much interest.
Hand still on the door's activator, Amala had stared, gaping, and gasped, “What the fuck!”
Jalt had winced, straightening a little, though his cock remained buried in the woman beneath him. “I know you’re mad,” he’d said. “But, look. I just don’t think this is working out…”
The blonde said nothing. She’d gotten over her initial surprise, her long lashes fallen slightly with somnolent pleasure. Amala had gotten a better look at her then. The woman had been petite and pretty, with eyes darkened tastefully with eyeshadow and a soft circuit working along her ear like a tattoo. Not a whore then. That would have been easier to accept.
Amala had spoken, still in shock. Confused. “What the hell are you talking about? What…what the fuck is this Jalt!”
He’d sighed then, the sound patient and wistful, like he was explaining something to a child. “Amala. It’s just…not working out. We’re not meant for each other. You’re just not…” He’d made a vague motion with his hand. Saw understanding dawn on her and let his hand fall. Shrugged, and added, “I’m sorry.”
And that had been it. She’d felt like crying. Even now tears threatened to prick her eyes. She was furious and betrayed and beyond angry but more than anything, hurt. Horribly, ruthlessly hurt. Her hands had clenched to fists at her sides but she couldn’t hit him. Not even then. She was not small. She was not petite and fair and blonde and slender. She was none of the things the woman on the bed was, who even then was starting to move a little, circumspectly rolling herself against Jalt whose look of patience had begun to strain.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he’d repeated.
She’d left.
Looking back she should have punched him in the jaw. Probably would have broken it too. She was statuesque. Her years in the United Navy had given her a thick frame and hard limbs but she’d let her mass go a bit since leaving the forces. Her brown hair was wavy and thick and her skin a mocha brown. Only now, with the betrayal raw, could she see how Jalt had started being more silent. Less interested in her. How his attraction had slipped away to the women they’d passed. Pretty and slim and bound in holo clothes or flight suits that left little to the imagination.
She’d wanted to hurt him. She still did. But the first impulse of punching him was gone. She didn’t want that anymore. No. Not the quick physical triumph. She had something else in mind now.
She walked as quickly as she could down the decks. She needed her rage. She needed to keep moving. No time for doubt. No time for reconsidering. She knew where she was going. Heard from some of the men at the docking bays whre she worked hauling cargo what could be found deep in deck eight. Of who could be found, and what they could do.
She turned a corner and there it was. Beside a brothel steeped in shadows, a neon sign glowed from the dark pit in the station wall. Morinth’s Modifications.
She felt hesitation and forced it back. She had seen what splicers could do while in the navy. You didn’t live on Station SS9 for even a day without coming across those modded so much they were more alien than those from beyond known space.
But here she was.
Here she came.
She walked to the door and slammed her hand on the activator. The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, admitting her to a dark lab lit in humming green. She ignored the chrome machines half hidden in ill lit shadows. The dark screens scattered about columns of fiber optic cables. The columns of holograms depicting women dancing slowly in a shimmer of light and tanks of bubbling liquid ranged along a wall. A desk stood near the end of the room. A man and woman were there, talking. The man was slim and wore a white lab coat. He had short, curly brown hair and wore an opaque band of green light wrapped around his eyes. That could only be Morinth she thought.
The woman with him was a mystery though. Sitting coquettishly on the desk, her long legs crossed daintily, she was achingly perfect. All curves wrapped in an hourglass shape, her breasts huge and without a hint of sag. Her body was bound in a tight blue security officer’s suit, its seams straining whenever she moved, illustrating the feminine glory of her body in exquisite detail. She had long blonde hair bound in a ponytail and flashing white teeth. Her visored helmet sat on the table beside her.
Amala’s heart began to thump in her chest as she crossed the darkened room. As she reached the table, she slammed her hand down on it. Both man and woman jumped. Turned her way.
“I want a cock!” Amala barked.
A stunned silence filled the air. The man’s visor was washed in a stream of refreshing pixels. “Pardon?”
Amala felt a flush climbing her cheeks but plowed on. “You heard me. I want a cock.”
Morinth frowned, jaw tight with irritation. “There is a brothel next door,” he said.
Amala shook her head violently. “Not like that! I want my own.”
The woman cocked her head. “You do? But why?”
Amala had rehearsed the reasons on her way there. She had concentrated, concocted a dozen stories. But confronted by the airy blonde with her jaw dropping face and achingly feminine curves the truth came out, spat out with anger and bitter betrayal.
“Because my boyfriend doesn’t find me ‘feminine’ enough. So he went and found some slut he could fuck in my own bed while I was gone! And he had the gall. The fucking gall to tell me that to my face while he still had his cock shoved inside of her whore cunt!”
“But why a cock?” the woman said again.
“Revenge! He doesn’t think I’m feminine? Fine! Fuck him! I’ll show him how masculine I can be!”
The blonde bombshell pouted. “Oh but what a waste that would be,” she said, looking Amala up and down with undisguised desire. She grinned, batting her long lashes. “You could be so pretty!”
“Hush Dava,” Morinth said. Amala looked his way and found him tapping the table, examining her in much the same way Dava had. But the tilt of his head and movement of his hand revealed a more analytical assessment. “An interesting prospect,” he mused. “Yes. And would you like to become male in total?”
Amala shook her head. “No.” She grinned mi
rthlessly. “I wouldn’t have to go that far to be more of a man than him.”
“How very interesting,” he said. He rose from behind the desk and paced about the floor, a quick energy fairly radiating off of him. “Standard work really, though not often requested. I think I could reformat the array to do that. Move tissue from one place to another. Of course it might be a bit tricky. But…ah, of course! That would do the trick. Yes…”
“Then you can do it?” Amala said eagerly.
Morinth glanced her way. “Of course. It will be a simple matter. Simple, yet there is a certain aspect I find interesting. Yes. I just need a few things.”
Dava sighed expansively as Morinth vanished into the back of the lab. “I just don’t get it,” she mused.
“I bet you don’t,” Amala said with a wrathful look at the security officer’s hourglass figure.
A moment later Morinth returned. “Here we are,” he said, holding out a small pill. “Perfectly prepared. A little modification and it will perform exactly.”
Amala stared at the pill doubtfully. “That little thing?”
Morinth’s mouth turned in a scowl. The green light of his visor crackled. “This ‘little thing’ is a vital mass of mutagen. Specifically, one designed for testosterone treatments. By taking this, they will modify your genetic code itself! Adding in a Y chromosome and altering your flesh so that you are sporting a virile cock. I’ll merely need to adjust it somewhat so that it does not rewrite your physical format entirely, but merely add to it.”
He turned and rapidly tapped a nearby console with his free hand. A pair of small prongs came up and he placed the pill between them. Something crackled through it. He spoke over the clack of the keys. “You’re very fortunate I still have some on hand after a recent client. Small fellow. Wanted to join Station Security, but lacked the necessary muscle mass for it. He’d be grabbed by some Callian pirate for a pet immediately. Fortunately I managed to provide him the testosterone treatment he wished. A resounding success.”
“Ooooh,” Dava moaned, rubbing the clothed groove of her cunt. “I remember.”
Amala sniffed. “Then you can do it?”
“Of course I can do it!” Morinth said. “I wasn’t chased to this black end of the galaxy because I was an idiot. Ah, there.”
He swept his hand over the console, trailing a shimmering light in his wake. He plucked the pill from between the prongs and turned to Amala. “Now, I trust you can pay…”
Amala smiled grimly. “I can.” She drew a credit chit and brushed it across the reader on the desk. There was a notable beep, a holographic screen flickering to life. Thousands of credits were displayed. The entirety of her and Jalt’s joint account. Her saving from her time in the navy. The money she’d made working as a cargo hauler and decker in the station’s hanger. She realized with annoyance how little Jalt had ever contributed. Well, fine, she thought, watching with a grim satisfaction the numbers descend in a rapid countdown. Her money, her choice in what to do with it. “Keep the change,” she said.
There was a dull Bing, and a red zero flashed on the screen.
Dava gave a low whistle.
“Excellent. If you would take a seat,” Morinth said, gesturing to a strange chair in the far corner of the room. Without a hint of hesitation Amala strode towards it, shucking off her clothes as she went. By the time she reached the throne of chrome and black cables she was utterly naked, her firm dark body on full display. Her breasts bounced a little as she sat down, the seat a net of webbing which shifted to her weight and the contours of her ass.
“Comfortable?” Morinth said.
“Not really.”
“Pity. Swallow.”
Amala took the pill and looked at the silver casing. She shrugged. She’d come this far. Tilting back her head, she tossed the pill into her mouth and swallowed thickly.
A moment passed in silence but for the hum of distant machinery.
“So…Is this thing supposed to do anything or-“
Heat.
She doubled over, grabbing her stomach.
Pain.
She groaned as a pressure swelled in her core. Her stomach clenched. The heat boiled in her gut. Then, it migrated. She moaned, clutching her groin as the throbbing pleasure suffocated her.
She tore open her eyes, gasping at what she saw. Her clit jutted from her pink gash, and before her awestruck eyes, it began to grow.
“O-oooh,” she groaned. “Oh Staaaars!”
She fell to her knees on the gleaming chrome floor, clutching at her groin. Her clit continued to swell, growing from its hood. Swelling past the lips of her quim. “Ohhhhh!” She grasped it and moaned as pleasure shot through her core. Her body felt swollen. She groaned, shutting tight her eyes, but her hand moved. Running along the stretching flesh with helpless ardour. Trembling, she eagerly began to stroke herself, furiously masturbating her engorging clit. No, her cock!
Pleasure rocked through her. She gave a sudden cry. Something clenched in her, and from the slit of her new grown cock, she came, spurting ropes of cum onto the floor.
Morinth watched the pearly seed splatter across the durasteel. He sighed tiredly and wandered away, muttering, “Best get a mop…”
Amala paid him no heed. Her body burned with an aching need. Desire. Hunger. Her new cock swelled, thick and veiny with lust. She saw Dava. The blonde bombshell had undone the zipper of her uniform down to her groin, her fingers buried deep in her dripping gash. The bimbo smiled, fluttering her lashes. She ran her fingers up along her moistened folds with teasing strokes.
Amala growled, and hurled herself onto the bimbo. Dava gasped, giggling as she was heaved onto the desk. “Ah!” she moaned as the newly made futanari grabbed her heavy breasts. “Yes! Fuck me hard!”
“Shut up,” Amala snarled, grasping her cock in her free hand. Instinct compelled her actions. She grabbed Dava’s ass, lifting her up and thrusting, filling her quim in a single stroke. Amala threw back her head, eyes flying wide as she felt her cock fill Dava’s hot, clutching depths. “Ooooooh fuuuuck!” she moaned.
“Mmmm,” Dava moaned. Her legs swung about Amala’s waist, locked and pulled the futa deeper until their hips met, hilting Amala deep in her clutching tunnel. “Oh yes. That’s it,” she purred.
Amala jerked forward, gasping. She planted her hands beside Dava’s head. Giggling, the blonde bombshell wrapped her arms around Amala’s neck and pulled her into a heated kiss. “Fuck me,” Dava purred. “Fuck me hard, stud.”
Amala panted. Dava’s body smelled musky and sweet. The scent seemed to spur her on. Her breathing grew heavy, her cock throbbed. Her body followed its instinct, beginning to thrust into Dava, filling her with long strokes.
“Ooooh,” Dava moaned, throwing back her head. Her blonde hair fanned out behind her. “Yesssss!”
Amala didn’t hear. Her entire being was focused on the woman writhing beneath her. She grabbed Dava’s soft breasts, squeezing the pliant flesh, feeling their aroused heat. Nipples dug into her palm as she crushed them, making Dava cry out and bite her lower lip coquettishly.
Amala sped up her thrusts. She hissed, crushing her lips to Dava’s plump pink ones. She devoured the woman, conquered her. She thrust eagerly into her cunt, moaning into Dava’s lips.
“M-more,” Dava moaned. “F-fuck me harder!”
“Shut up,” Amala gasped. She felt good. Amazing! Powerful! Then, she felt a clutching in her loins. Her peak rose and her body thrummed with her approaching orgasm. It was unlike anything she had felt as a woman. She groaned, throwing back her head. “I-ah. Ah! Fuck!”
She cried out as she came, her cock pumping cum inside of Dava’s slickened tunnel. Dava moaned. Her inner walls clutched at Amala’s cock as her own orgasm thundered through her.
Gasping, Amala pulled out. She watched, fascinated as her seed dripped from the blonde’s gaping quim. Her legs trembled, a sudden weakness washing through Amala. Morinth, leaning on a mop, kicked a chair behind her a moment before she
fell. She sagged in the seat, head spinning.
Giggling, Dava prowled off the desk and sat in Amala’s lap. “Oh you were wonderful,” she purred.
“Y-yeah,” Amala said. “It was.”
Dava tittered, leaning forward so her breasts pressed against Amala’s. Her hot groove ground against the futa’s cock, who hissed as she felt herself stir once more to Dava’s ministrations.
“C’mon big boy,” the busty bimbo breathed. “Got another one in you?”
Amala drew a strained breath through her teeth, feeling her new cock harden between the soft globes of the bimbo’s ass. She grabbed the Dava’s hips, squeezing the plush flesh of her rear. Dava gasped, arching and shoving her heaving breasts into Amala’s face. “Oooh, yes! Just like that.”
Amala found a hard nipple and bit down. Dava squeaked, moaning as Amala squeezed the hard nub in her teeth, then sucking and kissing the wounded flesh.
“Mmm.” Dava lifted her ass, Amala’s cock swelling upright, hard and proud. Sighing, her breath hitching, Dava lowered herself onto Amala’s throbbing length.
“Ah!” Amala gasped. She gripped Dava’s hips and ground her cock into the bimbo’s heated gash.
“That’s it,” Dava moaned. “Fuck me. Fuck me so hard!”
Amala gripped Dava’s hips and began to bounce her atop her cock. She stared in awe at the buxom woman, breasts heaving and blonde hair flying as she fucked herself on the futa’s pillar of flesh. It felt good. It felt right!
“Fucking slut!” Amala breathed, grinning fiercely.
“Oh I am,” Dava moaned. “I just love being stuffed by your meaty cock!”
“Have you ever had better?” Amala growled.
“Ooooh, never,” Dava moaned.
Amala suspected this was a lie. A sudden anger burned through her. She would show this bimbo slut! She snarled and bucked, thrusting her cock as deep into Dava’s insides as it would go. The bimbo’s eyes flew open with surprise. Her lips parted with a gasping cry.