I wake up naked next to my beautiful wife. She's the little spoon this morning, as she usually is. Her large breasts are contained by a padded support bra. I stop myself from molesting them, even though it's sorely tempting. Instead, I kiss and caress her nearly-naked body, and send my fingers downwards to subtly suggest that her panties come off.
Okay; my fingers are gentle, but they're not that subtle.
I can feel her smiling. She shifts her hips enough for me to do what I want. That's my signal. My dreamy haze dissipates immediately, because, even though it's a work day, the panties are down. Sex is on the menu.
I quickly retrieve the lubricant and the manual pumping devices from the nightstand. I make sure an empty container is attached to each one. I lube up the devices and my swollen cock.
"Cuddle fuck?" I ask Laura.
"Mmmm, cuddle fuck," she agrees happily.
I unhook her bra. She helps get it off in a hurry. We both know it's going to be a quick lovemaking session, but we also know we're going to enjoy it.
We've been futa farmers for almost three years now. Our bodies are permanently primed for sex. People from all across history and the globe would scoff at us for being just shy of living cartoon characters -- if not in our bodily proportions, necessarily, then certainly in what we're able to do and to enjoy.
Then they'd die from envy. If we gave them the merest taste of our sex life, they'd die again, of a thirst they never even knew they had.
I carefully attach the pumping devices to my wife's udders, and begin my happy work. She groans in satisfaction. She needs the relief, yes, but her milkers are also supremely sexually sensitive. Milking makes her cum, period; it's just a question of how much extra pleasure she gets from simultaneous stimulation elsewhere.
My large cock slides into her sopping pussy. Once it's inside, her muscles massage it expertly. I flex my ass around my large anal plug. Laura does the same around hers. It's only been a minute or two, but we're both almost there. I'm urgently kissing her neck, pushing my lips hard against her soft, delicate flesh. She's moaning and squirming nonstop.
"Pump or diddle?" I pant.
"Milk my udders, Matt," she pants back, "and give me a baby."
We'll have children someday. We're still young at twenty-nine -- still one year away from second-phase anti-aging treatments. This is just a kink. It's one we discovered here on the futa farm. Our futa cow is obsessed with breeding her female farmers, and it's no coincidence that Laura gets so turned on now by the thought of getting impregnated. Laura and I never used to call her breasts 'udders' either. We've changed a lot in our time here. Both of us agree it's been for the better.
My cock nudges her cervix. She groans with even more pleasure. I can feel the tight ring begin to expand. It doesn't just want my cum shooting through it. It wants my cock. I told you those old-world humans would scoff.
Thanks to nearly three years of ingesting futa-cum, there's really no such thing as sexual discomfort or pain for either of us anymore. It's all pleasure -- or, at the very least, tension building up to a glorious release.
Laura reaches down to play with her clit. She doesn't need it to cum, but it's just one more sensitive instrument to add to our sexual symphony. When she reaches climax, she'll be getting delightful reinforcement from her udders, vagina, clitoris, cervix, anus, and even the skin that I'm kissing and licking like a man possessed.
I'll be cumming my brains out through my thick twenty-centimeter cock. I'll also be squeezing my sexually-sensitized ass around my plug, putting a delightful bit of pressure onto my prostate. Everywhere I touch my naked wife, my skin will be sighing in contentment.
"Breed me, Matthew!" Laura moans.
When I cum, I squeeze the two pumps as hard as I can. I get as much out of Laura as I put in.
We climax together. It's too intense and pleasurable to describe as body parts moving and fluids shooting. We don't lose consciousness per se, but we lose ourselves. It's the biggest of the little deaths. When we make love, the Grim Reaper gets a pair of false alarms. He is so, so sick of our shit.
We get cleaned up in a happy, post-orgasmic daze. Laura produced two half-jars; I combine them into one and register it. The light turns green, which means we can take it directly to Vandy's fridge. We feed each other our pills. Vandy's living area is permanently flooded with high-intensity futa-pheromones. For a few hours, we'll be immune. We're futa farmers. We love our work, but it's work. We have to be clear-headed until our shift is officially over.
We get into our 'work clothes.' That means we strip down completely, except for Laura's bra. We take out our anal plugs. We don't even wear work collars or bracelets. Part of being a futa farmer is giving your futa cow maximum visual stimulation. The other part is maintaining control; that's why the collars and plugs have to go. They communicate submission.
On our way to Vandy's quarters, we pass Sonja and Darryl. They're enjoying some outdoor sex on one of their three weekly days off. We wave hello. Sonja notices us; Darryl doesn't. He's too busy getting pegged by Sonja's massive, red strap-on cock. Sonja gives us a big smile and a friendly nod, but she's in a haze of her own. She's using Darryl's strong, brown hips for support as much as for leverage. Her large breasts are expertly bound up in a combination bra and auto-milker. The contents of the connected, partially-filled jars slosh in time to the fucking. It's all she can do to top her husband while the auto-milker pushes her towards another climax. I've no doubt her strap-on harness is giving her all manner of stimulation down below.
They're a lovely couple. We all fuck together sometimes, when our off days overlap. Laura can't believe Sonja can fuck Darryl so well, even with all that extra support for her udders. Sonja's teaching her to do it to me. I'm loving the results so far.
Vandy's quarters are as normal as they can be at a glance. Two glances, and the illusion shatters. Vandy needs to be restrained everywhere she goes, and milked wherever she settles. There's equipment in her bedroom and bathroom to allow her to aggressively fuck into a sheath, rather than be more passively milked. The bedroom even contains breeding furniture for her farmers. When Vandy's a good futa cow, she gets to fuck one of us at the end of our shift.
It's still early in the report, but we can dispense with all the noble lies: it's a reward for us, too.
Vandy's still asleep, but we work quickly. We make sure her dildo-feeders contain one of two liquids: either Laura's milk, or an electrolyte solution mixed together with a synthetic version of my cum. We ensure the large nozzles in the bathroom are programmed to deliver the latter as well.
It's vitally important that we do everything possible to reinforce our authority over Vandy during our shift. You can never really dominate a futa unless you're another futa, or unless you've been bioengineered so heavily that you deserve your own unique label. Even then, it's a temporary achievement. Futa farmers use every trick in the book to keep the playing field tilted towards them.
Futanari are hypersexual by nature, and futa farms are where the horniest -- and therefore the most sexually dominant -- are cared for. They're the ones who cannot or will not tolerate living most of their lives with a NeuTrex on their cocks and balls. They're wild stallions more than they are cows, and they simply cannot function in normal society -- no, not even in the Coastal Alliance's.
Laura gets the ingredients for our shared breakfast ready in the kitchen. I head into Vandy's room with a large dildo-feeder. It's time to start my shift in earnest. I retrieve a NeuTrex from the bio-locked wall safe. Mornings are hard.
I attach Vandy's restraints to the bed's rig while she's still asleep. They're very comfortable, even though she'll swear they're killing her. They only tighten significantly if -- when - she gets rowdy. I key in my code to a holoscreen and restore flexibility to the various stimulators and extractors she wears at night. The auto-milkers for her large, impossibly-buoyant udders come off first. I swap out four full jars, register them, and then deposit them in bedroom's chute. The mask comes off next. It helps her sleep, and gathers her futa-saliva. The rectal massager and cock milker stay on for now. I lower their intensity.
I begin caressing her smooth, chocolate-brown skin all over. I pet her short, jet-black hair. I know I'm immune to her pheromones, but few people are immune to a futanari's beauty. At sixty years old, Vadanshi Khatri-Hall looks twenty-five, if a day. Even without anti-aging treatments, she'd probably only look thirty. She's not nearly as muscular as many futanari who've successfully integrated, but her soft, feminine curves still hide plenty of strength. She's well over one hundred and eighty centimeters tall, and she carries her ninety-five kilograms like a former-athlete-turned-model.
"Hey there, Vandy," I say calmly. "It's Farmer Matt. Laura and I are going to be with you for this morning into this afternoon. It's time to wake up."
Vadanshi awakens, and, for a few moments, she's clear. Her eyes and her smile radiate love and warmth -- and, most importantly, intelligence. She's chosen the life of a futa cow, but she's a real person. She deserves as much dignity as we can manage to grant her, even though most of the time that isn't very much at all.
Case in point: after just a few moments of wakefulness, Vandy's brain and sex drive resync. I have to wait for it to happen; I can't attach the NeuTrex while she's still asleep. Now that I know that no disasters or miracles have occurred overnight -- that it's going to be just another day with our futa cow - I become Farmer Matt in earnest, because that's what Vandy needs. The push and pull between futa and farmers begins.
"Where's Laura?" she asks. Her voice is aggressive and needy. "She's in heat. I need to breed her."
She devours me with her eyes. My cock swells and my empty hole twitches.
"You need my cock, too, Mattie," she says. "I wanna breed her first. Then I'll butt-breed you. Then I'll butt-breed her. Then you can-"
I push the dildo-feeder at her mouth. She shuts up out of sheer surprise and offense. I shush her gently. "You need your strength to do all that, Vandy," I say. "You know you get dehydrated when you sleep. Have some of my cum. You'll feel better."
She tries to knock the dildo away, but her restraints tighten. Her deep brown eyes are somehow ablaze. "
You
have some cum, Mattie," she says. "
You'll
feel better. I can feed you. I can wait to eat."
She tries to thrust her hips at me. The sheath makes it awkward, and the restraints tighten in response. Vandy grunts a little. It's not from the restraints, necessarily; it's because I'm right, and she doesn't want to admit it.
She's not wrong that she can wait. She's not wrong that she could feed me an awful lot of cum. She's thirsty, though, and hungry. She knows it.
"I just want to take good care of you, Vandy," I say. "Do you want to fuck Farmer Laura at the end of our shift? Is she the one that's really getting you hot today?"
