Giana

Sadly, our lifestyles didn't match. Fantastic though the sex proved to be, my focus was almost entirely on the write-up and defence of my thesis and the last thing I needed in my life was pressure from the country's media over my being Willow's latest girlfriend. Nor, truth be told, did I have any great enthusiasm for football, and I accompanied Willow to the matches for her sake rather than my own. Her passion for the game was remarkable, and translated to a flood of joyful kisses whenever her team scored a goal.

And although she revolutionised my wardrobe, I never felt at ease with her many friends who seemed to exude class and privilege. Not Willow herself, though. Despite her wealth and aristocratic background, I never felt anything but equal and loved. And we were in love. We just weren't what each other needed.

"This isn't working," I said one day. We were lying together in bed, rather messed up from a lengthy and intense workout between the sheets, our thoughts following different but convergent paths.

"No," she agreed.

"It's not that I don't love you."

"I know."

"It's -"

She rolled over and interrupted me with a kiss. "I understand. In lockdown we'd be perfect for each other. Just the two of us alone. All the time in the world..."

I smiled. "Yes. Exactly. We are two spheres -"

"- meeting at a point," she finished.

As so often with Willow, just kissing her was enough to awaken the serpent, no matter how deeply it slept, and I soon felt it stirring and stretching. It took no persuasion at all to part Willow's muscular thighs as I slid between them and eased into her willing pussy. She was wet. Of course she was wet. Scarcely half an hour had passed since I last finished within her, my girl-dick pumping her full of cum from my nonexistent balls.

"I can't believe I'm breaking up with England's hottest lesbian," I murmured, cupping a sweet, perfect breast with one hand and tracing a path about the succulent nipple with teasing fingertips.

"I can't believe I'm fucking England's biggest dick," she replied with a laugh. "Fuck me hard, you futa bitch."

Whether my cock was really England's biggest was a matter of speculation, though for sure it was an elite member, up there in the top one percent - both in terms of length and girth. Were I a man, I would probably take great pride in this potent symbol of masculinity. As a woman...

Well, as one of that growing subclass of women whose clits have mutated overnight into a functioning penis, I was altogether too self-conscious. Despite growing awareness of this new virus and its often humiliating symptom, too many men were intimidated by girl-dick, and too many women feared infection. Few of us futanari dared to be public about our transformation.

I preferred to tuck, to conceal the evidence, although walking around with your dick between your ass cheeks is never not weird, and occasional erections are both inevitable and painful.

Life with Willow had been bliss. I'd been so fortunate to find myself a gorgeous girlfriend who not only wasn't squeamish about girl-dick, but was also willing and able to accommodate one of such prodigious size.

I loved how tight she was...

Willow wrapped her legs about my back, using her powerful muscles to thrust up against me, deepening my savage penetration. "Don't come," she ordered. "Don't come," she repeated, even as she surrendered to her own climax. "Fuck! Yes! Don't stop! Don't come!"

I obeyed, maintaining the pounding rhythm while holding back on my own pleasure. Willow had taught me well with this familiar game.

Her legs released me, and we changed position, Willow rolling over onto hands and knees and presenting her firm cheeks to me. "Lick my ass," she instructed, breathing heavily in the aftermath of her orgasm. The little ring of muscle seemed almost alive, pulsing as orgasmic aftershocks rippled through her flesh.

I'd never fucked her ass, and didn't expect to now, but the crevice between her cheeks was slick with my cum that had leaked earlier from her pussy. I dived in eagerly, licking her slowly clean as I circled in towards the target. I pulled back and sighed with pleasure at the beautiful sight before me, before bending to kiss her, my tongue teasing that forbidden entry, tasting it, penetrating it...

Willow murmured happily. "I'm going to miss this..."

So was I, but right then I was as hard and horny as I'd ever been. Shuffling up behind her, I took her doggy style, driving in hard and deep and settling quickly into an urgent rhythm. "Don't come," she reminded me.

Coiling a fist through her long, dark, silky hair, I pulled on it like a rein, tugging her head up and back as I stretched her hot, tight pussy with my huge, needful cock. "Are you going to miss this?" I asked.

"God yes," she said, panting hard. "I fucking love fucking your fucking cock! Harder, you futa bitch! Just don't come!"

I whined with audible frustration. I was getting close and she knew it. Hearing her talk dirty with her posh accent was a huge turn-on for me. With a struggle, I managed to control myself, and slipped a finger, wet with saliva, into her virgin ass.

Willow gave a startled cry of pleasure, or pain, or both, and I delighted in the powerful contractions about my cock and my finger as she surrendered once again, convulsing blissfully while I held the rein tight and continued hammering my hard length into her from behind.

Amazingly, I still hadn't come. I crawled around my exhausted love and offered my aching, throbbing girl-dick to her mouth. "Don't come," she said, and wrapped her lips about the soft head, sucking enthusiastically as she worked the shaft with a hand.

I didn't last long. I didn't even try to hold back. I cried out in pleasure as the tension that had coiled so tightly within me found release, and I gazed adoringly at Willow as her throat worked, swallowing my cum as fast as I filled her mouth with it.

"Oh, you naughty girl," she breathed, pulling away at long last. "Go get my riding crop. I'll give you something to remember me by..."

*

While the bite of the crop was sharp, the memory of it faded too swiftly, unlike my heartache over the loss of Willow. It was for the best, I kept telling myself, constantly checking social media for some clue that Willow had moved on, finding herself a new girlfriend who would share her passions the way I did not.

It was for the best... I had work to do, and I threw myself into it, my focus one hundred percent on finishing my write-up. I had set myself a deadline of the end of June - not coincidentally the date my university accommodation lease expired - and not without reservations I submitted my thesis. Years of my life condensed into a book that few people would ever read.

Emotionally exhausted, I packed up all my stuff, and was grateful to be able to sleep during the long journey south, my father at the wheel. "It will be good to have you home again, Lizzie," he said with a contented smile.

I was not surprised this time that Jane was not home. She and Charlie were engaged, and spent every waking moment together that their careers would allow. His training and football matches kept him busy and fit, while Jane had tapped into the increasingly mainstream market for women with 'that something extra'. In her sexy lingerie shoots, she still had that quintessential air of a virgin maid, but the scarcely concealed addition was undeniably erotic.

Both Jane and our mother were featured in that Cosmo article ('Meet the REAL Chicks-With-Dicks'). Public awareness of the new virus and its futa transformation was growing, inevitably, but acceptance of this new and most unnatural sex was far off. The Cosmo article was revelatory. "There is nothing shameful about my body," Jane said. "This isn't some punishment from a capricious god. Perhaps, instead, this is God's way of showing us that men and women - and, indeed, people of all sexes and genders - are fundamentally equal."

Jane sounded quite pious in the interview, much to my amusement. I knew she was no believer in God, and could almost sense the humour bubbling beneath the surface of her seemingly devout words. Mum, her usual effervescent self, was quite the opposite. "I love the new me," she gushed. "My husband thinks I'm sexier than ever - he can't get enough of me! And, let me tell you, whether you're giving or taking, size does matter - and neither of us has any complaint in that department."

"Where is Mum?" I asked. The house was dark when we got home. It was midsummer and the night was cool but not cold. On such a night, half the windows would normally be open, and always if anyone was home the lights would be on in the kitchen at least.

Dad sighed, and despite the dark I could sense his discomfort. "Your mother's renewed youth has been wonderful to witness," he said carefully, "but sadly I'm not the man I once was. Her appetite so far exceeds mine..."

"How very Shakespearean," I murmured.

Dad laughed. "Yes." The lights came on and I could see him properly, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Avoiding my eyes, he continued, "Anyway, Willow gave her the number of some porn director -"

"Bloody hell! My Willow?" I mean, of course my Willow. Who else? "I'll fucking kill her!"

"No. It's fine. Really. Your mum's having a great time, and - honestly - it's a relief for me. Give me a good book and a single malt, and a solid night's rest..."

Certainly he seemed relaxed enough about it. I couldn't quite get my head around Mum being in a porn film - but when she returned home the following day, it was as if she were a glorious adventurer returned from some exotic travel. "Lizzie!" she cried, catching me in an embrace and air-kissing me like some Hollywood star. "You won't believe -"

She stepped back and looked at me like a tomb raider might regard an unopened casket. "Indeed, no, but you will see. Come. Get your father. I insist you both watch. I can't wait to see your expressions... But first, a quick shower, I think."

Mum swept away into my parents' ground-floor suite, singing snatches of merry song out of key, and soon I heard the muted rush of the shower.

Dad emerged from the study with a haunted expression. "No rest for the wicked," he sighed. "Put the kettle on, Lizzie. I fear my nerves will soon need soothing..."

There was no suggestion from either of us that Mum could be swayed from her course. We knew from long experience that once her mind was set, nothing short of an act of God could stop her.

And besides, I was curious. Curious to see the debauchery my mother had embraced. More than curious, I was aroused, my long neglected cock swelling between my legs, pressing uncomfortably against the tight-clothed cheeks of my ass. "I think," I said, putting the kettle on, "I'll go change into something a little less confining."

"Indeed," my father murmured. Blushing brightly, a noticeable bulge in the crotch of his dark, woollen trousers, he hastened away to his room.

What a picture we must have made, ten minutes later, the three of us on the leather sofa, our silk dressing gowns parted to reveal rampant, porn-worthy cocks. Even as the opening credits filled the large TV screen before us, Mum took my cock in her left hand and Dad's in her right, stroking gently. It quite took my breath away. It had been months since anyone else had touched my cock, and I had forgotten just how good it felt. I would have returned the favour, but Dad got there first, gripping Mum's hard shaft and squeezing.

Futa MILFs Go Wild

was the title, and Mum laughed. "I'm a MILF!"

"You certainly are," I agreed.

~~~~

Tom and Dick, two fit and arguably handsome young men in their early twenties, wearing red-and-blue football kit, grinned as the door opened to reveal a sexy, blonde housewife wearing an apron and improbably high heels. Her black, pleated skirt was so short you could see the tops of her white fishnet stockings, and the shapely legs they graced. "Hi, Mrs B.," they chorused.

"Hello, boys," Mrs B. said, licking her bright, glossy red lips. She looked old enough to be their mother, but clearly she worked hard to keep herself toned and svelte.

"Is Harry in?" Tom asked. "We thought we'd do some training."

"He's running some errands for me," she said, "but he'll be back soon. Would you like to come in and wait? I've made fresh lemonade..."

"Yes, please," the boys said, and followed her inside.

Tom and Dick sat together on the sofa in the living room. Some daytime soap was on the television. "It's so good to have company," Mrs B. said, handing each of them a tall glass of cloudy lemonade. "Harry's father is away on business and I've been so lonely."

"Why don't you join us?" Dick asked, shuffling to one side to open a space between the two men.

Tom quickly did likewise, saying, "A woman as beautiful as you should never be alone, Mrs B."

Mrs B. pretended to think about it for a moment, then took her apron off. "I guess I'm not doing anything too important. Okay then." Her tight white T-shirt showed off the curves of her breasts and the sharp points of her nipples. "Let me just get myself a drink."

Returning a few seconds later with a glass of water, she dropped into the space between the two young men, her arm accidentally bumping against Tom's shoulder. "Oh no!" she cried as she spilled her drink, the water soaking her T-shirt. "Look what I've done!" Sighing, she added, "Better take this off. Don't want to get a cold... You boys won't mind, will you?"

Not waiting for an answer, she tugged the soaked shirt off over her head. As she did so, Tom grabbed her bare right breast and Dick bent to suck on her exposed left nipple. "Oh you naughty boys," she said, making no effort to push them away. "I'm a married woman!" Her half-hearted protest gave way to an audible sigh of pleasure - and then a startled cry as Tom and Dick each grabbed a stockinged leg and lifted.

With her thighs spread wide and her skirt bunched up, there was no concealing the significant bulge in her white lace underwear. Dick wrested the material to one side, setting free a long, swollen cock and revealing the shaven pussy beneath. The cock hardened swiftly as Dick caressed it lovingly while continuing to suckle on her breasts.

Tom, meanwhile, stood and undressed swiftly, revealing a muscular frame and a huge, rigid cock. Stepping up onto the sofa, he presented his throbbing member to Mrs B.'s lipsticked mouth. She accepted it without question, sucking on it hungrily, her jaw open painfully wide and her red-painted lips stretched into a thin 'O'. She stared up adoringly into his eyes as he grabbed her by her blonde hair and fucked her mouth with short, sharp thrusts.

Dick undressed too, revealing an equally muscular body and another eager cock that was soon nudging for entry at Mrs B.'s wet pussy. She moaned with astonished delight as she was stuffed at both ends by virile cock, her half-dressed body stretched awkwardly across the sofa, her breasts jiggling wildly in time with the increasingly fierce pounding of her pussy, strands of saliva and precum dripping from her chin.

Their stamina was considerable, their fucking tireless. Mrs B. looked like a doll used for their pleasure, helpless and lost to her blissful fate. They positioned her on her back, head dangling over the arm of the sofa, swapped ends, and resumed their assault, spit-roasting her, smacking her tits playfully.

Pausing his hammering assault on her cunt, Dick grabbed hold of Mrs B.'s cock and stroked it firmly until she screamed in ecstasy about the thick cock stuffing her mouth and surrendered to convulsing orgasmic pleasure, the proof of it in the great arcs of creamy cum propelled by her proud futa cock, splashing messily across her breasts and belly.

As soon as she was done, flushed red from exertion and pleasure and gasping for breath, they pushed her onto her knees on the floor. With a cock in each hand, she stroked happily until first Tom finished, and then Dick, her mouth open wide to receive the gift of their cum, which she swallowed entirely. "Thanks, boys," she said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

~~~~

It was too much for me. "Shit," I whispered, looking round for the box of tissues - but it wasn't needed. Mum bent down and wrapped her lips about the head of my cock, and just in time. I whimpered as my body contracted in intense pleasure and gave way to a long and much needed series of blissful convulsions, my cum erupting powerfully into my mother's devouring mouth. Not a drop escaped her as she sucked and swallowed like a professional, which indeed she was now.

"Fuck, Mum," I whispered after. "You're amazing."

"Yes I am," she agreed, sitting up, her eyes full of mischief. She paused the DVD. "We can watch the rest later. Right now I need your father to fuck me." Turning to Dad, she said, "Come on, Mr B. I hope you've been saving it all for me..."

*

Mum was constantly horny. I could completely understand Dad's relief at her newfound occupation. Just listening to the two of them going at it like bunny rabbits was exhausting.

It was only seven months since the first cases of the futa virus and we were still learning about its effects. The transformation of the clitoris into a functioning penis was the obvious symptom, and there was a general suspicion of increased virility - but that was a controversial point. How, after all, do you measure a woman's virility and compare it to a futa's? Or a man's, for that matter. Women have significant capacity for pleasure, after all, something that men have feared for millennia.

But in a small percentage of cases, there was a marked increase in libido - and spectacularly so in my mother's case.

Thus it was that I leapt at the invitation from Aunty Meg to spend the summer with them at their holiday cottage in the Peak District. "It's opera season in Buxton," she continued as if I hadn't already agreed, "and also we have tickets to a charity concert in St John's - do you remember we took you there when you were a girl?"

"I remember," I said patiently. "When do we leave?"

"We thought we'd swing by in an hour. Your mother says she has a surprise for us."

I groaned. "She probably wants you to watch her porno."

"Oh! Well, I don't think we have time for that."

"No," I agreed. "I'll get a taxi round yours. See you in an hour..."

*

Derbyshire is the wild and beautiful heart of England, a landscape of hills and forests traversed by disused railway lines and criss-crossed by a thousand backpacked wanderers. At the height of summer, hot sunshine vies for supremacy with squalling downpours that ensure a vibrancy and colour unlike anywhere else in the world. Village tea shops and pubs are ubiquitous, the former refined and the latter riotous, and nestled here and there are grand and ancient houses famous now from endless period dramas.

For the first two weeks of our holiday, embracing the freedom of the outdoors and the luxury of nothing to do, we did all the touristy things. We ate Bakewell Tarts, took the cable car to the Heights of Abraham, stared into a Bottomless Pit and - of course - visited Haddon Hall and mighty Chatsworth.

Of all my extended family, Uncle Ed and Aunty Meg were my favourites. Uncle Ed was my mother's brother, and as calm and sensible as she was not. Aunty Meg likewise was as thoughtful and intelligent a person as anyone I knew, and their shared passion for history and culture was a constant delight for me.

And yet I began to sense there was something unspoken in the air between us all, something glimpsed in furtive expressions and hesitant words, and though at first I dismissed it as an overactive imagination, it persisted like a stone in a shoe that can be endured only so long.