“Stand.”
The only sound other than breathing and rope against skin were those words. She did as she was told, soon feeling her ankles being wrapped securely in rope as well. It was all she could do to stay balanced and upright as she was tied.
“On your knees.”
This time the rope was tied between her ankles and thighs. It was short, restricting her from moving them further apart than what was required for kneeling. No more commands seemed to be forthcoming so she remained on her knees, listening. It was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet you only experience when something is going on. Tanya turned her head, angling it up towards where she felt Isha’s presence.
A new scent hit her nostrils, she knew what it was. She parted her lips to ask mistress what she wished but was stopped by feeling the thick shaft rest against her cheek. It was like a knife to her throat, in a way. Her early training was still deeply rooted in her and it was a powerful enough memory that she still froze as she had been taught and let Isha take what she wanted. Even her lips remained frozen in place, parted just slightly. Below the blindfold her eyes moved to stare at the blackness near where she felt the warm, slightly damp weight against her skin.
Isha’s body was close to her. She could feel the sorceress’ balls gradually press up against the line of her jaw; feel the weight of the hefty shaft push towards the center of her face, smearing across her features. Warm, viscous precum painted her cheekbone lewdly as the crown of her mistress’ shaft strayed downwards. She felt the thick vein below against her lips and pushed a gentle kiss up at the lightly veined skin.
That was not what was wanted of her, though. Instead she compliantly opened her mouth as far as she was capable of, feeling that fat dick take up so much space. It astounded her every time. Her jaw began to ache lightly and she felt the corners of her mouth strain a little. She had opened as far as she could to give her mistress’ large cock a new home but it seemed Isha had no intention of using anything but the welcome mat, simply letting the crown of her cock rest on the girl’s pillowy tongue.
“You keep your mouth open, and you keep it in your mouth, Tanya. No matter what.”
She gave several faint, swift nods, feeling comparatively cool air through her nose and against the roof of her mouth for a long moment. Then, Isha began to withdraw. Tanya had not been prepared, had simply believed that she was in for more training than they had managed in the morning. She desperately tried to shuffle forward and lean forward, stretching her neck as far as it would go, but she could feel the warmth and weight slipping from her tongue. Isha still moved backwards.
With a high-pitched mewl, Tanya lost contact, her outstretched tongue hanging in the air for a moment, her slightly strained breathing joining with Isha’s. Her teeth curled as she withdrew her tongue and sank to her heels, whining quietly.
“Look up, Tanya.”
She did, with wet breath pushing past slightly parted lips. She was not far from a panting dog, in that moment. A dog that knew it had done something it was not meant to. Her shoulders rose defensively as fingers dug into her hair and yanked her upwards, the iron grip holding her head in place to receive three hard smacks in quick succession. Right cheek, left, right again.
Her breath was fast and tears had been driven from her eyes at the stinging hits to her face. Slowly, hesitantly, her shoulders sank again and her grimace lightened. She parted her lips and stuck out her tongue again. The grip on her hair was still there and this time it was used to guide her deeper. She felt beginning contractions in her chest as the fat, heavy dick pushed deeper in her mouth and into her throat, the silence in the room broken only by sharp squelches, withheld retching and Isha’s breathing.
It was the first time she had been trusted to do this without a gag. That was the only thought her mind had room for, other than the pressing, primal alerts that accompanied choking. Her throat worked furiously to clear the blockage; the squelching, wet sounds strengthening in number and volume as she sank towards her mistress’ pelvis. Her nose bumped against soft skin, and she knew that this was the worst it would get. It was almost a comfort to be able to feel Isha’s skin against her forehead.
For a moment, at least, it was close to comfort. But the need for air became ever more pressing and her panicked squelches became ever loud. She began to thrash and emit nonsensical warning sounds. She could feel her jaws tightening, fighting against it with all she had. But Isha kept holding her in place.
A single, desperate exhalation was let out. She felt the hold of her hair loosen and fell backwards. Autonomous, high-pitched gasps filled the room with sound as the drool-covered, messy shaft withdrew. She breathed around it, trying to calm herself, knowing from experience that the rush of adrenaline would subside and be replaced with a bittersweet, aching weakness. She waited, and breathed, and occasionally closed her lips around her mistress’ fat dick.
Tanya felt a fingertip press against the blindfold. The damp cloth pushed against her skin and slowly she realized how teary she got during her attempts to please mistress. She let out a high-pitched, meek whine as the finger trailed down over her cheek, down below her chin before leaving her. She would be given no more pauses.
It was an uncomfortable waddle out of the room, past the kitchen and into the living room, even if it was slow. Moving on her knees like that was not something Tanya was used to, even less so while she had to worry about keeping Isha in her mouth. The stocks didn’t make things easier, with balance being a serious concern. More than once she felt herself teetering on the edge of falling over as she rushed along to follow her mistress.
To her surprise, she heard the light metallic scratching of key finding lock, and soon after felt the stocks open, freeing her neck and giving her tired arms leave to sink down along her sides.
“I’m going to sit, Tanya.”
She followed the movement as best she could as her mistress eased down into a low leather chair. It was clear that Isha was still on the edge of the chair, since Tanya could not feel the distinctive sensation of toughened leather against her skin, only smell it. There was a little shuffling and a pillow was thrown in front of her knees.
“You know what to do, miss submissive.”
It was hard for her to judge Isha’s tone. She did not sound particularly spiteful, though it was certainly in there to some extent. Disappointed, it was hard to tell. She was too aroused for it to be easy to tell the subtleties of her moods by voice alone. Tanya knew what was expected of her, regardless. On her knees, given a pillow to rest on more comfortably; this was the fairly obvious signal that her mistress expected to receive oral attention.
Temporary rules stopped applying so Tanya withdrew, her moist lips hovering a hair’s thickness from the slick, large crown of her mistress’ shaft. Puckering her lips, she pressed an almost prim kiss onto it. To her, the regular blowjobs she was expected to perform had become almost ceremonial. It was a calming, regular thing for her to do. Her lips dragged languidly down the back of the shaft. In spite of having disappointed her mistress before, this was still her place. She turned her head, catching the thick cumvein in a gentle trap between her lips. It reaffirmed her.
She had taken her usual position without any thought going into it. This was what she did every day, sometimes several times a day. It was second nature. One small hand wrapped partway around the base of her mistress’ thick length and the other cupped those large balls carefully, lifting just slightly. Her tongue ran flatly from below the middle of the shaft and up the side, the solid warmth supplanting into her own form slowly as she pressed lingering kisses down to the base, and then up to the head.
Tanya had never needed to have great technique before Isha, she had gotten by with feeling and love. Later on her technique had not been important at all, but that had changed. At first she had watched her mistress masturbate and then she had been told to replicate as much of that as she could, but with her mouth. Gradually, over weeks and months, she had progressed into what amount to
a practiced milking machine.
First, her lips pushed down to envelop the crown. She withdrew and let her tongue curl around and almost hug the head before she pushed back onto it. She sank deep by her own measures, managing almost half of the hefty shaft before having to pull back. It was only then that she set up the diligent pace, bopping back and forth past the crown and down the shaft, stroking up and down that fat dick.
She started to gently massage her mistress’ balls, the stroking and cradling turning into slightly circular movements that ran counter to each other. Some things the human body just could not handle without some error, at least she could not. And all the while she bopped back and forth at a steady pace, her tongue lashing around, above and below the sensitive head. It had taken her a very short time during those first, hesitant days to notice that the focus was around the ridge of the head; that was where she insistently ran her lips past, up and down. Isha had yet to complain.
Minutes passed, the blindfolded pet occasionally letting a hard suck escape her lips. The smacking of lips filled the room with lewd sound for a short moment before it disappeared, the only sound that of Isha’s heavy breathing once more. Lately she had taken advantage of the slow progress of their morning training, pulling Tanya down to briefly choke her on the entire shaft as it pulsed, but not today.
Instead she pushed the girl off, hand fastening around the head as she erratically jerked herself to the finish. Tanya sat still, in place. It was rare, but not unprecedented, that her face was to be painted. Usually when a point was to be made or when Isha wanted her to look whorishly good. Today was almost certainly the former, but that did not stop her from insistently cradling and massaging the contents of those brimming balls as the shaft was pumped in front of her face.
It did not take long for her to register the changes that occur right before climax. Isha’s erratic movement and heavy breathing clued her in to what was coming. She instinctively closed her eyes. The blindfold caught what would have landed on her eyelids, but it was still habit.
She shivered quietly as the first creamy, viscous strands landed against her skin, clinging and only hesitantly running. She had always been impressed with the amount her mistress could produce, taking it as a compliment to her in some dark and quiet corner of her mind.
She was not disappointed this time either, Isha groaning, rhythmically emptying herself and thoroughly painting Tanya’s face; the strands flowed together to droop into large drops that quickly rolled over the girl’s cheeks and dripped onto her shoulders or chest. Tanya remained still, waiting. She had done the best she could; she had received her mistress’ seed.
“Is this really what you consider your inner self to be, Tanya?”
The question came some five seconds after she had started wondering what to do. Usually, Isha would lead her to the shower, or at least give her an indication of how long she was to parade around with a cum-stained face. Not this time.
“No, of course not,” she said.
“Not too long ago, you said you were a servant, pleaser and submissive. That changed?”
“No, mistress.”
“But it’s not all you are, then?”
“No, mistress.”
“What more are you?”
A few seconds of pregnant silence followed. Tanya parted, then closed her lips. She swallowed. She still had not really understood, had no real answer after what she thought would have pleased her mistress was rejected. She ran her tongue over her lips, tasting the remains of the seed slowly seeping down her angled face. “I’m not sure how to answer that.”
Isha’s hand was gentle as it curled around her chin. Even after the slaps and the degrading knee-crawl through the house, a simple touch was all it took to coax a smile out of her. She tried to stop it at first but could not. She just let it happen. She felt safe in her mistress’ hands. In spite of everything she felt safer than she ever had, even when she knew she had disappointed.
“Tanya, you’re not just a submissive. Be serious. You know that, I know that. You’re more than that one aspect, you’re... You’re not sure who you are,” she said. Her thumb slowly pushed up into Tanya’s hair, caressing the girl’s jawline on its way.
“That’s perfectly reasonable. No one knows everything about themselves, It’s enough to just be yourself, whatever that means.” She leaned down, her lips granting the tip of Tanya’s nose a gentle kiss. “Stop thinking you can define yourself by what we do together. We’re doing this to pull more of you out from that brain of yours, not to make you a whimpering little subby slave,” she said. Isha’s lips moved down, pressing a deep kiss to her pet’s lips. They shared each other’s tastes for a long moment before it was time to clean up.
Cheating in the Caribbean
Rika could still see the girl standing near the shore, a giant tropical-printed towel tied under her armpits, and her feet buried in the sand. It was late evening, only a week after Rika’s release. The girl had no idea just what the woman observing her was. Rika had no idea who and what she truly was either, not until much later.
Rika woke up alone in her hotel room with no recollection of the time that had passed between the beach and then. It was as if she had blinked when she had last seen the girl, and when she opened her eyes again time had fast-forwarded two hours and she was back in her hotel room. She was disoriented, but other than being tired and gaining a few bruises seemed fine. Exhaustion quickly overtook any worry.
It was morning when Rika next opened her eyes. For a while she just laid in the bed, thinking of how her life had changed since the same time last year. How she had been poor, living on the streets without a future. People with nowhere to go become desperate, and that was exactly what she had been when she had been offered a spot in the program.
She had not cared what it was about at that point, only that she would be given a free and comfortable life in exchange for one year in the hands of geneticists. Science had come far in the decades since the start of the second millennium, and its implementation was, as always, driven by sex.
With no family left Rika had no one she cared about left to shame her, so she stayed with the program, even when she discovered what it was about. It was a development in humanity she thought was interesting; the morphing of physiology catering to the wishes of whoever could pay.
Finally the furries, and plenty of others besides, would have their fantasies come true. Plastic surgery was all well and good, but it was still only a stopgap measure. These biologists were determined to go one step further, and they succeeded. Rika was the proof, or part of the proof anyway. She was far from perfect, but their intention had not been to reshape her, change her eye color or her bust.
No, Rika was the object of research for what the geneticists thought was a somewhat more niche audience, but one that would likely pay exorbitant sums for the privilege. She was the first successful prototype for the transsexual audience. She was a woman, but with cock and balls.
After a few weeks of observation she had been released from her ten months and fifteen days of testing. The program had promised to provide a comfortable home for her for the rest of her natural life, so she had been set up near the beach as she had requested. Of course, after having been confined to a clinical environment for months and with the money to spare the first thing she did was travel.
With no personal belongings left it was as simple as booking a flight. Many hours, a few planes and a ferry later Rika stepped onto the gentle sand of a quiet Caribbean island. She was away from the dreary streets of her home, away from any prying eyes or curious questions. She could relax and find a way to make sense of her emotions, perhaps even find a way to live a normal life.
That was what she had hoped, at least, until the girl had approached her. Now it was morning, and she had no idea what had happened save a fuzzy feeling in her mind. She had sat down to wait for breakfast, but the idea of what she was now capable of had rumbled in her mind since she first woke up with the shaft between her leg
s. There was a foreign and undeniable impetus to do - something - constantly present. And now she had lost two hours, and the girl. Rika stood, and walked out of the restaurant.
She passed through the door, but only managed a few steps in the warm morning sunlight before she had to support herself against the hot stone of a fake pillar lining the entrance to the hotel. Sounds returned, movements, feelings. A jumble of emotion, frighteningly powerful, came back. The sky was dark, but not black, more a sort of magical midnight blue that existed on the island, a kind of night she had never experienced at home. She was holding her down, choking--
Rika shook her head and looked around. She had not been far from the hotel the night before, perhaps a kilometer down the beach where large rocks strewn with nature’s careless hand had formed coves and smaller, more private arenas on the beach. She hurried down the pavement.
The beach was still only sparsely populated, mostly with people who came for a brief morning dip. Perhaps the girl had not yet been found? Rika stopped for a moment, shocked at herself. If she had killed the girl, if she found a corpse, would she really try and hide it?
Of course, morals dictated that she report herself, but without shadow of a doubt the prison system on the island was far from as enlightened as what she was used to at home. It would almost certainly not be a pleasant experience, even as prisons go. She swallowed and closed her eyes, leaning against the low wall separating the sand from the sidewalk as she felt another episode coming on.
Rika moved in violent bursts, hammered forward, chasing something she still did not quite grasp. The biological urge was still new in her, so raw and uncontrolled like an exposed nerve. The girl was naked beneath her, trapped and unable to escape the predator she had found herself in the hands of. She rocked back and forth in tune with the powerful thrusts hammering her, whimpering as her body was imprinted in the sand.
Futanarium 1: An Erotic Short Story Bundle Page 5