Futacat

Dala dropped three storeys, a perfect landing, the gentle thud of impact lost amidst the distant rumble of traffic on the highway. There were no streetlights in the alley, and the windows were dark. Even the stars were concealed as ever by cloud and city pollution.

But Dala saw well enough. Her mutation gave her night-sight, as well as her feline reflexes and agility. That it had enhanced her sense of smell was less welcome, given the miasma of rotting garbage and stale urine that permeated the alleyways she so often frequented.

Her prey was near, his scent distinct amidst the filth. His fear unmistakable. He knew she was hunting him, but not that she was now right behind him. He was waiting at the end of the alley, in the shadows, knife in hand. A wicked blade that had killed before.

Her claws were at his neck before he even knew she was there. "Drop the knife," she hissed, and it clattered to the ground.

She ignored his pathetic struggles as she tied his wrists to a drainpipe. "Please don't hurt me," he begged, as if he hadn't intended to slice her open.

Dala chuckled. "Since this is your first time, I'll be nice. If I catch you again, I'll make you my little bitch. Do you understand?" She lifted her skirt briefly to show how serious she was.

He nodded anxiously. "I'm sorry. You'll never see me again."

"Good." She patted him down, and relieved him of his wallet and the bag containing the jewellery. "I'll keep these, thank you."

Laughing gently, she retreated into the shadows, wishing this hadn't been the first time she'd caught him. For a burglar he had a very cute ass indeed.

*

That was her rule. She gave them fair warning. If they invaded her territory, they knew the risks. It wasn't rape when they were complicit.

Hunting them always got her worked up. Another unwelcome aspect of her mutation. A cock. A huge, fucking, porn-star-sized cock. And once it was erect, it would refuse to go away again until it had been used. "Fuck," she muttered.

The central train station wasn't far away. She ran easily through the shadows, slipping between buildings, and jumping walls, aware always of her cock, like a weight on a spring.

Most nights she would just do it herself. Usually more than once. She liked to think of it as marking her territory. How many rooftops and walls had she decorated with her cum? (How many cars? It was fun to stand on the bridge over the highway, her cum jetting out over the unsuspecting drivers.)

But why do it herself when what she really ached to do was fuck?

The area around the station was brightly lit, but the side streets were the domain of strip clubs and sex workers. Perched high above, Dala searched for familiar faces.

A short, sharp scream echoed nearby, and Dala hunted for its source.

A pimp, Johnny V., was harassing a young prostitute. "Bitch, you owe me!" he shouted, and slapped her face hard.

Dala dropped down onto him, throwing him to the ground. With her sharp claws she tore his jeans and boxers, exposing his ass to the night. "Fuck, bitch!" he whined. "Not again!"

"You're the bitch, Johnny," Dala said, pressing her cock against the tight entrance. "I know you want this." She thrust in with merciless determination - and with surprising ease. "Damn, Johnny. Have you started lubricating yourself for me?" She laughed loud at the thought.

She pounded him hard and long, enjoying his ass too much to hurry to the end. "What's your name, honey?" she asked the woman who stood watching.

"Tiffany."

Dala opened the wallet she had stolen from the burglar. There was nearly a grand's worth of twenties. "Here," she said, offering the cash to Tiffany. "I'm nearly done with this fucker. How about you and me go somewhere after?"

Tiffany hesitated only a moment. "Sure," she said, snatching it away and tucking it into a pocket.

Throughout the exchange, Dala maintained her rhythm, driving her cock hard into Johnny's ass. An ass that was thrusting back to meet her. "You little slut," she said. "Beg me for my cum."

"Give it to me," he cried. "Fill my ass with your cum!"

This was something Dala had noticed with other men. The more she fucked them, the more they seemed to want it.

She could hold it no longer. She slammed in hard and held his hips tightly as she crested at last, her cock stiffening as it erupted, filling Johnny's ass with the pulsing flow of her hot, thick cum, a blissful relief from the need that had almost consumed her.

Cum spurted from his ass as she withdrew, her cock drooping now. It would wilt away entirely now if she let it, but she had paid for Tiffany and planned to get her money's worth. "Let's go, honey," she said.

They left Johnny kneeling there in his ripped trousers, his exposed ass dripping cum.

*

"What do you look like under that mask?" Tiffany asked.

They were on a bench in the park. Dala was cleaning her cock with wet wipes, and it was getting hard again. She shrugged, "Like a woman."

"A woman with claws and a huge cock."

"Stop asking difficult questions and wrap your lips about my huge cock."

"As you wish," Tiffany said, smiling. She bent down and swallowed the head, one hand working the shaft with a steady motion.

Dala relaxed, enjoying the attention. Much as she delighted in taking a man by force, she found it strangely satisfying to pay women to service her sexually. "Get down on your knees," she instructed. "Suck my clit."

Her armoured leather corset made access to her breasts difficult, but her cock, pussy and ass were all unguarded. She moaned as Tiffany's lips fastened about her clit. "Stick your finger in my ass."

Tiffany wasn't shy at all. She worked Dala's cock with one hand while spearing her ass with the other, first one finger, then two, all the while her mouth and tongue made love to Dala's pussy.

Dala writhed under her attention, loving every moment of it. "I'm close," she said. "Suck my cock. I want to come in your mouth."

Tiffany continued fingering Dala's ass as she wrapped her lips once more about the head of Dala's cock. She sucked on it hard as her hand stroked the shaft.

Dala cried out as she climaxed, her ass clenching about Tiffany's fingers as her cock stiffened. Although she had come already, just an hour earlier, she knew there would be plenty more cum this time. She felt it fill the mouth that sought to contain it.

Tiffany recoiled, choking, cum dripping from her mouth as more shot out from Dala's powerfully jerking cock. Each contraction of the cock was a moment's ecstasy for Dala, but the absence of Tiffany's lips was frustrating.

Cum splashed against Tiffany's cheek, and she made the quick decision to capture the head again with her mouth. She tried hard to swallow the outpouring, but some inevitably escaped at the corners of her mouth.

"Wow, that was a lot of cum," she said, once the pulsing stream had ended. "And really nice too! I'm not usually a fan of swallowing, but I guess girls taste better."

"I'm not finished yet," Dala said. "Come up here and sit on me."

Tiffany jumped up and straddled Dala on the bench, lowering herself gradually onto Dala's cock. "Fuck, you're big," she hissed.

"Good thing you're so wet," Dala said. "Do all your clients excite you like this?"

"Just you, my masked lover."

She bounced up and down, working the cock deeper and deeper. "I've had a lot of cocks in me over the past year," she said, "but never one so big, or so fucking awesome."

Once she had succeeded in taking all of it, she leaned forward and kissed Dala. "You can fuck me for free any time you like," she said.

Dala eased Tiffany's breasts out and brushed the nipples gently. "I prefer to pay you."

"That works too." She lifted up slowly, and thrust down. "Mmm."

Dala sucked fiercely on Tiffany's breasts as the latter built up speed, bouncing up and down merrily. But it was hard work, and she halted suddenly, gasping for breath. "Sorry," she said.

Without disengaging, Dala lowered her onto her back on the grass by the bench. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Dala pulled out, and thrust in again, long and deep and hard, forcing a cry from Tiffany. She quickly established a rhythm, enjoying the expression of wonder on Tiffany's face. She loved that Tiffany's face was still wet with her cum. "Don't your clients use condoms?" she asked.

"Always," Tiffany said. "But I want your cum in me."

"What if you get pregnant?"

Tiffany moaned with lust. "Fuck me, my masked lover! Fill me with your cum!"

Dala wondered, briefly distracted, how many women she had in fact impregnated. She never used condoms. Was it possible there were lots of baby Dalas running around?

She raised Tiffany's ankles to her shoulders and increased the strength and pace of her thrusts. "Yes! Fuck, yes!" Tiffany screamed, and moments later she surrendered to orgasm, convulsing in pleasure while Dala continued her steady fucking.

Dala was close too, her movements increasingly erratic. After one last thrust, she collapsed onto her hands with a cry of extreme effort. "I'm coming," she hissed, not that there was any denying it.

A wave of ecstasy washed through her with each furious contraction of her cock. Tiffany cried out too as cum streamed out into the depths of her vagina. They held on to each other as their bodies convulsed together in bliss.

They eased apart at last, Dala's limp cock slipping from a pussy soaked with cum, and Tiffany's fingers delved down to feel the evidence. "I should be paying you for this," she said, laughing. "Have you got any more?"

Dala laughed. "The night's still young, honey. I've only just started..."

*

Back in the safety of her apartment, Dala stripped and slipped into bed, falling asleep instantly. When she awoke, the sun was on the horizon, its cold rays filtering horizontally through the blinds.

After a breakfast of leftover steak and chips, and a long, soothing shower, she stood in front of the tall mirror. She focussed on suppressing the mutation, on making herself appear human. The short black fur that made her true self look dark-skinned receded. Her claws retracted and smoothed out into mere fingers. Her eyes changed, the slitted pupils rounding into circles. Of her cock, which had been most enjoyably used during the night before, there was no sign at all.

She looked like a perfectly ordinary woman, attractively but not excessively curvy, neither too tall nor too short, white-skinned with long black hair and honey eyes. "Fuckable," her predator self decided, as if the woman in the mirror were prey.

It wasn't real, of course. It took effort to maintain her human guise, and she had to take great care not to awake the unseen monster. A woman sporting a huge erection in daylight does not go unnoticed. Worse, once that happened, the rest of her human disguise tended to slip as well.

Usually she made it through the day without incident, but there certainly were days when she had had to rush to the bathroom to take care of herself, a pitiful waste of her cum into a toilet, so that she could regain control of her body.

And then there were days like this, her body at the peak of fertility in its monthly cycle, when she woke with an intolerable itch, her pussy wet, her clit throbbing gently, insistently. The hunger for a thick cock to do to her what she had done all night to Tiffany.

She had no intention of letting anyone try to impregnate her, but that itch... With a sigh, Dala retrieved her latex pants from the drawer and eased into them, the dildo attached within penetrating her, giving her a very satisfying sense of fullness. Enough to ease the itch, not enough to stir the other.

Five minutes later she was dressed in heels, skirt and jacket, make-up applied, a professional woman. Not even a hint showed of what was buried in her, shifting against the walls of her vagina with each step she took.

*

Anthony, ostensibly a pawn shop manager, made his real money fencing goods. Dala locked the door behind her and handed him the bag of jewellery. "How much?"

He emptied the bag out onto the counter. The burglar had amounted a sizeable haul of gold rings and necklaces, glittering with diamonds and other gemstones, and one long beautiful pearl necklace. Anthony studied each item carefully, tallying it up in his head. "Four," he said.

"Oh, come on," Dala snarled. "Don't insult me. Ten easily."

He scowled at her. "Five, may six. Six because I like you."

Nothing in his eyes suggested that he liked her at all, but she was a regular. He'd still likely make a couple of grand for himself. Dala shrugged. "I can live with six. Half up front."

He snorted. "Here's two." He pulled a wad of notes from his pocket and passed them over without counting. "The rest next week."

"I'll see you then..."

It was a relief to be outside again. On her fertile days, Dala's sense of who was worth her attention failed her completely. On any normal day, she would have dismissed Anthony as human garbage. He stank of stale sweat and sex, like someone who never bathed. She couldn't imagine who would fuck him willingly.

And yet she had found herself hoping he would take advantage of her, and hoping that his cock was long and his cum thick and copious. It had taken all her self-control to fight back that instinct. As she strode away down the street, the motion of the dildo, the sensation of being gently fucked, soothed her nerves.

When she was younger, before she had discovered this solution, she never dared to go outside on her fertile days. Instead she barricaded herself in her room, not even admitting her parents, and drained the batteries in her assortment of vibrators as she fucked herself throughout the day.

But the dildo pants were effective. They excited her in just the right way. She could survive the day so long as she kept on walking, walking, walking,...

*

The Professor peered at her warily over the thick rims of his reading glasses. "Dala. How are you?"

"Right now? You really don't want to know. Fucking desperate. Desperate for a fuck."

"Ah. One of those days."

"Yes, one of

those

days. I'm sick of

those

days. I'm sick of days in general. I hate having to pretend to be human. I hate that I'm the only one of my kind. I hate worrying that I'll slip up one of

those

days and get pregnant by some random stranger that I wouldn't normally look twice at."

The Professor held up his hands in an effort to calm her down. "Actually, you don't have to worry about that. That's why I asked you to come and see me. I've tested your eggs and sperm."

Dala forced herself to be calm, and sat in the chair to listen like a good student. "And?"

"The sperm you produce is entirely sterile. You don't have to worry about getting any women pregnant."

"Oh." Dala didn't know how she felt about that. In a way, perhaps, it was a relief. "And my eggs?"

"They're fine, as far as I can tell. They're just not compatible with human sperm."

"Huh." Again her relief was mixed with a sense of disappointment. Of profound loneliness. "So there will never be another like me?"

The Professor sat back, and she sensed conflict in him. "What is it?" she demanded.

With a sigh of surrender, he took from the fridge a vial with dark green liquid. "I filtered this from the blood sample you gave last month. It's the retrovirus that caused your mutation. Now, I really can't guarantee anything. Indeed, the chances are it would kill anyone else, but..."

He shrugged. "I will give this to you on the understanding that this is the one and only time. And, should you choose to use it, you must be absolutely clear about the risks - both of failure, and success. Do you promise?"

The severity of his voice forced her to answer sincerely. "I promise."

The Professor passed over the vial in a little plastic container. "Keep it in the fridge, and use within three days - or not at all."

"Yes, Professor," Dala said.

*

Back safe in her apartment, Dala stripped out of her clothes, even the latex pants. She was so wet that any other material would have been soaked through. Her mutation reasserted itself swiftly, darkening her skin and sharpening her fingers into vicious feline claws. Not ideal for touching herself, but she had a machine to take care of that.

It was one of those fucking machines with a wheel attached to a long rod, a thick silicone dildo at the end. Kneeling by the bed, she shuffled back, allowing the dildo to penetrate her. This was a longer, thicker dildo than the one in the pants, and despite being as wet as she was, she had to work it in slowly.

Dala turned the dial and the machine surged to life, pushing even deeper into her, with mechanical determination. Then it withdrew, and she adjusted her hips to match its stroke better.

She turned the dial further, and the desperately slow tease accelerated to a deep, steady pounding. She rested her arms and head on the bed, enjoying the bounce of her breasts as the machine used her.

Soon it was not just her breasts bouncing. Her cock swelled in size gradually, growing heavier and heavier as it thickened and lengthened, but Dala chose to ignore its familiar demand.

She pondered the Professor's vial, the green liquid that might just make another mutant like her. How was she supposed to choose someone within three days, and convince them somehow to give up their humanity - or possibly their life - to be like her?

Was it selfish of her to wish this existence on another person? Dala, at least, had lived with it all her life. This was who she was, and who she was was entirely different from anyone else. Sure, there were other mutants, some was amazing abilities, but none like her, and few that were accepted in human society.

She turned the dial, increasing the pace and depth of penetration. How many such machines had she burned through over the years? Six? Seven?

Should she look for a man? Or a woman? The Professor hadn't wanted to say, but she'd caught his inference. If she wanted to get pregnant, she'd need a man with her mutation. Was that really what she wanted? Or did she want to be fucked and not have to worry about such things? According to the Professor, any human man could satisfy that need.

Dala dialled up to the maximum and the machine pounded into her with such ferocity that she gave up thinking about the vial. Only the dildo's relentless, merciless fucking mattered, pushing her steadily closer and closer to the climax that had been denied her for hours.

Surely no human male could sustain such vigor. She needed another like her. A woman like her. Someone with equal capacity to fuck, and be fucked.

Dala was getting close. Very close. She looked around, snatched up a clean jar from beside the bed, and held it in front of her cock. No point making a mess in her own bedroom.

The machine carried on, driving her closer and closer, her thoughts becoming increasingly incoherent as she drowned in pure sensation, until with a long, wailing cry she crashed through, her body convulsing under unchanging rhythm of the machine, the dildo forcing its way in and out of her contracting vagina. Beneath her, her cock stiffened and danced and pulsed, great spurts of cum filling the jar she held.

Dala had the best orgasms this way. She just wished it were a real cock fucking her, not a silicone one. She wanted to feel it coming inside her, filling her with seed, impregnating her... Or maybe not that last bit.

She endured it as long as she could, then turned the speed down to a gentle pace as she worked through the tail end of the long, deliciously intense orgasm.

And then off.

Dala sat with her back against the bed, jar in hand. It was half full of her fresh, warm, sterile girl cum. "Cheers," she said to the empty room, and drank it down.

*

As soon as night fell, Dala was out again, masked and armoured, jumping the rooftops and keeping an eye out for prey.