Freya's seed is strong.
Its musky tang is there when I wake on Saturday morning, and follows me throughout the day. I'll forget it entirely, get lost in something else, and then inhale a whiff of it. That richness, that animal potency. I go so far as to lay down on my bed, under the covers -- to concentrate the smell -- and masturbate while daydreaming of her.
I'm hers, so says the musk. I am marked, the property of this daughter of billionaires, the personal plaything of this modern Amazonian princess.
On some level it's a bit, well, gross. I mean, it's cum, isn't it? It's dick-milk.
But on another level, on so many others, it's at once arousing and weirdly...affectionate? I like the idea of being hers, of belonging to her. It's so fucking kinky, sure. If I were to explain it to some third-party, I don't doubt they'd question it or even be troubled. Yet it's mine and Freya's thing. Our dynamic. It's -- at least, I hope it is -- her way of showing affection.
And God, as hot as she is, the fact that she wants me for herself just makes it far too fucking easy to bust a nut when I wank myself off.
I'm left with a dumb smile as I lay in bed that night, in that vague realm between dream and reality, fantasising about my dominant...girlfriend? It sends a rush of electricity through me, chucks me out of the easy path towards drifting away. That's who she is, isn't she?
Wow. I'm actually going out with Freya-fucking-Venyabildt.
The dumb smile manages to last all through Sunday, into Monday. A few of my closer friends remark on it, but I say nothing. I'll wait on Freya for any such call to publicise what is for the moment private.
And the smile, naturally, peaks when I see her for the first time.
I say the "first time", referring strictly to "on Monday", but...it is different. There's a novelty to it, because today she's not just this sex-friend who keeps an emotional wall up between us. Today, Freya smiles at me when she sees me.
She approaches me as I walk to my first lesson, looking resplendent in the college uniform. Her white top clings to that womanly body, large breasts impossible to hide, all the more so for her open buttons. Freya's long legs show their defined muscles as she walks, adding further fullness to already thick thighs. Her blonde hair is long and straight, eyes crystalline blues, skin bronze with that natural-seeming tan.
With sheer, almost boyish casualness, she slings an arm across my shoulders and leans in, sweet warm breath tickling my ear. Bubble-gum sweetness permeates, mixed with that girly musk I'll never forget. Her shapely body is cushioning, radiant, such a welcome weight upon my side.
'Good boy,' Freya says, sniffing at the side of my face. She is way past giving any fucks, isn't she? 'What's the stink, Tom? I want to hear you say it.'
There are people everywhere, walking in both directions along the pathway between the English and Science blocks. A whisper might as well be a shout, because someone will overhear us. And it's hardly like we're not obvious, hardly the case that our peers aren't watching intently at what might as well be a visual scream, our strange bond made undeniable by the presence of Freya's voluptuous body boldly pressed against my own.
'I...'
A pause. A pause that must only be a moment long but feels like ages. Because if I say this, whispered or not, that's it. It's out. Even if just a rumour, people will talk.
But why do I even care?
Freya is watching me, taller than I am, obscenely good-looking. Her smirk is criminal.
'I think it's semen,' I say. Not quiet, not loud, just...said. Just spoken. 'The semen of this really gorgeous futanari I keep seeing.' Freya's eyes twinkle, her cheeks faintly redden. It eggs me on. I make an almost exaggerated effort to sniff the stuff. 'It's a great smell, isn't it? I've been inhaling it all weekend, I've hardly been able to keep my hands off of my--'
Oh, yep, she's still mad strong. There's this part where the English block recedes, allowing for a concrete clearing before it juts out again. And Freya practically throws me around the corner of it -- still in full view of the passing students -- and begins eating my face. One hand pins my shoulder, the other squeezes my hip.
And all the world is her mouth, hungry and lascivious. Her sweet spit, her bubble-gum haze, her neat blonde hair dangling against my face. It all happens so quickly that I just stand still, straight as a pillar, arms at my sides. Her tongue bullies mine, her full girly lips smother my own, and then she giggles, lovely cheeks all red, as Freya pulls back from the ever so momentary snogging session.
'You're a fucking good boy,' she says, stroking my flank. 'I'll see you in Science later. We'll have lunch afterwards.'
A kiss on the cheek, a kiss on my forehead -- easy given her height -- and then she's off, leaving me blinking like an idiot. People are talking, and I don't care. I just don't give a shit. How could I ever care?
I don't know if I'd even be bothered to have Freya fuck my arse in front of them.
I'm hers. I cannot believe how much that pleases me.
Wow.
*
She sits with me in Science, the last lesson before lunch break.
People stare again. Why wouldn't they? Freya is a loner who hates everyone, who keeps her distance. But not with me. Not anymore. She sits beside me and plays this game beneath the table where she'll flick my groin without warning or jab me in the side with a sharp finger or simply settle for stroking my leg, on the inner thigh, with meandering affectionate gentleness.
Whenever there's a lull in the work, a quiet patch, a time where I ordinarily would get lost in daydreams, I'm instead fighting this overwhelming battle with the urge to stare at her face in profile. It feels guilty, almost, to just, well, stare. It's like looking at the Sun. That lovely shade of tan flesh, those shapely cheekbones, that beautiful nose, that incredibly curvaceous mouth.
Freya glances sideways, gorgeous mouth all the more so for the half-grin it makes. And when I look away, she leans in close and whispers, 'Stare all you want. I like how you look at me. The hungrier the better, you little fucking slut.'
And I resume my ocular inspection, enjoying the golden paleness of her long straight hair, the elegance of her throat, and the prettiness of those collarbones. Freya slides a hand down the front of my trousers just as I work up the courage to feast my eyes on the sensual eye candy of her perfect cleavage.
'Freya, don't.'
But she starts to stroke me. We're at the back of the class, at least -- her demand -- but even so, I'm being masturbated. I...I didn't think she'd ever touch my dick without there being some trade or whatever, and now she's just--
'Ugh.'
The train of thought derails in an instant. I bite down on my lips, but the sound escapes all the same. One of the girls on the row of desks ahead turns back and gives us a deeply uncomfortable look, her cheeks suddenly bright red. But Freya must pull a face, because she immediately turns back and ducks her head down.
'Quiet,' Freya says, speaking low and sultry into my ear. 'You're such a loud and dirty little slut, aren't you?'
I just nod, teeth dug into my lip. Shit, her skin's so soft, her fingers are so playful. Freya will tug and tug, then tickle my balls, then go back to tugging. All the while the teacher stares at their screen, and the other students chat quietly or have their heads down working.
And amidst this, in public, surrounded by others, Freya is wanking me off.
'Nice dick, by the way.' She stifles a mocking giggle. 'It would do me a disservice for my cumslut to be completely hopeless.' Freya kisses my throat, goes so far as to run her tongue up my skin. 'Besides, it'd be no fun to size-shame a cock small that anyone would think small. You're such a good little bitch, Tom.'
It says a lot about me that this positive degradation, spoken by the sweetest tongue and fullest lips, in the sultriest voice I can imagine, sends me over the edge. I know I'm going to regret this, know that the sensation of cooling semen in my boxers will bother me until it finally fucking dries, but holy shit there is something to be said for being wanked-off by the hottest girl in the world while surrounded by other people.
I grit my teeth hard and suppress all but my trembles, and a bit of forceful breathing. It necessitates that I shut my eyes, as if to focus on the one sensation allows me to corner and dispose of it, but somehow I manage. All this under Freya's devious gaze, her bright blue eyes alight with mischief and merciless joy.
Was I always such a fucking pervert or did she make me this way?
'Naughty boy,' Freya says, momentarily resting her head on my shoulder. 'You've made a real mess of my hand.'
'S-orry.'
'You can make it up to me later. I'll make sure that just by watching your gait alone, everyone will know how severely you got fucked.'
I nod along, blissful, a little dazed. Freya slowly milks the last dregs from my softening shaft and then pulls out her pretty hand, all tainted with my sperm. In the depths of this eager submission she so easily stirs in me, I've half a mind to protest. It seems to violate some law of the world that my inferior seed should grace such lovely bronze flesh.
She does something that, from psychological intensity alone, threatens to pop my top a second time, stimulus-free.
With a devious stare, attention fixed rigidly upon me, she runs out that beautiful pink tongue across the back of her palm. The pretty muscle is dirtied with my white produce, the sight of which elicits a throb in my apparently unsated cock.
I'd imagined that anything involving oral sex, and especially anything involving cum upon tongues, surely necessitates some submission on the part of the giver. Just as I'd never imagined that I'd enjoy being ravaged by thick bronze girlcock. Just as I'd never imagined that I'd relish the sensation of a heavy load spilling out upon my face. Just as I'd never imagined that I'd be sitting beside Freya Venyabildt, face all taunting and teasing, as she cleans her seed-dirtied hand with a series of progressively more sensual tongue strokes.
And if any part of me yet doubts the dominance of her stare, the powerlessness of my own role in this, Freya fixes that with a quick phrase. She leans in, breath tinged by the male stench of my semen, and says into my ear, 'Is there even any sperm in this, you little bitch? Do your balls even fucking work?'
She elbows my ribs and chuckles to herself, getting back to work and periodically lapping up another wayward bit of my jizz. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but I think Freya likes it. The way she moves it about, the way she makes a show of waggling that tongue at me, revealing the last goop upon her tastebuds for a moment before chewing and swallowing.
I don't think I've ever been so aroused by something so simple.
I'm hers. Hers to tease and hers to please, and hers to fuck and hers to suck. Hers. Freya's.
I want to speak, but I don't think I can control my volume right now.
Thankfully, there's not much of the lesson remaining.
*
Freya leads me to her spot at lunch break, taking me by the hand and walking quickly.
Something comes over me, a little stupid, a little too emotional. I throw myself at her the moment we're alone, get my arms around her, and -- though it's not the intent -- rest my head against her pillowy chest. She smells so good, is so warm and comfortable.
But then Freya clears her throat. I lift my head, meet her half-smile, her amused eyes.
'Are you going to be a clingy little bitch now that we're serious?' she says. 'Because that'll get really annoying, really fast.'
There's a pang of anxiety, a worry that I'll be too much. 'Sorry, it's just--'
I pull backwards but she holds me in place. 'I'm just fucking with you, you idiot.' Freya kisses my forehead, smells my hair. 'You do realise it comes with the territory, yeah? Little bottom bitch that you are.' She strokes my back, nuzzles my head. 'Sit down, okay? I made extra today, if you want some.'
I'm smiling nervously as I sit myself against the red brick wall, where not so long ago Freya sat alone. She sets herself down against me, leg to leg, arm to arm, and starts unpacking her lunch. It's impressive, the size of it. A varied selection of sushi, the little rolls and the pieces of fish upon rice, and slivers of fish by themselves, alongside a couple of containers that look like soy sauce, pale slices of ginger, and what I imagine is wasabi.
Then she hands me a container, much smaller than the one which produced the spread laid out before her, containing a shrunk-down quantity of the same selection and three smaller jars of the condiments.
'For you,' Freya says. 'Because I fucking hate sharing food.'
In my giddiness, to have my beautiful futanari dominatrix go to such lengths, I stuff one of the little rolls into my mouth before thanking her or checking first what exactly the ordinary custom is with eating sushi. The rice is perfect, the fish salty and delicious, a faint fire of wasabi present somewhere in the mixture, almost non-existent.
'Mhm-hm.'
The tall blonde raises a neat eyebrow at me, halfway into retrieving two pairs of chopsticks from her bag. 'I knew you'd you like it,' she says. 'There's two big loads of my sperm in yours.'
I stop chewing and look to her, not quite sure of what I'm going to find. To be tricked into eating jizz is one thing, but for it to be hers...
Freya bursts into laughter, and messes up my hair with a hand. 'Your fucking face. "Do I smile or do I spit?" God, you're such a funny boy, Tom.' She leans in, kisses the side of my head. 'There's no cum in them. You have to earn that, remember?'
I nod, chew a little, and swallow. 'It's really good, man. Who made it?'
'I did,' Freya says, rolling her chopsticks together. With sublime dexterity she gets them in a hold and fetches up a piece of greyish fish, dipping it in her soy sauce. The wolfish way she eats is attractive, but then at this point I'm worried that she could stab me and I'd somehow find beauty in it. 'Have you had sushi before?'
I shake my head. 'No. My family don't really eat, uh, exotic things.'
'Being poor must suck.' She picks up a roll with her fingers, dips it in the soy sauce for a moment, and devours it between those perfect lips. 'In the nice way. Not judging.'
'It's cool. I suppose everyone seems poor to you, right?'
She shrugs her shoulders. 'I never really think about it. The dick thing is more of a worry than being too bratty with my inheritance.'
'Not with me.'
Freya kisses my head again. 'Cutie.' Her face hovers, and she prods me with the rear tips of her chopsticks. 'Want me to show you how to use these?'
But my thought is something else. Somewhere slutty and submissive and lovestruck.
'I really like being your property,' I say, some subconscious urge, what I wanted to say in science, spilling out of my mouth. Freya guffaws, falls silent.
Oh, shit. Stupid. Too soon, or too eager, or too pathetic, or--
'You mean it?' she says.
'Yeah. So long as...so long as it's just me, and just you.'
She uses her chopsticks to fetch up a piece of fish of mine, dips it in my sauce, and brings it up to my lips. 'Eat.'
The fish is good, the soy sauce adding to it. While I chew, Freya loops her arm over my shoulders, and rests her head atop mine. 'It's just us,' she says, and my heart soars. 'I'm going to be really mean to you, I'm going to absolutely rail you, I'm going to turn you into the most obedient little cumslut I can imagine -- and my mind is a filthy fucking gutter -- but...there won't be anyone else.' The way she rubs her face against my hair makes me smile dumbly as I chew away. 'Not that I imagine boys like you come around so often.'
I swallow, and say, 'Why me?'
'For starters, you actually accept me for who I am,' Freya says. She tussles my hair, and adds, 'Plus, you realise you're actually pretty good looking, right? Among other things?'
'Yeah, but you're...'
'I'm what?'
'The hottest girl in the world.'
She giggles, the slightest, sweetest thing. 'With a fourteen-inch dick, and balls that could knock you out.'
'A beautiful dick. Beautiful balls.'
'Holy shit,' Freya says. 'If there was cum in those rolls, you'd have guzzled them down.'
'So long as it's your sperm, I'll take as much as you're willing to give.'
The blonde Amazonian chuckles and leans against me, her weight welcome but obvious, big girl that she is in muscles and height and figure. She hooks her arm around my throat and kisses my head repeatedly, still laughing a little, still in the throes of what was completely not a joke.
'You mean it, don't you? Look at me.' Freya pulls back a little and she urges me to shift my head, to look upon her grinning countenance. God, she's so gorgeous. Even with a little bit of seaweed stuck between her front teeth, I can't imagine someone prettier. 'You are so fucking cute, you know that?'
'I'm being serious, man.'
'I know you are,' she says, stroking my chin with lovely fingers. 'Do you wanna skip English with me?'
'Uh...I'm not going to get bailed out if I get in trouble, Freya.'
'I'll handle that, okay? Persephone can talk to Grandma if needs be.'
'What...what were you thinking?'
She licks her lips. 'Well, I was going to destroy you on Street Fighter on Friday, but I didn't expect you to be so eager. And you did behave yourself over the weekend.'
'Meaning what?'
'Finish eating,' Freya says. 'Then we'll find a quiet spot. I'm going to teach you how to suck out that sperm you're so desperate to guzzle, you little fucking slut.'
She starts eating again, watching my face with salacious joy. I'm left smiling, a little nervous, a lot excited. When I try the chopsticks, Freya takes hold of my hands and starts guiding me. It's harder than it should be, because I keep peeking at her skirt.
I keep imagining the amazing things hiding underneath it.
*
After lunch Freya leads me to the PE block.
She goes to Mrs Maxwell's office and has a few brief words, prompting the teacher to tremble on the spot and to vacate her private room without so much as a panicked look. The once-so-tough PE teacher is completely different, in the wake of the situation with Coach Bulger. Funny how little I care about that now. I guess the brain does a good job at pushing away trauma and hurt, however brief or intense.
Or maybe I'm just lucky. Or...or maybe I've got Freya.
She locks the door behind us and kisses my head, then sits herself down on Mrs Maxwell's chair behind the desk. Freya slips her bag off and smiles at me with familiar lustiness, parting her legs in readiness. Without a word I go to her and drop to my knees, and she chuckles to herself.
'What?' I say.
So often now that person I first met isn't present anymore. That Freya would never have blushed so openly, never have grinned so stupidly, never have reached down and mussed up my hair with the most affectionate of gestures.
'Just you,' she says, in that wondrous voice. 'Just how fucking eager you are.'
I cock my head at her. 'Shouldn't I be?'
Freya does nothing, says nothing, as I lean in close and kiss her inner thigh. Such smooth skin, such beautiful flesh, warm against my mouth. Bubble-gum sweetness on the nose and something else, something funkier, something carnal. Her skirt rests on her lap, halfway down her thighs, and I can just about make out her bulging lacy white panties beneath the shade it casts.
'You do all the right things,' she says, stroking behind my ear. 'Say all the right words.'
I rest my chin upon her full bronze flesh. 'Is that a problem?'
Freya shakes her head. 'It's just...' She trails off, stares at the wall, away with her thoughts.
'It's hard to believe,' I say, and she comes back to me, eyes all wet and aquamarine blue. 'I know the feeling. I feel the same.'
'Do you?' The tone isn't off, it's not a doubtful question. There's a vulnerability about her, heart exposed to the elements. 'I know my desires and demands are weird, Tom, but I might actually fall in love with you at this rate.'
But she's strong, to say something like that. To cascade my soul into a fluttering frenzy.
'R-eally?'
She nods, pats my head. 'Really. But...I don't think you'll be easily replaced, so I need to know if you're serious.'
'Serious how?'
Freya opens her bag and pulls out a little black box, a square a bit larger than a palm. 'I bought this on Saturday,' she says, presenting it to me. 'Open it. It's serious.'
I sit upright and take the box, and its contents widen my eyes, put a lump in my throat. Freya is blushing as I remove the choker, a simple loop of silvery metal a bit suitably large for my neck. At the front is a little heart-shaped pendant hanging off. It reads, in engraved letters: "Freya's Slut."
The meaning, the perverseness, clicks together in my head. I tremble, blush, and smirk.
'I have the only key,' Freya says. 'If you put it on, it won't come off until I allow it. And if you put it on, I want you to call me Mistress, going forwards. And I want to train you to be the love of my life. I want you to come and live with me. I want you to sleep in my bed. I want you to devote yourself to me, to belong to me, to live for my pleasure and happiness. I want you to do this until the day one of us dies. Do you understand?'
Daunting. Forever. Time from now, this second, this moment, until the end of my life. And yes, I imagine I could get it removed by a specialist, but...Freya began with the operant word, if. So...I have a choice.
I...I don't know.
'Freya,' I say. 'What if...what if I refuse?'
'Then I don't want this to continue. We're over.' Not harsh, but even the possibility of that is unpleasant on the ear. Freya herself keeps a stony face, but her eyes tell it true. She doesn't want that outcome. 'I understand that this is a big decision. You don't have to decide right this moment, if you'd prefer to leave it.'
I can quite easily see myself loving this woman, this futanari, but what if I change my mind? What if I decide I want to be dominant, or even just to mix things up? What if I want to actually experience vagina, as a straight(ish) man, for once in my life?
'You're asking a lot,' I say. 'Like I think you're amazing, but...there are certain things I want. A certain type of affection, maybe, and if everything is on your terms, then--'
'I will do things with your dick, okay?' Freya looks even prettier with her cheeks all red. 'I will, at the very least, put it between my tits. And I will -- when I feel like it -- put it in my mouth.'
'And...?'
She crosses her arms over her breasts and glances away, cheeks aflame. 'I will, at some point, need to think about my legacy, and it's...it's clear to me that my genes are so much stronger than yours that, should you be the father, people will likely think I impregnated myself.' Freya shoots her gaze, awkward and almost shy, back at me. 'I will ride you -- I'm always going to be on top -- once a week, in addition to our other activities.'
Once a week? Once a fucking week?
No way. What?
'Once a week?' I say.
She glares at me. 'Twice if we must. But you will have to learn to last. The show in Science today was pathetic, even for you.'
I drop the box on my lap and sit backwards, almost toppling, catching myself on my palms at the last moment. Freya Venyabildt lifts an eyebrow, studies me with bemusement. I just blink, dumbstruck, staring up towards her but not really at her.
'Well?' she says.
'I thought...I thought you'd never...'
Freya frowns. 'Yes, well, I realise that you have needs of your own, and I'd be a pretty crappy owner if I didn't take good care of my favourite pet. But don't you dare get ideas above your station and become demanding. You're already pushing your luck here.'
'Once a week is plenty,' I say, rising up onto my knees. I rest my hands on her lovely thighs. 'It sounded like a lot, that's all.'
'Once a month, then?' But Freya chuckles at whatever minute change occurs on my face. 'Once a week is fine,' she says, uncrossing her arms and stroking my cheek with an elegant finger. 'Maybe twice if I find myself really liking it.' That same finger shifts, and she flicks my nose. 'You do have to become mine, though. I do want an answer.'
I pick up the box from my lap and pull out the choker, unhinging it at the back. In the weird way that we do things together, this might actually be romantic. 'I think you should do the honours, Mistress.'
Freya's blush deepens as I hold up the choker. 'You're a very good boy, Tom,' she says, sultry and delicious. My Mistress takes up the silver and opens it fully, pressing the cool metal to the front of my throat. 'I'm going to treat you extremely well.'
The click of the lock puts a thunderbolt down my spine that culminates in an almost instantaneous erection. I'm always kind of popping a half-chub in Freya's presence, but the physical culmination of our kinky ownership play puts things into overdrive.
She stands up then and undoes her skirt, stepping out of it when it reaches her shoes. When Freya sits back down I'm face-to-face with her overstuffed lacy white panties, her heavy balls and thick cock threatening to spill out of the edges.
'Well?' she says. 'Take care of your Mistress.'
Lust and unearthly joy are a tantalising fire through my mind.
I take hold of her womanly hips and pull myself forwards, shoving my face against her bulge, rubbing it against my cheeks and mouth and nose and forehead. Such a potent smell, Freya's virility, musky and pleasant. Such warmth, from her perfect body, from her perfect dick.
She chuckles, almost giggles, as I massage the flesh of her hips and ply her curves with my hands, all the while sniffing her junk and kissing the outline of her impressive male organs through the opaque white of her undies.
'This brings me back,' Freya says, stroking my head. 'It was that dumb bitch Maxwell blowing me in here that put you in my sights.'
'Mfyes,' I say, muffled by crotch. 'Mhm.'
'I never imagined a boy would suck my dick in here.' She chuckles. 'And yet here we are.'
'Mhm-hm.'
It's not just me who's quick to stiffen today. With kisses and the rubbing of my face, Freya's large flaccid cock rapidly transforms into its full hugeness, poking out the top of her panties and then swiftly achieving its proper breadth and length.
She stands again and pushes me backwards with a thrust of her hips, knocking me onto my backside. The bronze Amazonian towers above me, enormous cock disappearing up beneath her tight shirt. Freya begins opening the buttons with frantic need, in the process losing her cool and tearing a couple of them off.
When the last one goes, I have no time to admire her divine belly or to gaze upon the cleavage of those bra-bound breasts. Her throbbing bronze member drops down under the weight of its fat crown, slapping my forehead, giving me a wet kiss with its shrouded tip. Freya giggles and jams her thumbs into her panties, pushing them down her thighs, freeing her heaving nuts to dangle and bounce away.
'You exist only for me, Tom,' she says, taking her monster in hand. 'You are my personal slut. You are a vessel for my pleasure. You are a dumpster for my cum.'
She brings her cock down on my face, the slap hot and sloppy, precum splattering my cheek. Freya puts her other hand behind my head and thrusts herself forwards, grinding her erection against my lips and nose, hips rising and falling as she lowers and raises herself to achieve the maximum amount of contact.
'Yes, Mistress,' I say. 'I am your personal slut, I am--'
I'm cut short by the imposition of her heavy balls, which she slams with intent against my lips. The warm damp sack is smooth, mostly hairless, but it stinks divinely of her potency, and when she lifts her hips a little further and sandwiches my nose between her fist-sized bollocks, I'm struck by how badly I want her sperm.
She chuckles playfully as she gyrates her body, bouncing her nuts about my face. 'I love marking you,' Freya says. 'Making you all smelly with my dick and balls.'
My Mistress leans away and digs her fingers through my hair, tilting my head backwards. She's smirking, voluptuous lips hinting at perfect teeth. Her immense manhood hovers above my face, held there by a lovely hand. I can't help but smile, blushing and out of my depth as I may be.
'I love how you smell, Mistress. I love everything about you.'
She releases her cock, which comes to rest across the length of my face. 'Prove it,' Freya says. 'I know it'll be clumsy, but you're a man, submissive and slutty as you are. You know instinctively how to worship cock, Tom.'
Freya sits back down, dick trailing a sticky rope of precum as its tip crosses my face and drops off my chin. She's so hung that her penis has to rest against those giant nuts, even at full hardness. 'Worship me, slut. Worship your Mistress.'
What else needs to be said between us?
She does, admittedly, make a little yelp of surprise when I ravenously latch onto her hips again and throw myself at her. I kiss that toned stomach, that bronze flesh, beginning at her belly button and getting lost in the golden wilderness of her pubes, stinking of her, musky and feminine and virile at once.
'Oh shit,' she says. 'You're fucking filthy.'
If I weren't so fucking horny I might laugh. Freya actually looks shocked. Shocked at what she's created. She did want a slut, didn't she?
I dig my nose into her crotch, kiss her pubes, bury my face into that deliciously-scented region above her fat monster of a cock. With one hand I massage the inside of a thigh, with the other I take hold of her heavy length, which pulses angrily against my palm and beneath my fingers.
Freya is actually speechless for a change. She stares, blue eyes wide and wet with lust, as I masturbate her and smooch around the hairy base of her cock. I smirk a little, pleased at myself, pleased with her response, pleased to just fucking be here.
And the little trembling moan she makes when I slip down further, giving a tentative kiss to her left testicle, is priceless. The blonde-haired bronze Amazonian chews on her lower lip, makes a face at me that eggs me on while being thoroughly needy, wholly out of control here.
But she allows it to continue. Because I think in that same way that I as a man take the greatest of pride in the mere thought of someone loving me such that my cock is included in the process, it must be the same way for Freya.
Freya, who likes dudes, who before me had resigned herself to raping them.
Freya, who is on the cusp of receiving a very clumsy but very affection attempt at a blowjob.
She must be in heaven right now.
'Oh,' she says. 'Ooh. Uh. Tom...'
The kiss on her left nut turns into an out and out snog, lips and tongue fully engaged as I rub my mouth about beneath her shaft. Her big balls, like everything else, are beautiful. I love the way they bounce, the weight they possess, the cute little golden hairs that sprout here and there on the silky loose skin of her sack.
'Tom.' Her tone is fiercer, still cute. I glance up at her. Freya is flustered, cheeks red, eyes wild. 'Suck it. Please. I...I want to cum in your mouth and...and...' Guilty, shameful, this lovely side of my Mistress rears its head again. 'This is exactly what I wanted but it feels too good, okay? So just...just blow me.'
Something in her voice tells me in no uncertain terms that she is not going to last if I continue the plan in my head. Freya wanted worship, but honestly, this seems like her Achilles' heel. Is she seriously weak to blowjobs? The idea of them? Or is it just a particularly horny day?
Whatever the case, I retreat from between her legs and line my mouth up with her needily straining cock, which twitches away in my hands. 'Anything for you, Mistress,' I say, and Freya chews on her lip again, a throb running through her. I restrain the urge to comment.
God, she's fucking cute. But her dick is anything but.
Not in a bad way -- I genuinely think it's beautiful, all the more so as I begin to pull back the hood from its tip -- but the thing is monstrous. Fourteen inches, she says. Fourteen inches of bronze veiny meat, culminating in a pretty pink glans like a German army helmet. Jesus, the head alone looks like it might fill up my mouth, let alone the other eleven inches.
There's a wet pop, and I lick my lips when her bell-end shows itself. It drools, glistening in the overhead lights. Such a fat prominence, narrower at the eyelet, thickly crested around the base of the mushroom. Her male smell, her futanari smell, is primal and sticky in my nose and my thoughts. Musky, salty, bitter.
And I look her dead in the eyes, conjuring a sentence that, if any woman were to say it to me, would make my day. Maybe my year. So here goes.
'Please feed me your semen, Mistress Freya,' I say. 'I want to taste your sperm so badly.'
She stares at me, blue eyes wild with lust and raw infuriating desire, trembling on the spot without physical aid. Freya tries and fails to say something, settling instead for gnawing on her lip. I lick mine again and go in for the finale, pressing my mouth to the broad swell of her gooey pink perfect penis tip.
'Ughn. Tom...'
Her eyes shut and open, but I stare up at her. Freya's helmet is so hot, so sticky and slippery. It easily slides past my lips, taking its rightful place inside my mouth. My tongue greets it, showering it with affection, smothering my favourite creature in all the world with the most primeval manner of adoration I can picture myself providing.
I need more time. I need more time to appreciate the way her cock has such a lovely crown atop its gargantuan thickness, the way that lovely crown has such beautifully-defined curves and contours, the way those beautifully-defined curves and contours brush against the top of my mouth and warm my cheeks and flatten down my tongue as if her body is designed to fill my mouth so well.
But Freya isn't herself today. Not that she has to be all fierceness and fire for me to obey her, to respect her, to love her, but she's cute and girly and easily afflicted. Not her usual Amazonian ferociousness.
As much as I might've thought blowjobs to be this kind of submissive thing, there's an immense power in tending to your lover's body. Twice today that thought's arisen. Funny how things turn out.
Such power that Freya, after but a single back-forth of my mouth, shuts her eyes and says, a little too loudly, 'Fuck.'
Then the seed comes, a viscous rope of it, tasting sublimely of the most beautiful being I can imagine. A little sweet, mostly salty, thick like cream, so deliciously hot and fresh from her big productive balls.
Freya, virile as she is gorgeous, utterly loads my mouth. Rope and string and shot and spurt, coating my tongue and forming creamy sticky congregations around my tongue and teeth. Vulgar as it is, the fact that this heavy produce contains her genetic recipe does something for me, transforms an already pleasant experience into something divine. I have to swallow to prevent it coming out my nose, there's just so much of it.
'No,' Freya says, wincing, straining. 'No. Fuck. No!'
And as the orgasm softens she stares at me, frowning. Not at me, it looks like, but at...herself? The situation? The tall beauty sighs, slumping back into the chair. Her body still twitches with pleasure, her cock still drools a heavy stickiness of seed, but Freya's heart and mind are clearly no longer in it.
I kind of wanted to do some sexy thing and show her it, but the mood is gone. If anything, I'm worried about her. Slipping off her cock, cushioning its descent with my hands, I gulp down the bloated mouthful of creamy futa milk and then lick my lips. God, she's delicious.
'Did I do something wrong, Mistress?' I say.
That provokes a little smile, yet even that is a struggle. Freya shakes her head. 'You were perfect, Tom. I just...I was just a fucking quick shot.'
'Wait, that's what's up?'
She folds her arms across her breasts and looks away, mouth twisting. 'Yeah.'
Pouty, sulking, cute and vulnerable Freya is another flavour of my gorgeous girlfriend that I am ever so happy to be experiencing. 'Mistress...Freya.' I reach up and stroke her cheek, cup her lovely jaw, gently urge her to face me. 'I thought you said this wasn't your first blowjob?'
Her eyes wander the ceiling -- anything is better than looking at me right now, it seems -- and then Freya nods. 'In a sense, it is. My first from a boy. I kind of...I obviously psyched myself up a little too much.'
I don't dare laugh or chuckle, but I lean into her belly and kiss the faint definition of her toned stomach. 'I'm flattered that I can provoke such a response,' I say, resting my head against her warmth. 'And you taste fucking good, Mistress.'
She puts a hand atop my head and strokes me. 'Thank you, Tom. I just wish I'd--'
'Dude, I will literally suck your dick as often as you want. I don't care if it takes you a minute or an hour to blow, I'll do it.' I nuzzle her stomach, kiss the beautiful bronze skin. 'I'm yours, okay? You put a collar on me to prove it. I only want to make you happy.'
Freya pushes forwards and topples me easily, dropping down upon me such that her face is inches from my own. Her brilliant blonde hair falls like a curtain around us, a private booth with just myself and my gorgeous Mistress.
'I love you,' she says. 'I mean it. You're the slutty boy of my dreams.'
I reach up and wrap my hands around the back of her neck. 'I love you too, Mistress. You're the deliciously hung dickgirl of mine.'
And then we're kissing, snogging madly, the wonderful weight of her shapely form sandwiching me against the floor. A free hour that was meant to be dedicated to servicing her fantastic cock, but it doesn't seem like it's going to go that way.
Freya rolls off of me and onto her back, using those sublime muscles to pull me atop her. She brings my head down on her chest and we lie there on the floor of a teacher's office, her hand upon my head and stroking me, and occasionally she'll dip down to kiss my scalp, while I hold on in blissful comfort.
I...I can't believe that my head is pretty much jammed between her ridiculous boobs and the only thing passing through my mind is the lovely awareness of being here with her.
Being with Freya. My Mistress.
I'm fucking smitten.
------X------
I take far, far too much pleasure in the way the little "Freya's Slut" tag bounces against my collarbone.
The sound it makes is meagre, a pitter-patter of metallic wobbling. A rattle of the tiny chain-link, the dull thud against my flesh and bone unheard against the backdrop of Mistress Freya's laboured breathing and my own barely-suppressed groaning.
God, I'm glad she didn't want to stop ploughing me.
'Little fucking slut,' my Mistress says, digging her fingers into my hips. 'Cumslut. Cumdump. Ughn. Mine. All fucking mine.'
Mistress Freya, for all the vulgar viciousness of her words, practically sucks on my neck as she leans in to kiss it. Her bountiful breasts bounce against my back, such heavy cushioning weights that I'm ever so honoured to support. Her lips are slick, passionate in the way they grip and nibble, teeth periodically joining the play.
Bubble-gum sweetness and post-PE sweatiness mingle, pairing with the sticky tang of our filthy changing-room copulation. My nose is thick with her, my world engulfed by her. Freya Venyabildt, the most beautiful woman in the world. And I'm hers. Hers alone.
'Yes, M-istress. All y-ours.'
'Louder, slut. I can't--ughn--hear you.'
'I'm yours! I belong to you, Mistress F-reya. Mind and b-ody and--ugh--soul.'
She spanks me, a wallop that continues to echo long after the initial shockwave of pain merges and becomes subsumed within the overwhelming pleasure of being royally reamed by the tan blonde Amazonian futanari. My eyes roll upwards and my eyelids flutter, mouth falling open, fuck-sozzled spit glazing my lips.
'Such a good, good pet.'
Mistress bites my throat, a beast more than a girl, applying only enough force to make me wince. And just as happened with the slap upon my arse, the sensation of having her teeth pressed into the skin of my neck undergoes that same electrifying transformation into the realm of the bizarrely enjoyable.
Her rough affection, so forceful and vigorous, nonetheless yields to gentleness where it matters the most. When Mistress Freya slams me against the painted cinderblock wall, she makes sure to hook her elbow against my Adam's apple, taking the brunt of the impact upon her arm. And in the same movement she kisses my cheek, nuzzles my ear, nibbles my earlobe.
'I love you, Tom,' Mistress says. 'I fucking love you, you perfect little slut.'
To find those brilliant blue eyes looking straight at me, staring to watch the minutest of reactions on my face, is one of life's simple pleasures. And to be kissed by her, the taller dominatrix, is one of its finest. Sweet saliva and the fullest, softest lips in all the world. A tongue that, with playful enthusiasm, wrestles my own.
Snogging with eyes open is just a little unusual, but we're each smitten with the gaze of the other. As Mistress ploughs me with slow deep pumps of her voluptuous hips, she studies my eyes, which instinctively flutter and fall hooded, resulting in obvious sensual satisfaction in her own. She breaks the kiss, nuzzles against my face, licks my lips.
'Submission is just your nature, isn't it?' Mistress says, voice husky, breathy.
I nod, move to restart the snogging, but she retracts with a look of beautiful malice. 'Don't forget your place, slut. Ugh. All things, but on my terms.'
'Y-es, Mistress.'
She chews on the curve of her lower lip. 'Fuck, I love it when you say that.'
I almost topple when she slams with such force that my knees quiver, drilling my backside with that mighty length of throbbing hot cockmeat. Even now, even so used to it as I am, it's still so big. I've been broken in by her, had my body taught its place by her, and yet all the same those fourteen fat inches of futanari are so effortlessly capable of blowing my mind.
'Ughn. Fuck.'
She laughs mirthlessly as I lean into the wall for support, cheek pressed against it. Mistress picks up the pace, spanks me again, impales me upon her searing skewer. I'm drooling, mind blank, all the world non-existent beyond the sweaty sex-musk confines of the girl's changing room, our favoured haunt for these not-so-secret trysts.
Thwap, thwap, thwap go her big meaty balls, slamming against mine, dominating me as much as every other aspect of her does. In relinquishing, in some sense, the idea of being the superior male between the two of us, I almost bust a nut. The thought of Mistress Freya being above me, being better than I am, taking what is undeniably hers, gives the little rattling wobble of the "Freya's Slut" tag all the more importance.
'Mhm. Such a fat arse. Such a tight butt.'
Slap. Crack. I shiver, groan, strain. The pressure is building, always building, but I'm getting better at holding out. Cumming a lot is no bad thing, but when I ride the wave for as long as possible, effectively edging myself on Mistress's big bronze dick, the resultant climax is something practically supernatural.
The constant fleshy thup thup thup of her flesh on mine, and the thwap thwap thwap of her balls as they swing, and the occasional schlick-schlup as my lubed-up backside receives her cock at an angle conducive to producing the sloppiest of sounds, sometimes broken by the crackle of her palm against one of my bum cheeks, all makes undeniable what is happening. What always happens. What I keep, with increasing regularity, reflecting on.
If I were a girl, Mistress would so easily knock me up. Slut that I am for her, I doubt I'd ever turn her down, and I'm sure the moment she ditched the condom or told me to get off the pill I'd...I'd be hard-pressed not to accept this superior specimen's seed deep inside of my hypothetical womb.
And I've never, ever wanted to be a girl. Never thought myself girly. Always been one of the lads, always been distinctly male. But...there's something perversely erotic, all-encompassing in its allure, in the idea of...
...in the idea of seeing what we do as some kind of mating.
Because in a sense it is, right? To hear Mistress Freya as she grits her teeth and groans, or whispers sweet affection in my ear, or verbally disparages me, or all three in one grandiose combination of lusty sonority, is to know intimately that I am being ploughed here. Ploughed by a penis twice the size of mine, with balls easily three times as fat.
And before long, my Mistress will ejaculate. She'll pump that thick creamy delicious ooze right out of her body, straight into mine. Genes, not mine, foreign and uniquely and utterly hers, will end up inside me. If she claims me when she cums on my face -- and I believe she does -- then what happens when she pumps full my arse? What happens when she loads my mouth?
God, what would happen if I just said it? What if I told her to, well, knock me up, or something? She'd know it's just lusty talk, know it's just play, know it's not real...but if a girl told me to do that, if Freya -- I mean, Mistress -- one day says that...my balls might shoot out of my dick.
My mind is as much of a gutter as hers, isn't it? Well...here goes?
'Breed me,' I say, surprised to hear the sheer filth of my tone. 'I mean, uh--'
It gives her pause. No laughter, no mockery. Sheepishly I glance backwards, over a shoulder, to find a woman utterly besotted with lasciviousness. Mistress trembles, stock-still, half-impaled into my backside. Post-PE, glistening with sweat, her PE shorts dangle around one ankle and her polo shirt clings to those heaving G-cups.
Her hair, platinum blonde, long and straight, is somewhere on the border between casually disturbed and genuinely dishevelled. Those brilliant sapphire eyes, those full sweet lips, that gorgeous face with its sculpted cheekbones and womanly jawline. I'm hers. And she's...she's processing what I just said?
'Do you mean it?' Mistress says.
'What?'
'What you said. Do you mean it?'
I nod. 'Of course. I'm yours.'
'So if I could do it, you'd carry my child,' Mistress says, wetting her lips with a sliver of pink tongue. 'You'd let me wipe out your line because, let's face it Tom, my genes are much stronger than yours.'
I bite my lip, nod. 'Happily. It'd be an honour to end my line on your cock, with your delicious semen.'
Mistress chuckles softly. 'You're so, so dirty.' She looks as though she's going to spank me, then merely settles for a firm squeezing of my bum. 'You're a boy, you know?'
'It's just pretend.'
'I hope so,' she says. 'I like you being a boy.' My Mistress leans atop me again, big sweaty tits pressing against my back. Her lips find my ear, tickle it with sweet damp breath. 'Let's play pretend from now on. From now on, this is mating. From now on, we're trying to breed. Got it, slut?'
'Y-es, Mistress Freya.'
She slowly slides herself fully inside of me, hilting her weapon right up to the point that those curly pubes brush up against my arse crack. With a gentle shudder, her immense testicles wobble against my own, reminding me implicitly of the seething virility of my Mistress and her pseudo-superhuman loins.
Mistress draws herself back, sliding her hands down to grip my hips. And when her glans is the sole remaining presence of her cock inside of me, she says, voice breathy and passion-infused, 'Get pregnant.'
She drives her entire length up into me in a single mighty thrust, repeating that phrase at the peak of impalement. 'Get pregnant.' And then out again. 'Get pregnant.' And in again. 'Get pregnant.'
And with each repetition, with each back-forth limit-to-limit hilting and almost-uncoupling, the urgency of the demand increases. What begins as a whisper, by the fifth stroke, is bordering on a shout.
'B-reed me, Mistress,' I say, pleasuring reaching an inescapable conclusion. 'Take full ownership of your--ughn--slut. My body is--mhm--yours. I'm your fucking property.'
Mistress roars when she slams herself back inside, hefty balls squirming and shifting as they smack against my smaller ones. A searing pulse of heat runs from the base of her cock along its length, cum-vein -- I must be imagining it -- bulging as it delivers her virile payload deep inside of me.
'Ughn. F-uck,' Mistress says, strained beyond belief. 'You're so--ugh--perfect.'
She clumsily musses up my hair, pumping shot after shot of thick hot semen straight out into my innards. Billions of my gorgeous futanari's white wriggling sperms are flooding me now, her pseudo-masculine potency asserting itself over my body, claiming me as though I wasn't, by the simple way of the world, already hers.
I cum as well, my orgasm mingling with hers, arse tightening down to accentuate her already potent climax. In some mutual howl of satisfaction we each spill our respective seed, but only hers is fated to end up in the body of another. Mine has that lesser fate, as it almost always does. It splatters the wall, white on white.
Fitting, really. And that self-degradation only heightens my happiness.
*
I wear the collar at all times, well-aware that I'd have to explain it if ever someone sees.
I'm pretty sure, on some level, that people know about us by now. What with Mistress having no qualms about coming up and hugging me in front of everyone else, or the fact that we're always sitting together, or that we eat lunch together when absolutely no-one else is ever around Freya Venyabildt.
She brings me all manner of snacks and tasty treats -- the non-semen kind, I mean -- when we eat together. It gets to a point where I pretty much stop bringing lunch, or money for it, because I know that my Mistress will do a fine job in keeping me fed. And, as much as she mocks me for so much as hinting at it, it's a rare day when we don't snuggle up together post-lunch.
Mistress is, despite her toned physique, also plenty squishy and pillowy. Tensed, her muscles are rock-solid, but most of the time they blend into the womanly yield of her voluptuous form. Resting my head upon her chest while Mistress Freya reads is the ideal form of relaxation. Smelling her bubble-gum sweetness, basking in the warmth of her loveliness, feeling the steady in-out of her breathing, and listening to the powerful rhythm of her heart. What a life.
Today, for whatever reason, her buttons are all done up. Not that I mind, but it is odd. She's usually quite eager to show off the bounce and jiggle of what might be the world's finest pair of tits. But I must stare, or else forget that I'm looking at the curious change on attire.
'Are my boobs really that interesting?' she says.
'Are you serious?' I raise an eyebrow at her, finding in return an effortlessly domineering mirroring of my gesture. 'I mean, that's not why I like snuggling with you, Mistress.'
'You can drop the title sometimes, silly.' Freya musses up my hair. Her book today -- Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra -- holds steady in her other hand. 'You're my boyfriend, Tom. Pet, plaything, sure, but it's more than that. We're not just a sub-domme pairing. I hope I've not given that impression. I do actually love you, you idiot.'
She says things like this, and my heart soars. Such a cool head she has, to diffuse my concerns before I even knew I had them. As much as I adore the title myself...she's still meant to be Freya, after all.
'I may have been overdoing it,' I say, glancing playfully aside. 'But for real, man, as amazing as your boobs are--'
'How would you know?' Freya says, cocking her head. 'You've not seen them.'
'I...'
She's too good at this stuff. There's such a subtle teasing to the shadow of a smirk on her voluptuous mouth, the angling and focus of her eyes, even the way she slows and modifies the pacing of her fingers as they weave through my hair.
'Thirty-six double-G,' Mistress says, smirk deepening. 'God, you're such a boy. Your eyes just shot wide as saucers.' She chuckles, carefully flips the book and lowers it page-down upon the smooth concrete. It's a dry summer day, at least. 'I've been thinking, since our first little breeding session. About just how I should reward you for such good, good behaviour.'
Freya rises and pushes me back against the brickwork. I can do nothing but stare, bug-eyed, as the towering blonde with her sensually-sculpted body moves her legs and straddles me, sitting that plump backside down atop my thighs. Her hands go to my arms, and she strokes me with gentle adoration.
'As much as I find the idea of a grown man sucking on my tits like a little baby just a smidgen weird...if that's what you'd like to do, you can.' Freya tilts her head to one side, smirk now a smile, warm and generous. 'Do you want to see my boobs, Tom?'
I'm pretty sure if I nod any harder my head will snap off. Mistress giggles, releasing my arms and reaching for the buttons of her white shirt. Suddenly the full buttoning makes sense. The best kind of present, at least in those that can be so hidden, is one you need to unwrap.
'I'll take that as a yes,' she says. The first one goes, my eyes transfixed by it. 'I'm guessing this is a good reward?'
'The best. Holy shit, thank you.'
'You're welcome.' Freya flutters her eyes at me. 'I much prefer to keep my cumslut tame through kindness than cruelty, where possible.'
By the third button, her cleavage is taking shape. The upper outline of two full round prominences, curving together to meet in the centre of her chest, is tantalising by itself. That the valley deepens with each passing moment, with every popping of another button, only makes the sight more enamouring.
I have never seen breasts this large up close before. As the shirt comes away I can't help but gaze at how they spill a little over the top of Freya's full-cup bra, a pretty but mundane garment likely chosen for the fact her chest is so heavy as opposed to any aesthetic demands. Her bronze flesh is spotless, youthful and vibrant, maybe ever so slightly glossy from sweat right where the two bountiful boobs meet and press together. I...kind of want to lick it up. Is that so wrong?
It's difficult to look into Mistress's face at the moment, much as I feel as though I should. This gift -- and what a gift it is! -- deserves some kind of awareness, some ocular appreciation, and yet as her toned belly comes into view I'm too stunned to think of manners.
'Stare all you like,' Freya says, breathy and sensual. 'I'm not so cruel a mistress as to deny you the joys of admiring the body you live to serve.'
Like a fool, like an idiot, like the happiest version of me I've ever been, I shove my face into her cleavage, bra be damned. Mistress puts a hand on the back of my hand and strokes my hair as I slowly wiggle my face about, inhaling deeply of her feminine fragrance, face cushioned between immaculate softness and warmth.
They're not just big, but entirely natural. Is there any part of her that's not perfect? What the hell is up with Freya Venyabildt, to be so effortlessly hot? Breast meat bounces and shudders against my face, springy and pert, abundant in the way it completely swallows up my cheeks and jaw.
Her cleavage smells so good, so much of her, so much of her womanly fertile virility. The bubble-gum of her perfume is fainter here, in this most mystical of crevices. Body scents, sweet and uniquely hers, fill my world. They say that if you like someone's natural odours, you're probably highly compatible with them. And whatever it is about Mistress, whatever this ineffable olfactory flavour happens to be, I love it.
Freya chuckles, flicks the back of my head. 'Christ, Tom, at least let me get my bra off.'
'Sorry, I just--'
'Shush,' Mistress says. 'I'm glad you like them so much.'
I pull away, face still tingling from the contact with her pillowy breasts. They jiggle beautifully as she shifts her torso, that clearly overworked full-cup bra doing its utmost to keep hold of such a bouncy set of boobs. Our eyes meet, and I shiver. Such brilliant sapphires in a perfect face, and they hold me in such peculiar regard.
The affection is strong, almost coming across as protective. But there's possessiveness there, a will to have me to herself, to dominate without a word. Such pristine eyes, peerless, the closest thing to perfect I can imagine.
And when she leans down, pressing her lips to my forehead, my heart flutters and flails, a clumsy bird taking flight. So ripe and raw a thing this is, these feelings. Glorious to experience, yet in a sense, so unseemly. I want to be stronger, want to be less prone to blushing and shuddering. I've never been so haphazard with a girl before, never so ready to put my foot in my mouth.
Yet despite this, Mistress doesn't seem to mind. Beyond the tumult of the earliest days, this entire thing seems...good. Great, even.
'I'm so glad I'm yours, Mistress.'
Even Freya, diamond-minded demigoddess that she is, reacts to that simple title. A thing of play, but then isn't it all? We're language-users. We make up games and obey their concepts. And the concept of being my Mistress, for Freya Venyabildt, provokes a twitch of her long eyelashes and a disturbance of her lips. She shows an unintended glimpse of teeth, sucks in a breath prematurely.
'You'd better be,' Freya says. 'What with such a lucky slut you are.'
The shirt slides off with a roll of her shoulders, the white button-up left clinging to her wrists for relatively easy redressing. Not that Mistress cares much, given her station in the world. Naughty, self-assured, confident beyond confident. But I get the distinct impression that she'd be annoyed if someone happened to stumble in on us.
Because as she tenderly reaches up behind her back with one hand, slipping the other across the front of her bra, I'm well-aware that the show is for me alone.
Words between us fade and our private silence gives way to the distant sound of voices, students and staff going about their lunch break. A faint click brings my inner ear back to the immediate, that being the sound of a brassiere unclasping. Freya presses her arm against her chest, bulging her breasts upwards as the shoulder straps loosen.
She's blushing, all red and cute. Not so badly as she was when I played with her pussy for the first time, but it's still noticeable. To play the girl, to have her body admired beyond her prodigious penis, is obviously something newer to her.
'Because you've been so good,' Mistress says. 'Because I want that behaviour to continue.'
With lusty languidness she rolls her athletic toned shoulders, beautiful arms flexing. The bra straps slide off and Freya dextrously slips out of one side, then swaps the hand upon her chest and escapes the other. All that's left is the bra itself, cups adhering loosely now, only by the presence of a forearm, to her sizeable boobies.
I flick my eyes between her two most (obvious) appealing pairs. Blue eyes, big tits, blue eyes, big tits. Perhaps time is moving especially slowly, but the more likely explanation, made certainly the case by the twisted mischief of a smirk up the left side of her lovely mouth, is that Freya is playing with me. Waiting, watching, testing the waters.
'Mistress,' I say. 'Please. I want to see.'
Her blush darkens, deepens, and she glances away. 'Go on, then.'
I'm vaguely aware that if I were to inhale any quicker, I might rupture a lung. With eyes as wide as they go, with my attention dialled to eleven, somehow such a small -- I mean, relatively, compared to the world itself -- part of reality seizes the entirety of my attention. Nothing else in this moment matters, beyond the sudden descent of that grey bra.
I don't even see where it lands. Wobble, jiggle, bounce. Holy shit.
Sometimes, some people like to suggest that bodies, male and female both, are a lot more attractive inside of clothes. And this can be true, of course. Scars and stretchmarks, wrinkles and the weathering of years. But Freya Venyabildt's bra, if anything, was hiding one (two, to be precise) of the natural wonders of the world.
She giggles. 'Your fucking face, Tom. Such a boy.'
And I love, love, love the way she says that.
Each is much larger than a handful. Paralysed as I am by the sight alone, such an excessive quantity of plump bronze flesh, that an empirical test in this fashion will have to wait. I knew Freya was strong, but her back must be insanely sturdy, or else I don't envy her the ache such a set must cause.
Two full round shapes that sag only a little, mostly pert, with slightly upwards-angled nipples. Her cute nips are neither especially large or especially small, surrounded by size-appropriate halos of light brown flesh, smooth and silky, the edges of her areolae clearly-defined where they contrast with the richer brownish-bronze of her flesh. I half-expected tan lines for some reason, but I suppose it fits for Freya to be the kind of woman to sunbathe in the nude. It's not like there were any downstairs, after all.
She gives a playful twist of her torso, causing the eager wobbly tits to jiggle about, swaying bountifully, bouncing away. I'm instantly aware that my boner is pressing up against one of her thighs, and Mistress makes sure to give the clothed tip a little tap with a finger.
'Thank you, Tom,' she says, bringing a hand to my chest. Freya tucks her fingers into the collar of my shirt, and tickles my neck. 'You don't just have to look, though. I didn't get them out for nothing.'
She lets out a startled laugh as I throw my hands upon them, fingers finding silky skin and heavy flesh. The roughness of the attack becomes calm, slow, transitioning into tentative movements the moment I'm actually holding them. One in each hand, glorious G-cup flesh spilling through my fingers and bulging beautifully where my palms and digits press into her chest. Freya moans faintly as I rub her nipples, the firm hard points prominent against the surrounding cushioning give of her breasts.
I want to suck them. Badly. To taste her tits.
Mistress does nothing to stop me. I check her face for permission, finding wet eyes, deeply reddened cheeks. Moving a hand aside I bring my lips in close, kissing the nipple of her left breast, cupping the heavy thing with my palm. Freya begins stroking my head, gently pulling me into her body.
'Go on,' she says, low and breathy. 'Suckle on Mistress.'
As if I wasn't already aching. As if it wasn't already sublime. I should thank her, should plead, should know my place, but I'm too eager and her guidance is too demanding. Mistress releases a cool moan as the smooth halo meets my lips, shuddering as I flick out my tongue to taste her nipple.
The skin is firm yet supple, hotter than the surrounding breast. A vague saltiness of sweat, of flesh, graces my tongue. Freya sucks in a harsh breath as I begin to nurse in earnest, getting a seal around her teat, making sloppy, stupid, slippery sounds with my hungry mouth.
'Mhm. Slurp'
To do this to her body, to suck on her breast, is a feast for the senses. My nose is enveloped in boob, my lips in constant contact with the smooth light brown of her areola. All that I can smell is her skin, her feminine musk, the pleasant sweat of the day. The weather is awful for this kind of contact, too sunny, too summery, but neither of us care.
I ply the other tit with my hand, try to glance up at my Mistress, but the angle is too awkward. Not that there's anything wrong about shutting my eyes and nuzzling, releasing her left boob to tend to it entirely with my lips, and slide that arm around her back to stroke her hip and fondle more of her perfect body.
'This is starting to annoy me,' Freya says, giving my cock a squeeze. 'I'm going to deal with it.'
God, I love the way her beautiful breast wobbles when I release it, the whole area around the nipple glistening with my spit. The mismatch, it sagging a little lower than its sister on account of my hand placement, does something for me.
I meet Freya's gaze. 'Can you get me out to do it? I don't want to walk around with cum in my boxers again. Pretty please, Mistress.'
Something about her stare makes me shiver. 'I'd need to get it out anyway, if I'm going to put it between my tits.'
Oh. Oh my. Okay.
'Huh?'
Brain, keep up. Come on. Process! Titwank. Tit-wank. Do you comprehend? No. Stupid lusty idiot engine, slow when I need you quick. Great, and now she's smirking. Now I might lose the chance! Earth to brain! Brain, give words. Give my tongue orders!
But Mistress is in charge. She pushes me, with playful firmness, back against the brickwork. 'Just shut your mouth and be happy that I'm so good to you, Tom. Hand me your blazer.'
This can't be real. Can't be happening. I frantically pull off my school jacket and pass it to my Mistress. Freya adjusts herself, pushes my legs apart, and lays down the blazer upon the smooth concrete between my knees, then rests herself down on her front. Her boobs, at this angle, push together in the most uncomfortably divine fashion. Two weapons of mass distraction, plump and round and God they make such a ridiculous show of themselves when the ground and her arms sandwich them together like this.
All I can do is stare as Freya unbuckles my belt. She rips down my zipper with flair, retrieving my needily throbbing cock from inside my boxer shorts. Soft skin, gentle grip. I shiver, smile like an idiot. Like I must always do in her presence. How can I not? This is amazing.
'Don't get the wrong idea,' Mistress says, flicking the tip of my dick. I wince, pleasure and pain dancing together as they so often do. 'I do want to make you cum, Tom. But I want to watch you squirm, as well.'
There's that devilish side to her again, front and centre. I love it. Sweet and sour affection. Her eyes don't bother to hide her love of me, much as her mouth so readily produces petty remarks and eagerly teases, pokes, prods.
'Watch away,' I say, momentarily emboldened. Freya gives me another, softer flick. 'Okay, sorry. Damn.'
'You better be.'
But the way she says it, and the fact she initiates the process of hefting up her big boobs to engulf my dick, makes clear the truth behind the remark. All I can do is stare, eyes glued to the wobbling wiggle of those immense titties. Freya holds them -- barely, given that her hands are no larger than mine -- at their sides, bringing them apart to make my cock the meaty filling of the world's most wonderful sandwich.
'Oh. Woah. Wow.'
God, they're even better around my member. Freya sniggers, a little meanly, as my dick disappears inside the divine deliciousness of her immense breasts. All of it vanishes into the sea of bountiful boob-flesh, but for the heroic efforts of my throbbing helmet, which pokes out as a little reddish glistening protrusion between them.
'I think we're pretty well-matched,' Mistress says, smiling at me. 'If you were any smaller, this would be pretty awkward. But if you were any bigger, I wouldn't find the little tip so cute.'
She amazes me, pushing her fat tits downwards and in the process increasing the tight warm vaguely damp pressure around my cock to the point that I shiver and tremble, all for the purpose of...tilting her head downwards and...and...
'Mlup.'
Her tongue, perfect pinkness, slips out through those full lips and laps at my bell-end. Just for a moment, just a single lick, but holy fucking shit, Freya Venyabildt just put her tongue against my cock.
'Freya...'
'That's Mistress, to you,' she says, licking her lips. 'You've got a nice cock, Tom. Shame I'm going to crush it with my big bad boobies.'
I can only stare, transfixed, as she chuckles to herself. Stare, transfixed, as she pushes her boobs together so forcibly that the squeeze is like a vice, the most wonderful way to kill a cock. Don't cum. Don't cum. Don't cum!
It's incredible, that a pair of the softest things I've ever felt can produce such a comforting crush around my shaft. The way Freya presses them together makes them seem all the bulkier, bulging as they do out of gaps between her fingers and straining against the shape of my dick.
She lifts them a little and lowers them, lifts and lowers, lifts and lowers. Slow and rhythmic, predictable, and yet something I can't begin to prepare for. How could I? That handjob she gave me the other day was great, but this is something else. This is like my dick has died and gone to heaven. This is cock-pleasing paradise.
'Ugh. Mistress...'
'Good, are they?' I nod, and she giggles. 'They run in the family. Just like my fat dick.'
A passing, fleeting image, of a household of women as attractive and well-endowed -- in all senses -- as Freya is the last thing I need if I'm not going to just blow my load. But my head torments me. Are they all bronze-skinned Amazonian goddesses?
'Good--ughn--genes.'
She cocks her head, merciless in her mammary movements. 'You would know, cumslut.'
I smirk, submissive pride welling up. 'You--ugh--treat me so well, Mistress.'
Up-down. Up-down. Up-down. No variation, because it's not needed. Just the crush, the squish, the vice-like pressure of her pair of heavy G-cups. And her mischievous brilliant blue gaze, perfect face smirking up at me. Freya takes such pleasure in tormenting me at times, teasing me at others, but...taking care of me, as well.
'It's one of my duties, isn't it? Making sure my subby little slut knows I can be kind as well as cruel,' Mistress Freya says, angelic sultriness a dreamy warmth in my ears. 'Have I proven my point, slut?'
I nod, with such enthusiasm that I manage to bash the back of my head against the wall. Freya immediately ceases, face losing its glee, replacing it instantly with concern. She doesn't overreact, but the change of expression is obvious.
'Are you okay?' Mistress says. 'Did that hurt?'
I smile at her, heart fluttering, mind fuzzy. Her worried look softens, and a deep blush creeps onto her bronze cheeks. Not a response to lust or carnal heat, but something far cuter.
'I'll be fine,' I say. Courage seizing me, pulse racing with joy, I reach for Freya's face. 'I love you, Mistress.'
She glances to the side and away but then, for just a moment, leans into my touch. Freya rubs her cheek against my fingers, then smiles viciously, blush gone in an instant. 'I am going to fucking drain those balls, even if it hurts.'
And my laughter quickly crumples into a grunting groan as she milks my cock with her mammaries, reckless and bordering on unkind in how Mistress so forcefully squishes my dick between her big breasts. I almost bash my head against the brickwork again, subject as I am to the warmth and heft of her perfect tits.
The pressure of her boobs provokes a sudden volcanic upsurge in my crotch, and my penis throbs almost uncomfortably within its cushioning pleasure prison. And unlike every past orgasm, this one feels somewhat special. I don't think I've ever been so intensely thrown to the edge of ejaculation before in my life.
'Ughn, M-istress...'
'Serves you right for getting all--'
But her eyes go wide as saucers when, inevitably, the tip of my dick swells and spits.
Now, I'm not one for those porn-star level cumshots. Mine mostly always comes out as a dribble or a spit, a few spurts at most. But if anyone is to somehow extract the sperm from my balls so forcibly that it comes out as a C4 explosion instead of a black powder cap, it'll be Freya Venyabildt.
Freya Venyabildt, who can only stare up at me in raw shock as a sticky white rope of my cum launches up from between her impressive breasts and arcs in such a way as to momentarily pass her staring-and-following blue eyes until the stuff splatters down across her face. And as she processes it, slow for the first time in what, I imagine, must be her entire life, my eager loins do a fine job of messing up her beauty.
I somehow manage to splatter her forehead and cheeks, layer her mouth in a thick helping of spooge and then, as my orgasm steadies itself and softens, I cover the tops of her breasts in plenty of gooey white muck.
'You,' is all she manages to say. 'You.'
Freya pushes away from me, rising onto her knees, taller and vastly stronger than I am. She wipes her mouth on the back of a hand, caught between despairing and desiring -- a frown on her lips, a lusty twinkle to her eyes -- the fresh coat of semen upon her immaculate bronze skin.
Her perfect body, stained as it is with my dick-milk, provokes intense pride and concern. But, blessedly, thankfully, she gives me bedroom eyes when she affixes me with a sapphire stare. 'I am going to fuck the shit out of you, you realise that, right?'
'Y-es, Mistress.'
And when she throws herself upon me, kissing me with ferocious feistiness, the stink of my own familiar jizz upon her skin is a curious thing.
I'm struck by a vulgar, foreign, curious daydream.
What if...what if we switched roles, once in a while?
What if...Freya played the slut, for a change?