Author's Note:
I tend to write a lot of 'engineered' futuristic scenarios. Hopefully, I'll get out of this phase soon. Not too soon, though. This story contains hermaphrodites (futanari, dickgirl, whatever definition works for you).
* * *
Everyone has an addiction, whether they like to admit it or not. For example, in 1937, the (so-called) Great Scientist Dr. H. Erôss was addicted to creating the perfect human. His sponsor Adolf Hitler wasn't quite aware of his real aims: Dr. Erôss believed that human evolution depended on the joining of the sexes. Not through fucking; he meant it literally.
It was his life's goal.
The Erôss Foundation took up this challenge after his death and expanded on it. Years and years of secret research into human genetic engineering; it was their hidden obsession until 1950, when the labs were opened and the experiments unleashed onto the earth. It changed the face of humanity for good (or for bad; no one can really decide).
But enhanced genetics or not, people are still people, and they have addictions.
I should know.
*
"Lucy. You need... to control... your pheromones," Dr. Julian grunts at me with every thrust of her hips. Her large cock is slamming up inside me, thick and hot and throbbing; she's a genuine Erôss creation, like me, except she has a sweetly solid dick between her legs. Dr. Erôss' wonderful contribution: fewer males, less females, more of the in-between. Most of them are female-oriented, with breasts and a penis; possibly a vaginal slit instead of balls. Some are male-oriented, and you can't tell until you remove their clothing that all you'll get is a pussy.
I don't care, though. My addiction mainly lies in getting fucked.
"Yes, Doctor. Oh,
yes
." I'm panting like a dog inside her office, on my hands and knees on the blue carpet as she plunders my pussy. My head is hanging, my hair is in long dark waves down the sides of my face; some strands are sticking to my sweaty cheek. I look down at my body, seeing her dark hands clutch desperately at my small breasts. Her manicured nails are scraping my skin, there'll be long marks later on, and I love it.
I go down a little further, folding my arms and resting my head on top of them. From here, I can barely make out the dark shaft of her dick slipping inside the pink folds of cunt. I moan softly; it feels so good, the heat and the sweatiness. It's my fault, really. However, I was genetically engineered to give pleasure, and my pheromones are a large part of my design. I have to concentrate very hard to control those natural chemicals, especially when I'm in crowds.
But when I want sex, I can't seem to rein them in at all.
Dr. Julian's teeth scrape at the back of my neck and I cry out, shaking under the assault. My nipples are painfully erect against the smooth palms of her hands and then I hear her groaning sharply behind me. She jerks up into me, three times hard, and on the third massive thrust, I feel warm come flood inside me.
So good
.
I lick my dry lips as she pulls out of me, her jizz dribbling down my thighs. She moves away, the sounds of her unsteady footsteps heading to her desk; I slowly turn over to sit on my behind, adjusting my sensible grey skirt so that it isn't pulled up my hips anymore. She comes towards me, not looking in my face as she hands me some soft facial tissues.
"Thanks, Doctor," I murmur as I dab at my pale thighs. Dr. Julian nods, patting absently at her short hair. She's a tall black woman with curls that have been dyed a deep golden shade. I had wanted her the first moment I had walked into her office.
"Lucy," she says sternly as I sit back in front of her desk. She finally looks me in my face and I try for an innocent expression. "Lucy, you really need to keep those pheromones in check."
"I'm really trying." I pout a little. "I can't help it, Dr. Julian. It's just the way I was made. You know that."
She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes dark and troubled; I wonder if I can get her to fuck me again. Her eyes widen, I can see the pupils actually dilate and then she pushes away from her desk, getting up to go to her little cabinet. She pulls out a key and unlocks a small door, pulling out a box of cigarettes.
I watch her as she lights one and inhales deeply.
"I'm not supposed to be smoking," she says in a very distant voice. There is a very long pause. "Our session is over, Ms. Diamond. I'll see you next week."
As I pull on my coat and leave her lighting another cigarette, I wonder if I've made her upset, or forced her to give up on me. I've been in therapy with her for two years and she can't seem to help me with my addiction.
I really want to be cured, though.
Well... sometimes.
The ride home is long and slightly cold, and the sun sets in a kind of lazy haze. I can almost still feel the sensation of Dr. Julian's cock burrowing inside my cunt and that's enough for awhile. When I arrive at my apartment building, I get out of the snapping cold that is hell on my lungs and pull open the front door, leaning on the wall inside.
"Lucy," I hear someone say in a rough, grating voice. I look up the stairs and see one of my neighbours sitting on the steps near the top, smiling down at me drunkenly. It's six in the evening, and Annette Delaney is already halfway through a large bottle of whiskey. Her blonde hair is frizzy and unkempt, but at least she has very nice legs, from what I can see from underneath her flowered house-dress.
"Hey, Mrs. Delaney," I greet her carefully; she watches me with big, watery blue eyes. "Need some help?"
