The New Girl part 1 by Thalaxian - Hunter’s love for Futa

Freya Venyabildt shouldn't be at Falbeck School. Her family, the Venyabildts, are fucking billionaires. They own one of the largest pharmaceutical companies on Earth, and yet she's joined the school, in my year. It's not like Falbeck is crappy or anything, it's just...well, not some dolled-up private school. It's a state school, with all that that entails.

I don't really know what I expected. It's safe to say, it wasn't Freya. She's in my Science class, in my English too. I guess I imagined some haughty, well-spoken, nicely dressed girl. One of those untouchable chicks. Maybe that's why Freya's here in the first place, because she's nothing like that.

Freya is six foot tall, to begin with. I feel especially short beside her, and she's often in like, two-inch heeled boots, which makes her that much taller. Her hair is bleach-blonde, a golden-white length of straightness that runs over her shoulders and down her back. Teachers always tell her off for undoing the buttons of her shirt, but it wouldn't matter anyway, because her tits are absolutely gigantic. They must be like G-cups, or bigger.

Her skin is always this bronzed tan shade and it looks legit, so either tanning beds or constant holidays. Freya's skirt is always halfway down her thighs, revealing the muscular voluptuousness of her lovely legs, which seem to go on forever. She's pretty buff, for a girl, which makes sense considering within a week of coming here, she already became the star girl's athlete. Always in the gym, she can out-bench all but the strongest of the boys.

Yet despite her athleticism, her body is decked out like that of a love goddess. I've already mentioned her huge boobs and lovely legs, but her backside could crush a boulder into a diamond, so tight and fat are those big buns, and her hips are maybe the widest I've ever seen. She's legitimately a sex-bomb.

...which makes it odd that, as of today, a whole month after she's joined...everyone still avoids her. I mean, I get why that makes sense for most of us "worthless peons" because she's, quite frankly, a bitch. What I don't understand is why the tough guys haven't flocked to her, or the popular girls -- the bitchy ones, anyway, considering most are really nice -- haven't taken her into their groups. Freya always seems lonelier than anyone else.

She works out alone, after school. She eats alone, behind the PE building, out of sight. I've caught her reading in secrecy a few times, spotted her anyway, in one secret alcove or other. Freya isn't, by any means, stupid. Fucking lazy, without a doubt -- or disinterested, at the very least, which comes across the Tome way -- but not stupid. I find myself so weirdly entranced by this new girl, and mostly out of her enigmatic qualities.

What is the deal with Freya Venyabildt?

Lisa Darrow is a long-time crush of mine, though she's been fading from my interest -- I have no chance at all -- since around Year 9. It now being Year 13, and with my curiosity greater than my fear of being awkward, I tap her on the shoulder during RE. The blonde-haired, tan-skinned, very pretty girl -- though not a fucking dust mote compared to Freya -- turns to me with a funny smile.

'Something the matter, Tom?' she says. Much as I'm never going to be of interest to her, short and chubby as I am, Lisa is still plenty nice. She's always remembered my name.

'Can I ask you something?' I say, leaning over and softening my voice. Our teacher, Mrs Taylor, is always off with the fairies. 'It's about Freya.'

At that name, Lisa seems to stiffen up. The girl beside her, Heather, gives us both a wary look. On the right side of her, Becky -- another blonde beauty, though further along the bitchy scale -- starts whispering to Carla beside her. It seems to set off a wave of whispers, warnings, worries. I can't make most of them out, but "Freya" is always the first word, and the rest becomes distorted by the admixture of many repetitions stated at different paces, all across the classroom. Lisa glances around, then frowns.

'After class,' she says, quietly. 'I'll wait outside for you.'

And with that, Lisa Darrow turns back to the front, and gets on with her work.

Honestly, weirdest conversation I've ever had with her. I sit here stock-still, perplexed, staring at the back of her pretty head. What on Earth regarding Freya requires talking about it after class? Nothing comes to mind, and besides, I doubt she'll suddenly change her thoughts on the matter.

When class is over, I find Lisa waiting beside the door on the way out. She waves away her friends and walks slowly with me, constantly checking around herself as if the walls might have ears.

'What did you want to know?' Lisa says.

I shrug, more at the presumption that any knowledge is something top-secret than the question itself. 'Just...why does nobody seem to like her?'

Lisa twists her mouth. 'You have spoken to her, right?'

'But, and forgive me for saying, it's not like all the girls in your group are, well, exactingly polite...'

'It isn't about polite, Tom. She's monstrous.' Now at the edge of the humanities block, Lisa glances around again. She leans in close, smelling of strawberries. 'Remember that black eye Becky had a few weeks back? Freya gave it to her. Becky's boyfriend started off on Freya in return, and...Jack doesn't want to say what happened, but Becky thinks she raped him. We tried to be nice to her, but she thinks we're all just pointless.'

Much as it's wrong to think, the idea of being raped by a six-foot Amazonian goddess doesn't seem something to be ashamed of. I suppose I say that as someone single, lonely, virginal, and so far, having not experienced rape.

'She seems so lonely,' I say gently, a little elsewhere. Lisa gives me a frown. 'I suppose it makes sense, what with what you've just said.'

'I don't know why she's at this school, Tom,' Lisa says, firmly. 'She's always flashing her tits and legs, always threatens teachers when they tell her off for it to the point they've stopped, beats up people's boyfriends...she has serious fucking behavioural problems, and that's being light on the issue.' A sudden thought seems to occur, such that she considers me in a new, somewhat disappointed light. 'Do you fancy her or something?'

I swallow the lump in my throat. 'I mean, she's hot.' Lisa rolls her eyes. 'She is, but that doesn't mean I fancy her. It's not like I have a chance anyway.'

Lisa grabs my arm and squeezes it tight. Her fingers should hurt, but it's the first time she's ever touched me, so it feels more divine than painful. 'Be careful, okay? I know we aren't close, but you're a nice enough guy. Rejection might break your heart, but I think she's got the strength to break bones. Steer clear, Tom. Freya is bad news.'

And with that, Lisa smiles warily at me, glances around once more, and speeds off to join her friends. I'm left no clearer on the situation, because for all Lisa has said, it sounds difficult to believe. The girl seems lonely, not evil.

After school, I decide to go to the gym. Not to work out, as such, but I know that Freya is going to be there. The school gym is part of the PE block, adjacent to the gym hall. It has a fair few weight machines, though no free weights, which I'm more inclined to use. Surprisingly enough, the room is empty. There's nobody around.

I dither for a little while, waiting and checking my phone, to no avail. Freya simply isn't here today, for one reason or other. I'm about to go home when, from along the corridor, I hear the sound of voices.

'Suck it, you dirty old whore,' Freya says. It has to be her, it has the right bitchy, sultry, confident allure. 'Wrap those fucking great tits around it, too, ughn yeah. That's it, Vicky, that's a good slut. Ughn, fuck.'

Vicky? I creep along the hallway, ears pricked, mind active. Vicky...Maxwell? The teacher? 'Schlup. Mumph. Schlup. Schlup.' Those noises sound lewd. They're coming from Mrs Maxwell's office, at the end of the corridor, round the little bend and out of sight. Faint, but my ears are good. 'So--schlup--fucking--mumph--schlup--tasty,' Mrs Maxwell says, the apparent source of the sounds. 'Glugp. Mumph. Glugp.'

I reach the corner and hesitate, my heart pounding. What the hell is she sucking on? Is she forcing Mrs Maxwell to blow a guy in her office?

'Ughn. Keep going deeper. Yeah, just like that,' Freya says, voice ablaze with passion. 'Hungry for that--ughn--load, aren't you, Vicky?' The way she says that name is like some act of power or dominance. 'Bury your--argh--face in there. That's a good slut.'

'Mumph! Glugp. Glugp. Glugp.'

'That's it, that's it. Mhm, play with those fat balls, work that--ugh--that fucking tongue.'

'Mumph. Glugp. Glugp.'

'Gonna feed you--ughn--lots today,' Freya says, groaning. 'Gotta get that fertile body of yours ready--mhm--because one of these days--oof--I'm gonna--argh--gonna--ughn! Shit, I'm so fucking close.'

There's a slick, wet noise, and a sloppy gurgle. 'Glugp. Schlup. Schlup.' What follows is a panting for breath, and the wet slapping of something against skin. 'Freya...we've...'

'It's Mistress Venyabildt to you, whore,' Freya says. She must slap Mrs Maxwell! The sound is shockingly loud, and Mrs Maxwell gasps. 'Suck the head until you get the cream, and you're forgiven.'

'Y-es M-istress V-v-enyabildt,' Mrs Maxwell says, followed by, 'Schlup. Mumph. Schlup.'

'Ughn fuck. Shitting Christ, you're good at that,' Freya says, groaning. 'Tell your--ugh--bitch-boy husband that--argh--you want to try for a baby on--mhm, fuck yeah, so close--tell him you want to try next weekend. Oof, fuck. Then--ughn--you can bare my child.'

A sloppy sound follows, like a lewd pop. 'Y-es, Mistress Venyabildt. I-I'll bare y-our child.'

'Good girl,' Freya says. I can almost picture her vainglorious smirk. 'Beg for it. Beg.'

'Please feed me your sperm, Mistress,' Mrs Maxwell says, oozing lust. 'I want it in my belly, I want to taste it on my tongue.'

'Ughn, fuck. Suck it out then!'

'Schlup. Schlup. Mumph. Mumph!'

'Ughn, fucking yes! I'm fucking cumming, fuck!' Freya shouts, without a care in the world. 'That's it--argh fuck yeah--that's it, suck out the cream, every last fucking drop...'

It dawns on me that there is no third person, possessing a cock. I've either stumbled upon a weird roleplay, or...Freya isn't a girl. What's more, my dick is hard as fucking rock right now. It's a fucking good thing that nobody else is around, Jesus Christ.

'...show me it, Vicky,' Freya says. 'Open up, stick out that tongue. Oh yeah, that's the stuff. You had to swallow a few times too, didn't you? Good girl, putting it where it belongs. Shut it now, and savour it. Swallow now, good. Show me.' Freya giggles. 'Good girl, good girl. You really like my jizz, don't you?'

'It's the best, Mistress Venyabildt,' Mrs Maxwell says. 'Just like your cock...just like your balls...'

There's movement from within, and panic sets in on my end. I rush to the changing room door as Mrs Maxwell's office opens up, casting yellow light full of private meaning into the corridor.

'They'll be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after,' Freya says, stepping into the corridor. 'You're my personal milker, after all. You're getting awful good at pulling it out, let me tell you...'

She turns around just as I manage to slip into the boy's changing room. I keep the door just a fraction open, for fear of making a sound. It's the tiniest gap in the world, a mere sliver of light. My heart beats hard in my chest, thumping against the inside of my ribs. The silence seems endless.

For a long moment, something blocks the sliver of light. I swear I hear Freya giggle, and then the light returns. I wait and wait, beyond the shutting of Mrs Maxwell's office and the sound of her keys, her walking down the hallway, and then at last take my leave.

Is Freya's secret that she has a dick?

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

The following day is Thursday, and ordinarily of no consequence. What strikes me as different, however, is that I always find Freya staring at me. Her scarily beautiful blue eyes readily find me, no matter which room we're in, no matter where I stand outside during breaks. Freya just wears this funny smile, sharp as a scythe for running through wheat.

I start feeling a mote paranoid, perpetually feeling her eyes bore into me even when they aren't. She isn't always looking at me, or for me, which makes it worse. Why am I so scared of some girl?

Freya is scary, isn't she? If she has a dick, then she's not a she, anyway. Is Freya trans? Something else? Regardless, it explains how Becky's boyfriend got raped. He wasn't forced into a girl's pussy, that's for sure. If a no-nonsense woman like Mrs Maxwell is subservient to Freya's cock, then most likely that guy had his back doors smashed in...

'You know the truth, don't you?' a girl says. Her voice is sonorous, husky, sultry in all the best ways. It oozes sexiness. Freya. 'You were in the changing room, weren't you? Eavesdropping on Maxwell and I.'

I turn around slowly, doing my best to avoid showing fear. In the wake of the Amazonian girl's arrival on the central grassy area, most people have excused themselves in one way or another, keeping their distance. The bronze-skinned goddess stands on the edge of the grass, arms crossed beneath her voluminous cleavage and her bleach-blonde hair falling neatly around her face and down her back like a golden veil.

'I don't know what you mean,' I say, surprised at my vocal clarity.

Freya steps forwards, and I step back. She lunges, quick as a bolt, seizing me at the collar and pressing me against a tree. God, her hands are so soft, and she stinks of bubble-gum sweetness. For all her strength and aggression, she maintains a cool, disinterested smile.

'I think you know exactly what I mean. Tom, isn't it? Vicky said that was your name. You have dirt on me, whether you like it or not,' Freya says, her smile taking on a sinister edge. 'I don't like it when people have dirt on me. We both get filthy, you know? I don't like being filthy; I'm very clean, usually.'

'You don't need to threaten me, because I have no idea what you're talking about.' Again, I surprise myself. 'I'm no threat to you. I might even like you, if you weren't acting so venomously aloof all the time.'

She giggles and cocks her head, the smile widening. God, her mouth is so pretty. Her lips are so curvaceous and full, her teeth so white. She's easily the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and it bothers me how much I don't hate her manhandling me like this. I've clearly got a sub complex, or something.

'Venomously aloof? I like that, it's a nice phrase,' Freya says. Her smile grows evil again. 'I saw the CCTV footage, Tom. It's you, outside of Mrs Maxwell's office, and that means you overheard what was going on. Again, that's dirt, whether you like it or not.'

'I have no ill-will towards you, Freya.'

She releases me and steps backwards. Her long, muscular legs move most gracefully. It's impossible to not find myself interested in her.

'Are you gay, Tom?' she says. It seems a non-sequitur. Especially because she must, some way or another, have noticed my wandering eyes.

'No,' I say, simply. 'Why?'

Freya giggles. 'Just wondering. It means this will be easy, that's all.'

She turns about and starts to walk away.

'What does that mean?' I say, calling after her.

'You'll know when you know,' Freya says. She gives me one last smile. 'Nobody has dirt on me if I don't have dirt on them.'

And with that, she wanders off. For the rest of the day, there's no sign of Freya staring at me. She's back to normal; aloof, disinterested, away in her thoughts.

The notion sticks, however, that she must be seeking something to pin on me. Is there anything in my life that I'd be ashamed of, were it to come out? By the end of the day, on the bus home, I realise that while plenty of shit I do might be awkward or even embarrassing, I'd certainly own it all. It's just how I am.

Yet all the same, I can't help but feel a sense of looming dread.

On Friday, I have PE as my last lesson. Sixth Form was meant to drop PE, but that was too good to be true. I'm eighteen, an actual adult, and still have to do pointless laps.

Mrs Maxwell runs it and for the first time in perhaps ever, I'm half-mesmerised by her impressively large chest. It's maybe bigger than Freya's, even. The mental image of Freya -- with a dick -- fucking that chest is, I have to admit, pretty arousing. I mean, the mental image of Freya -- with a dick -- is surprisingly...not bad? That's not gay, right? Besides, I'm not even sure she has one and if she does, the surgery was clearly great. But then why keep the dick?

Weird.

Mrs Maxwell says it's my turn to tidy up the equipment, though I don't argue the point. I'm sure it's not, but still. An easier life, not fighting with that boisterous woman. If Freya is somehow dominating her, well, that's scarily impressive.

I get back to the changing room last, and am halfway through getting changed when the last of the other boys disappears off home. Then the door goes, and Mrs Maxwell walks in. The tall woman, about six foot or so, crosses her arms beneath her heaving bosoms and stares me down across the rectangular room. She'd almost be attractive, if not for the fact that she treats PE - and her own beauty standards - like a military regimen.

'Uh, Miss? I'm still getting changed,' I say.

'No, you're not.' Mrs Maxwell walks over to the outer door and opens it. Someone else steps inside. 'I've locked the other door, Mistress,' the PE teacher says. 'I'll lock this one from the outside.'

'Thanks, Vicky,' Freya says. 'You're such a good girl.'

I turn as the blonde bronze-skinned goddess walks in, clad in tight-fitting PE kit, wearing a cruel smile on her perfectly voluptuous lips. She strokes Mrs Maxwell's auburn hair as though petting a dog, then sends the teacher away with a gesture. The door falls closed with a locking sound that reverberates inside my head, if not my ears.

The tall girl clenches something in one hand, hidden behind long well-manicured fingers. She watches me, eyes glistening blue, looking me up and down, grinning all the while. Freya steps forwards, and her chest rises and falls. Her hourglass figure, that muscular fertile body, sways alluringly. I'm positioned in such a way that to step back is to corner myself against a set of L-shaped benches, so I stand my ground.

'I'm going to have dirt on you,' Freya says. 'Now, you can leave this room with bruises on your face, or just on your ego...but you will leave with bruises.' I watch her hand, which unfurls like a graceful flower, revealing a bottle of lube. 'Turn around and drop those tight little briefs of yours, dickhead.'

For a moment I just blink at her, standing there with my school shirt on and my underwear, dwarfed by the tall Amazonian girl with the lube in her hand.

'Are you fucking joking?'

Freya giggles, and hooks her shorts with a thumb. A single gesture sends them sliding down her perfect legs, to rest around her knees. She's got no underwear on. She's got...an enormous flaccid penis and two gigantic balls.

'I can be gentle, Tom. But I'm unloading in your virginal arse one way or another. Call it mutually assured destruction; if you let out that I've got a cock, then I let out you've ridden it. Thanks for being straight, by the way. It makes it so much easier.'

I look her up and down, petrified. Freya has this thick flaccid dick that's about the size mine is when I'm fully erect, six or so inches long. It's tipped with a heavy glans hidden currently in folds of foreskin, and beneath it hangs a pair of huge testicles each the size of a clenched fist in a tight sack. The whole thing is bronze like the rest of her, though pale bikini lines run upwards to her hips from somewhere beneath the thick curling mound of golden blonde pubes above her shaft.

'Holy shit,' I say.

Freya smirks, and points at the wall. 'Turn around, dickhead. Don't you dare resist or I'll slam your face against the wall. You know I'm stronger than you.'

She's holding it now, the flaccid thing sort of hanging awkwardly over the edge of her hand, drooping heavily with the weight of that fat head. A weapon, to her mind, it seems. A means of controlling other people. But it's...it's kind of a girly dick, isn't it? I mean, it's not, but the body attached to it might make Aphrodite a little bit jealous.

I'm confused by myself.

'What, you want to suck it instead?' she says. 'Turn the fuck around!'

'O-kay.'

Awkwardly, I turn about and put my palms against the white breeze-block wall of the changing room. There's the plastic clack of the bottle opening, then a disappointed grunt from Freya. Her warm, soft skin brushes against the small of my back as she yanks down my briefs. 'Do I have to do fucking everything myself?'

I go to speak but the cool lubricant drizzles down my arse-crack, a tingling slickness that has me arch my back. 'Shit that's cold,' I say, but Freya only laughs. She slaps my butt hard, so hard I wince and hiss.

'Got a real fat arse. Don't you, Tom?' she says, her very tone possessing a smirk. 'I'm going to enjoy this.'

I'm not sure what I expected. Foreplay? Teasing? Freya just aims her rock-hard throbbing heat at my butthole and digs her hands into my hips, thrusting with reckless abandon.

'Ughn, shit.'

It's a searing pain, like a tearing, the sensation of something way too large going into too small a hole. I grunt, and my eyes water with tears. The hot thickness that pushes out the tight confines of my anus is not content to merely linger, to let me adjust. Freya starts to slam, back and forth, driving that raging hotness up and down inside my arse, spreading the pain as it tunnels.

I grit my teeth and bear it, hands pressed so firm against the wall that the bones of my fingers might snap. Freya's cock is absolutely inhuman, bigger than I can believe, thick and throbbing and pulsing along its veiny length inside my backdoor.

'Guh...it hurts,' I say.

'Ugh, not on my end.'

'P-lease...'

'Ughn, you're so fucking tight.' She slaps my arse hard, ramming deeper, the bristly tips of her pubic hairs tickling the top of my butt. 'What is it with--argh--boys and their fuckable arseholes?'

'Freya, you're...ugh...'

Hurting me? No, that's not quite right.

She ignores me, thrusting away, driving her length deeper and deeper into my exposed and lubricated arsehole. What was meant to be a moan of pain was, well, something a bit pleasant. Freya slams against me so hard that the top of my crack is suddenly full of ticklish soft pubic hairs and a pair of great warm orbs slam against my own smaller balls, their soft skin vaguely moist with sweat.

Glancing down, beyond the overhang of my chubby belly, my erection is undeniable. And when Freya slaps my arse again, giving a sort of sublime sting of pain to the flesh around it, she clarifies something both embarrassing and liberating.

I'm actually enjoying this.

'Take it--argh--take it you bitch!' she says, ramming me, her balls slapping hard against mine. 'You're a fucking girl--ughn--a fucking girl!'

'Ugh...'

'You'll--mhm--never live this down, Tom.'

'Never...ughn.'

'How's it feel, huh? Ugh, how's it feel to be taken like the bitch you are?!'

Freya's fingers dig into my hips, vaguely hurting me with the hardness of her nails. She thrusts and retreats, thrusts and retreats, mounting me like I'm a girl, driving her hot hard rod deep inside me with a rapacious strength and determination. I'm subject to her lusts, to her overpowering strength, to her pacing and power.

The enormous cock throbs monstrously, a heavy radiating sensation that fills my belly with a kind of twisting pleasure. Its course is simple, a straight-forward up and down, back and forth, yet it hits places that have me wince and bite my lips, not out of pain -- though the stretching rawness is certainly there -- but out of a kind of unwanted, unfathomable ecstasy.

How am I meant to feel?! This is wrong, and I'm not gay, but I don't want it to stop. I want her to lean forwards, to press those massive tits of hers against my back, to grind her crotch against my arsehole. Every slap of her testicles, those great hanging things, is a lewd pleasure to both my groin and my ear. The sensation of that thick mushroom head, flared wide and firm, as it excavates my backside, is something ephemeral.

'Ughn, it's...ugh...so good.'

Freya chuckles, and slaps my arse. 'Thought so--argh--you filthy little butt-slut.'

'Guh...fuck.'

'No loser boy has ever--ughn--been able to resist my dick,' she says, performing a particularly powerful thrust that causes my back to arch. 'Such a fucking--ugh--fragile masculinity. My cock up your arse and you're--mhm--putty in my hands.'

The Amazonian girl slams her powerful hips, the wide curvaceousness of her lower body gracing the cheeks of my butt, the ticklishness of her pubes reaching the top of my crack, the weightiness of those big balls dwarfing my own as they slap against them. My breathing is quicker, and so is hers. There's a tension building in my crotch, a familiar yet vastly stronger pleasure response than I'm used to.

'Ugh. Holy...shit...'

Freya keeps hitting this spot -- bombarding it, more like -- and every time her bulky fat helmet passes it, the pressure builds a little more. It's like a volcano of heat, a subsurface current urging towards an explosion. I'm so close.

I'm going to cum on Freya's dick.

'Say you're my bitch, Tom,' she says, speaking beside my ear. Through her polo shirt I can feel her rock-hard nipples, poking against my back with every thrust. The full weight of her chest, unfortunately, is kept just out of reach. 'Tell me that you're a girl--ughn--that you're my girl. Tell me...tell me you want me to breed that arse.'

I arch my back, blowing my top. It's the biggest load I've ever shot, a veritable fountain that thankfully only meets the white wall ahead of me. The pleasure she's been stoking erupts, a molten stream of jizz shooting out of my dick at a pace I've never before experienced.

'Uh, Jesus...fucking...Christ.'

Freya grunts. 'You fucking--oh shit.'

Freya halts mid-thrust, deep in my arse. My own orgasm grows all the greater, weakening my knees and causing muscle spasms in my belly. My eyes go wide at the realisation, just as Freya starts to buck and tremble.

She's cumming as well.

'You're--mhm--you're fucking milking me, bitch.'

Freya's grip tightens and she leans forwards, resting her weight upon me. Her massive breasts somewhat flatten and spread, great hot heavy soft shapes cushioning my back, their nipples poking my skin. As I shoot the biggest load of my life up the wall, Freya shoots something inhumanly powerful inside of me.

A wave of heat rushes through my bowels, a sort of velvety thickness that seems to slosh and coat as it moves, pumping out in a series of extraordinary shots. The heavy ooze, the molten fluid, is so tangible it has an obvious and undeniably filling sensation to it. My eyes roll back in my head as that warmth envelops those most sensitive areas, exaggerated by the pressure of her huge helmet and wide length.

She whimpers. 'You're...a...fucking bitch.' Freya seizes my throat from behind, but her grip is weak. Her soft fingers are more ticklish than fierce and she trembles against me, her heavy bosom shaking softly, shuddering and wobbling pleasantly against my back. 'Ughn. That clenching is so fucking good. Fuck.'

But I'm not even sure what I'm doing. The pleasure is causing me to quiver and weaken, and I guess I must be clamping down with my pelvic muscles, squeezing her member extremely tightly. Freya half-heartedly thrusts, disturbing the filling of my bowels, causing me to gasp and grunt from the reignited pleasure. My cock spurts weakly now, my balls drained.

I fall forwards, exhausted, slipping out of her weak grip and almost face-planting the wall -- thankfully far above my orgasmic mess. Freya continues to twitch and shudder, then starts to pull away, drawing out of me with a still-hard but softening cock. Without her grip on my hips my knees buckle, and I manage to soften my landing onto the benches at the last moment, breathing mouthfuls of euphoric air.

Freya is smiling proudly, contended, with a dreaminess to her. Her ordinarily perfect blonde hair is dishevelled and a bit sweaty, as is her face, and she has pit-stains beneath her arms. Her enormous bronze dick is all glistening with lube and precum and semen, shrinking even now.

And she's blushing, vaguely. Red-cheeked and wet-eyed and looking more than a little bit pleased with herself. Freya steps backwards and looks down at me, eyeing me as an artist might her newest work.

'You came so hard on my dick that you milked a load from my balls,' she says, restraining a giggle. 'All on camera too, so if you think about spilling the beans, then everyone will know you loved riding my dick, won't they?'

Freya leans forwards and slaps my arse hard, then bursts into laughter as she goes to redress herself. In the haze of post-orgasmic pleasure all I can manage is to lie blissfully upon the bench, watching her jiggling curves and swaying manhood (womanhood?) as she stoops down to collect up her shorts.

I try to sit upright to address her, but something shifts and a heavy leakage drips out of me and down my left butt cheek. The sudden sloppy ooze covers the hand I send there, a thick stringy muck of pearl-white semen, thick and smelling somewhat musky. Creamy as custard, the heavy fluid slowly drips down my hand. There's such a ridiculous amount, and it just keeps leaking.

Freya's semen.

'Basically knocked you up,' she says, turning to face me as she tucks away her pendulous genitals. 'What? Never seen so much cum?' Freya giggles. 'Best part is that you pulled it out, bitch. Enjoy cleaning up that mess!'

And just like that she smilingly collects her little bottle of lube and practically skips out of the changing room, leaving me reeking of salty sweat and musky semen. Above my head, in the very corner where she raped me, is a little camera fixing. So as to say, whatever faces I pulled are now on film, somewhere.

Shit.

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

I find her at lunchtime.

She always sits in that spot, out of the way, far from everyone else. At first I suppose I thought it's because she views everyone as "lessers", but now I'm not so sure.

Freya Venyabildt, six-foot-tall, bodacious beyond belief, one of the most beautiful girls -- women, by all accounts -- in the world, surely...she could lead any clique or girl-gang yet chooses not to, for reasons I don't grasp. Okay, sure, she's got a massive dick. But what impact does that have?

Today she's eating neat sandwiches, loaded with fillings. Despite her size and strength, she eats them slowly, cleanly. It's a different book now, much bigger -- Dostoevsky's War and Peace.

Why does this clever, beautiful, wealthy girl sit by herself against a red-brick wall every lunchtime, avoiding contact with her peers?

More importantly, why would that girl -- if I'm correct about my assumption -- go out of her way to put a man in hospital when it wouldn't have any impact on her life one way or another?

'I don't understand you,' I say, coming to a halt just inside that little corner.

'Did I ask for company?'

'You put a guy in hospital.'

'Did I?' she says, deadpan. Freya shrugs. 'Well, if that's what they say. But it doesn't explain why you're still bothering me.'

It's like talking to a brick wall. Even now, if she did something nice for me -- deserved, surely -- she's got no interest in actually communicating. Why bother, if she won't? Let her be lonely, fuck it.

'Right, sure. Well, have a nice life.'

Sighing, I turn away.

'I saw the footage,' Freya says. 'That fat pig had no right to see the film I'd made of you, but that dumb bitch Vicky thought to make some money and showed it to him. Modified, of course. It looks like a man was fucking you, not me.'

She looks thoughtful now, studying a piece of sandwich between two fingers, keeping her gaze away from mine. Guilty, maybe?

'What I'm saying, Tom, is that I had no right to do what I did.' She drops the piece into her lunchbox, and frowns. 'You won't understand and it's not fair to say to someone who's experienced what you have, but I get so caught up in hiding what I am at times that people get hurt unnecessarily. It won't happen again. I'll take adequate precautions, and not trust imbeciles like that Vicky Maxwell with private footage.'

'All of that and you don't say sorry,' I say, facing her head-on. 'You raped me, too, you know? You did it because of a reason, sure, but rape is rape. You'd sooner blackmail someone than ask nicely, and honestly Freya, that's fucked up.' Something about her neutral expression, her lack of basic decency, riles me up. 'It's pretty fucking clear why you sit alone at lunch.'

And that suggestion, to someone I barely know, seems far too cruel. 'Freya, I'm sorry, that was too--'

'It was perfectly fair, as comments go.' She smiles strangely, and actually looks at me. Her eyes are brilliant sapphires, intelligent and a little scary. 'You say you don't understand me, but I don't understand you. Of the twenty-something men I've humiliated, you're the only one who doesn't go out of his way to avoid me.' Her eyes narrow, and she pauses a moment. 'Do you really still think of me as a girl, Tom? Knowing what you do?'

I shrug. 'What am I meant to see you as? If you saw that footage, you'll see how different my face was with him as opposed to you.' A heat creeps onto my cheeks, at the implication of what I'm saying. 'I mean...'

Freya chuckles, but it's not a mocking sound. She blushes faintly, and stifles her laughter with a curled hand. 'Sorry, that's just--it's kind of funny, to me,' she says. 'You're weird, Tom. Boys are meant to be scared, when they cum on my cock. They're meant to be emasculated, meant to be ashamed.

'But you aren't, are you? Doesn't it seem odd to you, that my dick is bigger than yours? Doesn't it seem a bit pathetic, that you shot a load because I was stuffing your butt?'

'That's just biology,' I say with a shrug. 'You hit my prostate, right?'

'Sure, but I hit it with my penis.'

'And?'

She opens her mouth, but fails to make sounds. Freya closes her full lips, then glances side to side, eyeing concepts rather than things. After a moment, she affixes me again with her blue-eyed gaze. 'You aren't worried that you're gay?'

'I, uh, don't think any gay man would want to ride your cock, Freya. Maybe you were a boy, and had all surgery and stuff, but--'

'I never was,' she says firmly, a bit testily. 'Don't assume.'

'Fine, but that just makes you worse, for gay men. I mean, if your boobs are natural, those alone are gay-repellent. Not starting on your face, or smell, or hips, or...you get the idea.'

Freya is blushing now, solidly if not overwhelmingly. 'You pay attention to all that stuff? Even now?'

'What's that mean? Yes, even now. Men think you're a smoke-show, for Christ's sake.'

'Well they'd be blind not to, but again, Tom, I have a fourteen-inch dick.'

That seems to be a real point of contention for her. It's odd seeing someone so otherwise smart being so, well, rigid. A male body with a vagina would be gross, right? But a female body with a dick? I just...it's just different, rather than bad.

'So? I guess that makes it a pretty girly dick?'

Freya's eyes go wide, her cheeks redden, and she bursts into the first kind of honest, normal, human laughter I've witnessed from her. She lifts her knees and clutches them, rocking back and forth, sniggering and chuckling, wet-eyed and with a smile so true it looks like it's going to ache.

It's actually somewhat infectious, how natural that smile is. I can't tell if she's mocking me, or laughing at what I said, but I don't really mind. As much as I want to hate this girl...I can't seem to manage it.

After a few moments, she manages to get a hold on her humour, but her smile is still going strong and her eyes are wet with good-natured tears.

'A girly dick, huh?' Freya says. 'You're really, really, weird.'

I shrug aimlessly. 'Yeah, I guess.'

'Do you want to see it again?'

'What?'

'My dick. Do you want to?'

I don't know. I want to see more of Freya, and I guess that also includes her gender-incorrect genitalia, right?

I shrug, again. 'I don't know?'

She rolls her eyes. 'Look, idiot, did the fat fuck ruin anal for you or not? Because if he didn't, and you're open to the idea...well, I've never had a willing boy before.'

'I guess there's only one way to find out, right?'

Freya grins. Her teeth are perfect, pearly-white. 'Quarter past three, knock on the girl's changing room door -- the outside one.' She waves her hand at me, shooing me away like one would a child. 'You can go now, Tom. Go to the changing room or don't, 'kay?'

'But--'

'I said go,' she says, picking up her sandwich. 'I don't eat lunch with anyone, let alone you.' But despite her words, her tone is...somewhat sweet. 'See you later, or whatever.'

Am I really going to do this?

'Ughn, shit. You're so fucking tight.'

'Fuck.'

'Yeah, bitch, take it.'

'Ugh.'

'Slut. Fucking slut!'

It's not romantic, but it's passionate enough. She practically dragged me into the changing room and threw me into a corner. The whole thing started off without so much as a word, just the snap-click of the lube bottle's cap and the opening groans of a sordid, forbidden, secret tryst.

Yeah. Whatever the Coach did, it had no long-term effect. I can't even remember what it was like with him but being with Freya brings back memories, and fond ones at that. The pleasure is immediate, without a moment of doubt or regret. The cold lube gives way to searing heat, the warmth of being taken by a veritable Amazonian.

'God, it's better than--mhm--pussy.'

I can't comment on that, but it's like electric fire on my part, a creeping pleasure that radiates hotly out from the undeniable presence of her enormous erection. Freya grips my hips with vice-like strength, the softness of her skin contrary to the firmness of her muscles.

She slams those weighty curvaceous hips against me again and again, performing deep measured strokes, hilting herself up to her fat fucking balls every two or three thrusts. Her nuts slap noisily, wetly -- from sweat and lubricant and whatever else -- against mine. The big warm shapes engulf my smaller ones in their loose scrotum, and sometimes she holds herself buried deep, waves of pleasure causing her testicles to rise and fall, as if massaging my own.

'Ughn...Freya.'

Freya chuckles. 'Mhm, say my name, bitch-boy.'

'Freya.'

'Louder.'

'Freya!'

She slams with such force that I shudder, palms almost slipping against the white tiles. In the dimness of the girl's changing rooms, I'm being ridden like a girl, but our beauty and characteristics are oddly reversed. This whole thing should be unbecoming, but I can't help enjoying it. Freya knows exactly where to hit, what to do, how fast to move. Her penis's raw dimensions do the rest, that huge mushroom head splitting my arsehole in the most divine of ways.

I never thought an arse could feel out such things. The broad shape of her smooth helmet, the thickness of the veins running up and down her shaft, the heavy protrusion of her urethra on the underside, the coiled-back band of foreskin behind her glans. Her tool is profoundly good at prodding my prostate it seems, because with every thrust the sensation builds in my loins, the urge to blow my top.

'God, that slutty butt is so hungry for my cum.'

'Ughn.'

I wince, almost cry out as she slaps my right cheek with enough force to make me shudder. The pain mixes with the pleasure, sweet-sour, the heat left by her strong soft palm at once distorting my attention and affirming it, making real by creating a comparative sensation.

'Always wanted a slut like you,' she says. 'A bitch-boy to fuck.'

'Ugh, yeah...'

'What are you, Tom?'

'...a bitch-boy.'

'Whose bitch-boy?'

'Yours, Freya,' I say, wracked with pleasure. 'I'm Freya's bitch-boy.'

She laughs, and slaps me again. 'Yeah, you fucking are. Such a dirty little slut, and you're all mine.'

Freya buries herself deep, her balls coming to rest behind mine, dwarfing them. Slowly but surely she gyrates her hips, not thrusting but shifting around her erect presence, pressing firmly against my innards and stirring them up with thick fat dick.

'Cum for me, bitch-boy. Cum for Freya.'

'Ugh, I'm so close...'

'Good, I wanna feel you milk my cock again. It's all that a slutty loser like you is good for, anyway. You should be--ughn--grateful to take my seed in your boy-pussy.'

'So grateful...'

Another solid slap, and I wince. 'You're a fine plaything, bitch-boy.' Freya digs her fingers into my scalp, gently running them through my hair from front to back. 'If...' But whatever she intends to say is left unsaid. 'Just fucking cum, slut.'

It doesn't take long. Her gyrations build that orgasm to its peak and I spray the white tiles of the girl's changing room with my seed, a veritable eruption of the milky-white goop.

'F-uck!'

The sheer strength of the orgasm threatens to topple me, but Freya is effortlessly strong. She giggles over my grunting, my moaning. The musical sound of such pretty feminine humorous lust is lost on me. The pulsing, searing, quaking pleasure that rocks my body prevents any such high-level appreciation. My cock empties my balls of their seed and Freya keeps thrusting, keeps gyrating, keeps battering my prostate.

'Pathetic,' she says, whispering in my right ear. Her breath is hot, sweet-smelling, like bubble-gum. 'Aren't you ashamed, bitch-boy? Cumming on a fucking dick?'

I shake my head, but the words don't form. How can this be shameful? Freya's the hottest girl in school. So what if she has a dick? When she leans this close to speak such mocking sweet nothings into my ear, her immense chest lends its cushioning weight to my back. Hers must be sublimely strong, given how heavy those divinely large breasts happen to be. Freya really is Amazonian.

'I'm not stopping 'til I cum, slut.' Her lips beside my ear is absurdly hot. 'Keep shooting those paltry little loser loads.' She chuckles, then momentarily -- so momentarily -- brushes my ear with her lips. '...fucking idiot.'

Immediately she's upright again. I nearly buckle under the force of her powerful hips, muscular and determined in their thrusting. My tongue twists in my mouth, my vision blurs, the heat in my bowels is all-consuming. Freya is ploughing me like a demon, suddenly unrepentant, suddenly almost unkind. I wince, but the pleasure is far greater than any discomfort.

'You won't walk straight,' she says, punctuating the point with a powerful slap. 'Explain that to everyone who notices, you slut. Mhm. You tight little bitch.' Another slap. 'God you're such a fucking loser...riding a fat dick in the girl's changing rooms...so fucking gay.'

'Ughn, shit.'

'Tell me how--ugh--pathetic you are, bitch.'

'I'm--ughn--fucking pathetic.'

'Louder!'

'I'm so fucking pathetic!'

And she, bigger and stronger, seizes the front of my throat with a firm yet softly sculpted hand. Freya flexes and straightens me up, slamming me forwards against the wall, thankfully missing my spilled load. She flattens my head side-on against the cool tiles, ravaging my backside with upwards-aiming strokes that seem to lift me to my tip-toes with every back-forth motion.

It's harder to breathe, harder to focus. Her weighty balls bully mine. Her breasts push me harder against the wall for their immensity, and her hips don't quit. Something about this is wrong, aggressive, unpleasant. The tone of it has changed, has become somehow violent. And yet...another orgasm is building, wrong or no.

'Getting tighter,' she says. 'Another shot coming, huh? Mhm. You're so easy. Is being broken-in by my big dick really that great, slut?'

'Y-eah.'

'You wanna cum on it, don't you, bitch?'

'S-o bad.'

Freya stops entirely. 'Beg. Beg to cum, slut.'

'Please...please make me cum, Freya.'

'Not enthusiastic enough.' She sighs. 'Shall I jerk myself off instead?'

'Freya! I need to fucking cum! Please, goddamn it please, fuck my arsehole until I cum! Fill me with your dick, breed my butt!'

She chuckles. 'Good fucking slut.' The slap that follows stings, beautiful and terrible. 'I'm gonna knock-up that slutty boy-pussy, you lucky little faggot!'

Her powerful hips resume their battering of me. She thrusts, thrusts, thrusts, plumbing my depths, ravaging my innards with her immense hot length of veiny throbbing cockmeat. I feel it building, building, building, and then a second orgasm spills out another, smaller load, this one spurting and shooting less powerfully though the inner pleasure is vastly greater.

'Ughn. Fucking take it,' Freya says, grunting. She starts to blow, glans flaring, heat rushing out and splattering my guts with thick, heavy cream. 'Milk me, slut. Ughn, fuck yeah, you're...mhm-hm. Jesus. Shit!'

She's claiming my bowels again. It's such a dirty, naughty, wonderful sensation. Freya grunts, moans, thrusts, squeezes down, all the while shooting an enormous, incredible amount of hot, thick, messy semen straight from her fat balls into my arsehole.

We buckle against each other, momentarily entwined, orgasming in unison, each of our bodies assisting the other's in reaching the sweet summits of pleasure. It's strange, fantastic, weird, wonderful.

The really weird thing happens when Freya, out of the blue, kisses my cheek. It happens once, twice, and then I turn to meet her blushing gaze, and...we kiss. We kiss, my lips, her lips. Our mouths merge, her sweet-salty spit, her lovely tongue, going at mine while she continues to pump the last bursts of her semen inside my arse. It's almost...romantic?

'Not a word,' she says, pulling back. Still blushing, smiling funnily. 'It's just sex, okay? Nutting builds oxytocin. I'm still a girl.'

'Y-eah. Sure.'

But she kisses my cheek all the same once more before pulling away completely, softening cock slipping messily out of my arsehole. That solitary plug gone, her thick seed threatens to leak out, inevitably must at some point soon.

I clench and shakily turn, fascinated by her beauty. Freya saunters over to her discarded shorts, ignoring me, and bends down to pick them up. Her butt is bronze and fat, clearly muscular but lacking tension. When she reaches down my eyes go wide, catching a glimpse of protruding pink lips nestled behind the hanging sag of those heaving testicles.

'You've got...'

She immediately straightens up, tensing her strong body, looking around to watch me cautiously. Any hint of a womanhood is hidden in an instant. 'That's not for you, okay?'

I shake my head. 'Sorry, I'm just...surprised, I guess.'

Freya softens. She begins pulling on her shorts. 'Futanari,' she says. 'That's what they call us. Women who have this condition.' The shorts catch on the fat roundness of her butt -- I'm sure she must be making show of it, or would be, if it wasn't Freya -- before she pulls them up and over. 'I have to go in for tests, now and then. Just to see that everything's working.'

'So you have both sets of parts?'

She smirks, a little cocky, more herself. 'Very motile sperm and plenty of eggs, yeah. Best of both worlds.' Freya sets about containing her dishevelled hair, wiping the sweat from her brow. 'You're weird, Tom.'

I roll my eyes. 'So you tell me.' I shiver as her copious load drools down my arse. 'Fuck.' She laughs as I try to stop it from spreading all over the bench. 'It's not funny, man!' But despite myself, I'm smiling.

'Get a butt-plug,' she says, finishing up. 'It's your fault, anyway. That arse of yours milks me like nothing else.'

My cheeks are hot at the shame and glory of such a notion. 'Yeah, well, it's easy to milk something as thick as my wrist...'

Freya sets her eyes into me, blue and beautiful, dark and dominating. Even now, having shot her load, there's fiery lust in those expressive eyes, in the curves of that full-lipped mouth. Freya Venyabildt is insatiable. I should be grateful, really, that someone so perfect looks at me this way.

'You're way too comfortable with this,' she says. Her voice is odd, a little uncertain.

I jam my hand against my arsehole, stemming the worst of the leaking semen. 'Am I?'

'What kind of a man lets himself get anally fucked, Tom?'

'You know it's not that simple.' I shake my head, blushing all the same. 'You're not just anybody, and you're not just a dick.'

Freya goes to speak, moves her lips, says nothing. Does she blush? She turns about so quickly I miss it. 'See you tomorrow.'

And like that, she storms out of the changing room.

I'd get up and follow, but she's got me well-pinned. Did I do something wrong?

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

A pattern emerges. A way of doing things.

Freya will find me, often out of the blue, and tell me to go to the girl's changing room. Always at quarter-past-three, always to knock on the outside door. And there she'll pull me inside, force herself on me, ravish me as she has done so before. It's passionate, thoroughly primal, hardly a matter of civility.

What do I get out of it? Well, the orgasms from being fucked by the bronze-skinned beauty are something special. I can't compare them to what it must be like to cum from a vagina, or even from a mouth, or even from someone else's hand...but they're way, way better than masturbation.

The thought always carries with it a kind of shame, but I feel like I should be grateful. Grateful for her interest, grateful for her attention. That someone so beautiful, so drop-dead gorgeous, is willing to do this to me, with me.

'You're so fucking dirty,' she'll say. 'You're such a fucking faggot.'

I'll moan, groan, and squeeze down on her thick bronze penis. And Freya will kiss my cheek and bite my neck and slap my arse, treat me like her bitch, her plaything, and I'll nut so easily. Then she'll climax, she'll flood my arse with hot, sticky muck, her big bloated balls rising and falling against mine.

Freya will leave me to it, a mess of a man. She'll readily tidy herself up and depart, leaving me stinking of our combined sweat, of our filthy sex, and of her potent, musky semen.

Is this my life, now? Her anal sex-pet?

'What's the matter?' she says one afternoon, while tidying herself up.

'What?'

Freya glares at me. 'You keep looking so gloomy. This past week's been that same sulky face. You're bringing me down, Tom.'

What can I say? That as much as I enjoy the sex, I'm starting to...starting to want Freya herself? To want more than just this passionate-yet-loveless rutting, hidden behind closed doors, at her beck-and-call?

'Forget it,' I say, shaking my head. 'It's nothing.'

But she crosses her arms beneath her weighty chest, in the process pushing those incredible breasts upwards. 'It's clearly not though, is it?' Freya walks over to me and takes hold of my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Those icy blues scan me, study me. 'Oh, no. No, no, no. No way.'

'What?'

'You're catching feelings, aren't you?' She groans, rolls her eyes. 'Don't do this to me, loser.'

I reach for that arm. 'Look, Freya. Doesn't it make sense that--'

She slaps my hand away, steps backwards. Her eyes are aflame now, her mouth tense. 'What we do, what I do, is just masturbation, okay? That you get off, that you have that luxury, is just that, a luxury.' Freya grimaces, turns about and steps away, curling and uncurling her fists. 'Don't you dare do this, Tom. Don't you fucking dare.'

My heart hurts, when it shouldn't. I'm always like this, a fucking loser, not noticing some signs, misinterpreting other ones. Fuck my life.

But if those past fuck-ups have taught me anything, well...

'I can't keep doing this,' I say. 'It feels good, you know it does, but I want...I want more.'

She falls still, like a statute. 'No.' The word is not especially loud, but especially firm.

'No?'

Freya shakes her head. 'No. We're not stopping. Be grateful.'

I did take her advice on the butt-plug. It allows me the chance to stand up. Stand up, four inches smaller than she is. 'So what, you're going to force me in here? You're going to rape me every other day?'

'No, because I don't need to,' she says. 'You'll turn up when you're told to, and I'll mount you like the little bitch you are. Understood?'

'Freya, I--'

Freya is quick, tall, strong. She sets herself upon me and throws me back against the wall, hands seizing about my throat, pushing on my Adam's apple. Soft hands, incredible strength. It's unsurprising that she can out-bench even the biggest boys. Her arms bulge, well-defined, but she doesn't throttle me. Not quite.

'You want me to hurt you, is that it?' Freya growls. 'You can't let me claim your bitch-arse and then take it back, faggot. I own you, okay? You're my property.'

'Freya...you're...fucking...nuts...'

And terribly, awfully, I'm still attracted to her. Maybe even more so, somehow.

'Say it, bitch. Say who owns you.'

I somehow, boldly, stupidly, shake my head. 'Freya...you're...hurting...me...'

She digs her thumbs into my throat and actually throttles me. Freya slams me back against the wall, banging my head. The pain of it activates some survival reflex, making me do something I'd otherwise never even think of.

I throw a punch. As best a punch as I can manage, but a punch all the same. It connects, but only because Freya doesn't expect it. It gets her right in the left eye and she releases me, stumbling backwards, going so far as to fall on her arse. All the wind goes out of her, all the fight replaced by shock.

'Freya, I'm so sorry,' I say, on reflex. Why? Why be sorry when she was actively abusing me? 'I shouldn't have done--'

'I deserved it,' she says, pressing a hand to that eye, hissing softly. 'That was a good punch. I guess you're not a total loser.'

I rub the back of my head. 'You could've killed me, man.'

Freya frowns, good eye wet as it takes me in. 'I don't want this to end between us, okay? I...we're compatible, like really compatible, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'So you thought to fucking strangle me?' I meet her frown with a perplexed glare. 'You're a psycho.'

She shakes her head. 'I'm not sharing you. End of.'

'What?'

'I've always preferred boys, okay? But boys...have never preferred me.' She makes a rough downwards gesture, and then rolls her shoulders. 'You can't have a girlfriend. Not unless you find someone like you, but better, as your replacement.'

My head spins. This is nuts. She's insane. She's possessive, sexually aggressive, and somehow I'm still madly attracted to her. If anything, the way my heart flutters, I might be more attracted now than before. Has anyone ever wanted me so badly as Freya does?

'Look, there's no-one else,' I say, 'but I thought you didn't want me to develop feelings?'

Freya blushes, glances away. 'I saw you looking. Saw you picturing it. It's not for you.'

'Wait, what? This all goes back to me asking about your, uh, girl parts?'

'Don't lie, idiot. You want to fuck me.'

I blush. 'Well, uh...'

'You can't.' Her voice grows firm. 'Don't you get it? My cock is twice the size of yours, my balls twice as big. Fuck, I'm stronger than you, taller than you. I'm not going to be your girlfriend, okay? The only kind of man worthy of fucking me is the very kind of man I've no interest in fucking.'

'I just...I just wanted to, like, hang out, and cuddle, and kiss.' To say it makes me tremble, makes me hang my head, blushing like an idiot. 'Sorry. I'd never disrespect your wishes like that.'

She's up instantly, upon me again, only this time sat beside me on the bench. Freya urges me forwards with her easy strength, tilting my head down to stroke and inspect the back of my head. 'It's not bleeding,' Freya says. 'Just in case, don't sleep anytime soon. Stay up and alert if you start to feel drowsy.'

'Where'd nurse Freya come from?'

My heart trembles when she throws her arms around my shoulders, burying her face into my neck. 'I like you, Tom. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry about my temper, but I do like you. I was only angry because of how much I like you.'

'So if I promise not to make any demands of how you use your body...will you be my girlfriend?'

She pulls back slightly. 'Didn't I just say that--'

I squeeze my arms around her back. 'I mean girlfriend like someone I spend time with, and kiss, and cuddle, and eat lunch with, and see outside of school...and who I let fuck me in my arse because I'm her slutty bitch-boy.' I blush to say it, and chuckle softly into her long blonde hair.

'You don't want that, trust me.' She shakes her head, still against me. 'Men don't exactly do well in my household. Let's leave it at that.'

'I'm not hearing a no, Freya.'

Freya kisses my throat. 'I want it. I want you, but...'

'But your family?'

She nods.

'What of them?' I say. 'They can't be that bad, can they?'

'Tom, the futanari thing is a gene. A strong gene.'

'Meaning what?'

'I have two mums, but you'd probably call one of them my dad,' she says. 'An older sister. And though she doesn't live with us, my grandmother. They're just like me. Well, one of my mums isn't, but the other is.'

'So?'

She pulls back enough that our noses brush, eyes upon each other's. Her left eye is clearly yellowing now, hooded shut. If it hurts, she shows no sign of caring.

'My Mum-Dad is trustworthy, okay? But Morgan, my older sister, is pretty sketchy with guys. And she takes after my gran, who is probably the worst for it.'

For Freya, who treats me the way she does, to call anyone else "sketchy with guys", provokes a pang of fear. The fear is softened by the mental image of what must be, surely, a family of beautiful pseudo-women, but there's still an undercurrent of unease.

'Sketchy how?'

'Men are less than we are, okay? Not in a bad way, not in an evil way, just that's how it is.' Freya studies my features, teases an earlobe with a finger. 'I'm bigger and stronger and smarter than you are. My genes are better. And that's the philosophy, in my family.' She runs the finger down, stroking a line upon my neck. 'Persephone -- easier than saying Mum-Dad -- will accept that you're mine, but Morgan -- my sister -- and Genevieve, my gran...I'll have to keep you away from them. But we can't exactly proceed without me explaining this, because those dickheads are pretty cunning. Morgan especially.' She glares, but not at me.

'You sound awfully comfortable with the idea of your family, uh, forcing themselves on me?'

Freya leans a bit further back, smirking, and rolls her one good eye. 'Because, so long as you accept that you're my property, that you're my bitch...I'll deal with them.' Something bordering on evil, raw mischief, passes her lips. 'Do you accept that, Tom?'

Her property? Her bitch? God, how weird I've grown. The idea of being hers, belonging to her, is somehow exciting. I nod, blush. 'I do, Freya. I trust that it's a good thing.'

'It's the best,' she says, leaning in. For the first time out of sex, she kisses me. Her lips are hot and full, ideally feminine and yet powerful in the way they press upon mine. Sweet spit, her pleasant smell of sweat, and that perpetual bubble-gum note. Freya tastes my lips with her tongue, kisses me again, and then withdraws. 'Friday. I'll take you to my place.' Her cheeks take on a redness. 'We'll have a lot of fun, you dirty slut.'

Her absence is cold. Freya rises, kisses my head, and goes to the door. 'Don't look so sad, idiot. I'll be inside of you tomorrow afternoon as well, obviously.'

I can't help but smile. 'See you tomorrow, Freya.'

She winks at me, smirking awkwardly when she realises the one-eyed handicap. 'And you.'

Freya makes no effort to hide me on Friday, when we go to her car.

People watch us. Lisa Darrow stops and stares at our passing, her and other familiar girls, all of them looking an admixture of shocked and disturbed. As much as I feel a pang of concern, a worry that everyone is soon to know about us, Freya's hand is on mine and we're walking together. The tall blonde leads and I move alongside her, the lesser party, the submissive to her dominant.

Freya drives an aggressive-looking BMW, a top of the range coupe ill-suiting a college student. I suppose really it must be peanuts to her family's wealth but still, it feels strange climbing in beside her and smelling the fresh interior, all fancy leather and upmarket upholstery.

Just like with everything else, she knows what she's doing. Freya is -- somehow it surprises me -- a very good, if slightly fast driver. The speed makes a little more sense when we get off the main roads and out into the countryside, where the narrow lanes are all national speed limit crazy bendy things.

'A few rules,' Freya says, gaze not leaving the road. 'If Persephone is around, you address her as Mistress Venyabildt. If my Mum, Alicia, is around, then you address her as Mrs Venyabildt. They probably won't be but even so, I don't want any faux-pas. If you come in all casual, they'll mock me for ages.' She must see the smile I crack, because Freya smirks. 'I'm dead serious, Tom. They don't act upper-class -- we're new money -- but they are vicious behind closed doors. So just be formal, and polite. And...I'll reward you for it.'

'I'll do my best,' I say, then pause, and add -- mind abounding at possibilities, 'What kind of reward?'

She smiles coolly. 'A handjob.'

I stifle a chuckle. 'Uh, thank you?'

The glare she gives me, a slight tilt of her head paired with those terrible blue eyes -- the left all but healed now -- is hard to determine as serious or playful. Even now, she's scary. I...kinda like it.

'Not hugely grateful-sounding,' Freya says. 'I can always drop you off here.'

I smirk as I dip my head. 'Uh, I'd relish the chance to have your beautiful hand on my sorry excuse for a penis, Lady Venyabildt.'

'Better.' She looks fully to the road, which weaves between hedges on either side. 'We're almost there. At least try to hide that tent in your pants, you pathetic little slut.'

I feel like I should tell her how that language will produce the opposite effect, but I'm half-convinced that Freya knows all too well. Humiliating me, mocking me, making a show of me, seems to excite her -- and me, I am realising -- like little else. Even so, I try to flatten my erection -- sizeable, if less than half of hers -- into my trouser leg.

'Sorry.'

'Don't be,' she says. 'You wouldn't be here if you didn't react the way you do. Keep being your usual bitch-boy self, Tom. I wouldn't have it otherwise.'

It's an interesting feeling, this admixture of warmth and shame. To be treated this way in any sane situation would make me angry, but with Freya it's as natural as breathing. She has this air about her, this commanding aura, that makes it feel right, makes it feel fantastically lucky to be this lesser male in her presence. It's a feeling that's been building for some time now, an awareness that I am completely okay with being the bitch in a relationship, so long as I'm her bitch.

I don't get any time to raise the idea, however. The Venyabildt Estate -- one of them, at least -- materialises around the next corner. We drive through great spiked iron gates and along a gravel concourse to this palatial manor of modern design with great glass walls in places, flat roofs in parts, massive grounds and plenty of annexes.

There's little time to take in the manse, so huge as it is. I'm left with wide eyes as Freya pulls the car to a halt before the main house, where a servant is waiting for her arrival. We climb out and the man bows to her, then gets into the car and drives it out of sight -- an easy thing, given the scale of this place -- towards what must be a detached garage.

Freya leads me into the main house, and thankfully we're alone. The thought of meeting her family, even passingly, is a little bit terrifying at this moment in time. I can't imagine anyone is quite as fierce as Freya but even so, the path of least resistance is the most appealing one.

We go to a large room on the first floor, pretty much the scale of the entire lower floor of my house. There's this immense flatscreen TV on one wall and a long sofa before it, a few bookshelves on a side wall, and two plate windows looking out over the verdant lusciousness of the well-kept gardens, where sprinklers are firing off and in the distance a woman rides a lawnmower at the side of a glistening lake. I don't even realise it's Freya's bedroom until I see the king-sized bed to my right. Shit, she's rich as fuck. Shit, she's got a mad-looking gaming PC besides.

'Are you any good at Street Fighter?' she says, sitting herself down on the sofa before the TV. 'The latest one.'

I shrug. 'I can try, I guess?'

'Fetch me the remote, and the controllers.'

No please, but...I don't hate her telling me what to do. I go to the shelves beneath the TV and collect up a pair of Playstation controllers, and the TV remote is sat there beside a few other remotes, all neatly lined up. The whole room is neat, in fact. She's not outwardly pristine and then slobby by herself.

'Here,' I say, giving her the remote and a controller. No thank-you, of course. Freya busies herself with setting things up, so I sit down beside her. 'You brought me here to play Street Fighter?'

'No,' she says. 'I brought you here to suck my cock.' A devilish smile creeps across those perfect lips. 'But I wanted to make a game of it. If I win, you get on your knees for me. Simple as that.'

'And if I win?'

Freya snorts. 'You won't.'

'But...if I do?'

A look, almost embarrassed, a flush of arousal, passes her gorgeous face. 'You can eat my pussy. Let that be enough for you to actually try.'

I should want my own blowjob. I should want something substantial. And yet...

...I am not going to pass up this opportunity.

Freya glares at me, but the look has a lusty warmth to it.

'Go on, then,' she says, lifting her skirt and spreading her legs. Her panties are white and straight-forward, oversized at the front to handle the additional equipment. 'If we must.'

The victory on the screen -- my victory -- has me smirking like an idiot. I don't even know how I did it. Button-mashed with a kind of frantic abandon I've never before managed. Maybe she was disheartened to see my eagerness. Maybe she just gave up.

But the point remains: I won.

'You'll really let me?' I say.

Freya's glare grows darker, her eyes becoming hooded. 'It would be better for us both for you to get good at blowing me, but fair is fair.' She sighs. 'You being mine also necessitates me being honest, and keeping my word.' Nervously, completely uncharacteristic of her, she tentatively thumbs the waistband of her panties. 'Get me out of these, Tom. Don't you dare disappoint me, or I won't fuck your arse for a week.'

As if I needed such to encourage me. My mind races as I slip onto my knees between her lovely shapely legs, and I surprise myself by not being completely terrified of the fat lump(s) in her pretty underwear. My eyes meet Freya's perfect blues, finding in them less dominance than usual, a hint more awkwardness. She's really, really weird about having a vagina.

'Freya, look...if this is making you so uncomfortable--'

'God, stop being such a loser!' She shakes her head and furiously stands, digging her thumbs into the sides of her panties. When she sits again they nestle between her knees, and that ungainly flaccid monster sits atop its two fist-sized bollocks, spread across the sofa between her parted legs. 'Well? Do what you're going to do, idiot. Eat my fucking pussy.'

I stare at the golden wilderness of her pubes, at the thick, pretty cock. 'Do...do you mind moving it out of the way?'

She sighs, this time more playfully. 'Is it that frightening?'

'I'm just a bit...I don't know.'

'Shy?'

I nod.

Freya reaches forwards and cups my chin. Her delicate skin is such warm pleasantness, all the more so when she rubs her thumb across my lips. 'It's been inside you loads of times, Tom. Looking far scarier than it does now, besides.'

'I...I suppose it has...'

It's interesting, isn't it? A girl's penis. A pretty cock. Bigger than mine is right now, hard as rock in my trousers, despite being soft, or mostly soft. I reach for it slowly, right hand finding silky skin and familiar floppiness, left hand -- and more cautiously -- touching upon the smooth bronze skin of her ball sack.

Freya continues to hold my chin, to run her thumb across my lips, as I take hold of her flaccid cock and barely manage to scoop up her fat balls. Lifting them, her nuts sag over my hand -- with their sheer size, her scrotum is easier to grip -- but I do manage to get a good look at my reward for winning. In fact, I'm stunned, stopped dead in my tracks.

'Well?' Freya says. 'Are you going to just stare?'

Surprise, surprise. Freya's pussy is beautiful. I suppose given her odd physiology it makes sense that there's no hair here, but the bronze skin is a constant, changing to the prettiest of pinks where it meets her faintly puffy lips. It's practically something out of porn, neat and photogenic, suiting the rest of her.

'God...you're mad hot.'

She chuckles and gives me this playful pseudo-slap which becomes a stroking of my cheek. 'You're the first boy to actually be looking at it. I hope you realise how big of a deal that is.'

I nod awkwardly, stupidly. 'Y-eah. Thank you.'

Freya inches her hips forwards, angling her crotch a bit more upwards. The cleft of her plump buttocks is obvious now, the tiny distance between her pretty cooch and the neat dark pink of her arsehole impossible to ignore.

'Go on,' she says, a note breathily. 'Make me feel good. Do your job.'

It's all she has to say. All I care about doing, in the heat of the moment.

I drop my head and push up on her junk, keeping them out of the way. Freya's smells are strong, vaguely tangy, this thick muskiness that makes sense given her sheer potency. The heat grows smothering as I inch closer and closer to the prize, a welcome and pleasant feeling of engulfment. Her neat folds make a pretty shape around the top of her vulva, a faint bulge outlining her womanly pearl.

The smell makes me salivate. It's a good smell, a clean smell, if faintly tinged by the sweat of the day. So long as it's Freya's sweat, I don't care. So long as it's her I'm dirtying myself for.

She makes a weird sound, a distinct type of moan, when I kiss the puffiness of her outer lips. It's almost cute, weaker, not her usual -- still-feminine -- grunting or groaning. Her shyness around this is actually really, really sweet. I'm struck by a powerful urge to really make this mind-blowing, to ensure she doesn't regret it.

I am a lucky bastard.

'Mhm. Keep kissing,' Freya says. 'And I'll handle the dangling bits.'

One of her hands takes away her fat balls and the other takes away her cock, leaving me to focus on her lady parts. I eagerly put my hands on each of her full thighs, the smooth skin such a pleasant resistance, soft and giving against my palms and fingers. Happily, I kiss the puffy lips, the bronze skin, teasing at the demarcation between tan flesh and pristine pinkness.

That musky girly scent fills my nose, and I want nothing more than to taste her, but I do as she says. It feels ever so good to press my lips to her lower ones, to lick mine and taste residual hints of this salty tanginess, this newfound flavour of the woman I am falling madly for despite the asymmetry of whatever this relationship happens to be.

'Like that, bitch. Kiss away. Kiss the thing you'll never get to fuck.'

Dirty words that create dirty thoughts. Her meanness is a sweetness of its own, and such insults from her lips are music to me. My tongue inevitably slips out, the kiss becoming passionate, like snogging a lover.

'Oh, shit. Fuck.'

The incredibly velvety wet softness of her inner lips meets my tongue, and I'm smitten. Her taste is strong but clean, salty and tangy, not at all unpleasant. There's movement above my head but I don't pay it any notice, too lost in the gentle exploration of her beautiful vulva with my eager tongue.

It's such an interesting place, so new to me. The smells and the warmth and the taste of it. These textures, such silken skin contrasting with the firmness of the outer skin, and the way that every single shift of my tongue or my breathing provokes gentle sounds from the gorgeous Amazonian who dominates my thoughts with or without words.

'Schlup. Mhm-hm.'

I take a slight looseness of inner lip between my lips and tease it with my tongue, then kiss and smooch her opening, producing slick noises in the process. Freya's hand finds my head, her fingers tracing circles and patterns of indistinct purpose on my scalp through my hair. I'm instantly aware of the weight and heat of her heavy balls, which begin to gently bounce up and down just above my forehead.

'Don't stop,' Freya says. 'All that matters is--ugh--making me happy. That's all you're good for. All you need to do. Just serve me, like the object you are. Like the property you are.'

The sloppy sounds of my lips are joined by the slick fapping noise of her masturbating, stroking her monster cock above my head. I realise that I've no idea how this all works. If I make her cum with her pussy, does her dick cum too? Or is she just ensuring that the two line up?

I'm all-too-aware of how messy Freya's ejaculations are. The load that -- had this been any other day -- would've ended up in my backside is still churning around in those bloated bronze lumps that are bouncing about on my head. And if she cums...

...but I push down the worry. What happens, happens.

I just...I just need to make her happy. That's my job. That's what I love doing.

So I ignore the fapping sound and the weight of her nuts, and instead run my tongue up along the inside of her cooch. The pretty lips part and shiver around my tongue, glazing my tastebuds with her womanly nectar, a little sweet to go with the salty tang. Freya continues to moan, to tussle my hair with her playful fingers.

'Mhm. Go on. You're--ughn--doing so well.'

Her pleasure urges me forwards. I press my lips to the opening of her pussy and extend my tongue, digging it into that hole that I would so love to penetrate but perhaps -- if I take Freya at her word -- will never feel around my cock. My tongue instead is clenched around, velvet wet skin engulfing it and bathing it in that sweet nectar, the salt and tanginess growing stronger as well.

'That's it, bitch. You slut. Oh, fuck.'

'Schlup. Slurp.'

I thrust my tongue as best I can, punching it in and out, rolling it around, making patterns of irregular nature. Freya trembles against my hands, squeezes herself down on my tongue. Her breathing quickens and she digs her fingers into my hair.

'I...I got an idea,' she says. 'Up. Get your head up. Come up for air.'

Freya seizes me by the back of my head, tugging on my hair. Her easy strength and my own obedient retreat make the process smooth and before I know it I'm sitting back on my haunches, one of her hands atop my skull, the other madly stroking her thick bronze serpent. For the first time I'm face-to-face with it, another penis, something hugely thick and long and veiny.

Her glans is out, a shiny pink helmet with a singular eye staring at my face, angled to be a little above my nose. God, it's fucking big. Almost...almost sexy, how powerful it looks. Something about it is weirdly appetising. Suckable.

Where...where is my head going?

'Head back,' Freya says, commanding in tone. 'Eyes shut. Stick out your tongue.'

I know instantly what she's doing. I'm a man, I know how this works. 'Freya...'

'Do it. Do it for me. Let me mark you.' Her stare is beautiful, terrible. 'You belong to me. I can do with you what I want, so do what I say. Head back. Eyes shut. Tongue out as far as you can stick it.'

Maybe before all of this, I would've frantically resisted. Before she took me from behind in that changing room. I'd have screamed and ran, terrified. But I'm not who I was. For the better? I think so, but still.

I'm...I'm actually weirdly excited, even though I know what's going to happen.

I go with the push of her hand, shutting my eyes. Freya angles me how she wants me and pushes herself up from the seat, rising before my face. My hands are still on her thighs as I stick out my tongue, mouth slightly ajar. In some dirty primal instinct, I widen it, make an easy target for what's about to blow out of her cock.

'You're such a filthy fucking slut,' she says, chuckling, then groaning. 'But--ugh--you're my fucking--mhm--slut!

She brings a hot, slick, throbbing shape down upon the tip of my tongue. I have no time to feel it out, to make sense of it beyond its weight and bulk and heat before my dutiful tongue is covered by a spurt of something hot and gooey. Freya grunts, almost primal, turning even my momentary victory into an assertion of her superiority.

'Ugh. Fuck!'

She deposits another heavy shot upon my tastebuds and then slaps my cheek with her weapon, spraying a rope of dick-milk across my left eye. Holy shit, I've never been so turned on without her cock being inside of me. The heat which she covers my face with splatters across my eye socket, and then upon my forehead. It's insanely erotic.

And...and the stuff on my tongue -- Freya's semen -- tastes like...like not what I expected. I don't even realise I'm doing it, but I slide my tongue back inside my mouth and start to chew on the thick nut-cream, rolling it around, doing my utmost to taste her faintly sweet, quite salty spooge. God, it's thick like cream. God, it tastes so dirtily wonderful.

'Ughn. Take it. Stink of my fucking load, you dirty slut.'

Freya paints my face, dropping ropes and shots all across my cheeks and forehead, over my closed lips, not remarking on the fact that I've hidden my tongue. Her jizz is all sticky and chewy in my mouth, clinging and tangling, but I manage to gulp down her weirdly delicious flavour and then lick the stuff from my lips.

'God, you're fucking great, she says, and my heart flutters. 'You're such a good bitch-boy.'

'Mhm-hm.'

She laughs as she slaps her dick against my face, against my mouth when I clean my lips. Freya shoots a little more across me and then lets out this magnanimous sigh, slapping her cock against my lips again. 'I bet you want to eat all that cream, huh?'

In my stupor, shameless, I nod.

Freya clicks her teeth. 'Not today. Today, you're going to wipe it off, and you're not going to wash your face for the whole weekend. I want to sniff you on Monday and if you don't stink of my jizz, then I won't fuck your arse for a whole month. Got it?'

I nod again, more frantic.

'Let's go clean you up. And don't you dare try eat even a little more, you filthy fucking bitch. Today's just been a taster. I'll...I'll train you how to get it the proper way.'

I'm smiling as she grabs me by the back of the throat, helping me on my feet with her other hand. My brain is a mess. My cock is sore with need. I stink of thick, musky, potent seed.

But...Freya's marked me.

I am her property, aren't I?

God, it feels like it. Feels fucking good.

She's gentle in the way she wipes my face, only with tissues.

Periodically Freya will lean in and sniff me, and once my eyes are free I get a good look at her face during those moments. The sheerest of glee crosses her gorgeousness, something that makes me feel hot and bothered, desired as I've never been. By the end of the process she's simply stroking my hair, playing with it.

'Tom,' Freya says, cupping my chin. 'Here.'

She pulls me in close, until our lips are tangled. Her kiss is forceful, passionate, a series of efforts to dominate my mouth with hers. Freya's tongue fights with mine and flattens it, and she tastes my teeth, my cheeks, and explores my mouth with every motion of her sweet-tasting pinkness. I swallow her spit, eager to taste her.

For the first time, in some mad bid of courage, I bring my hands up to her breasts. I need to touch them, need to hold them, even if only through her shirt. Freya's response is to break the kiss, but she's smiling.

'Next time,' she says. 'But you can squeeze them a bit through my shirt.'

'You're so perfect,' I say, smitten, love-mad. Her breasts are so full, so heavy even with her bra and clothing upon them. Big warm squishy things, fingers finding faint firmness beneath the exterior as I gently dig in my hands.

'Don't get all loser on me, slut.' But she kisses my mouth again, all the same. 'I better get you home. Remember: no washing that face. I mean it.'

I nod, and smile. 'I won't. I promise.'

One last kiss, a fierce and possessive thing, one of her hands on my chest and the other behind my head. 'Good,' Freya says. 'You know your place.'

We don't talk much on the way back. I've got this dumb smile on, no doubt, and Freya is comfortable with the silence. We're both riding on a high, I suppose. Weird as she goes about it, there's something good here between us.

I lean in to kiss her when she stops outside my house and Freya doesn't hold back. God, it's so good to kiss her. To taste her sweet mouth and smell her bubble-gum aura and touch her face while she touches mine.

I lay up that night, smelling her dangerously pleasant load whenever I make an effort to sniff it out. There's the faint worry that someone else will smell it on me, but the more important thing is what it represents. The more important thing is that, strange as this relationship with Freya is, I wouldn't have it otherwise. She's blown my world wide-open.

Is this my life, now? Freya's bitch-boy, her fuck-slut pet? Her...her boyfriend?

Having it be this way would've worried me before. Now it makes me smile, and stroke myself off into merciful release, to imagine all the pleasure we've shared up until now, and all the pleasure we're yet to share.

Chapter 309 - The New Girl part 1 by Thalaxian