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The T-Girl in the Housing Projects

Here’s a sample from the beginning of The T-Girl in the Housing Projects, a new story by Calvin Freeman!

When Jimmy Red moved out, Tina suspected the boys would become more reckless. She was totally correct. Jimmy Red had two sons who had been out of school for years; all three of them sold various drugs, from weed to steroids and crack. They were among the least pleasant of the inhabitants of the Child Creek Housing Projects.

“Yo, bitch, don’t you even think ‘bout that!”

“Fuck this!”

Every few hours, Tina heard them shouting through the walls. Their father had been a calm and even-keeled kind of man, even if he was just as much of a thug and pimp as his sons. He often made his boys be quiet, even punching them or tying them up when necessary.

She didn’t want to get involved because they were mean and violent and possibly homophobic. Tina wasn’t gay as far as she was concerned — she was transgender, and she was a biological male, so Jimmy Red and his sons always treated her like a gay man. They had few redeeming features in Tina’s eyes: not only were they sexist and homophobic, they were racist (especially against Chinese food deliverypeople), they were fat and smelly, and they gangbanged the skankiest, nastiest girls Tina had ever seen.

She very strongly disliked them. When a letter showed up — an actual letter, in an envelope — with Jimmy Red’s name in the return address, she hoped it would be a notice that his sons were leaving. Jimmy Red had gone to take care of his father, who was ailing. The envelope was addressed to her but her last name was not given (Jimmy Red had never asked what it was).

I understand my boys aint been gud naybors. I done tolds them to quite down and not git in trubble. If they r bad call me 3405558992, dont call police.

Tina thought that was sweet. Jimmy Red was still a crack dealer and abusive pimp, plus seemingly almost illiterate, but he was nicer than his sons. They were actually quiet for a day or two. Jimmy Red must have told them on the phone to keep it down.

That didn’t last long though. On Friday, Tina came home to see a disgustingly fat woman scurrying into the building, makeup slathered on with a garden trowel; it was obvious she wasn’t wearing panties, and she didn’t even wear heels. Some people, Tina thought, didn’t deserve to be women.

She soon figured out who the ugly woman was here to see. She was followed by more, including some kind of cute girls, plus a bevy of guys, all presumably here for the rapidly growing party in Jimmy Red’s apartment. Tina loved hot straight men, especially thugs and machos — but somehow it seemed that Jimmy Red and his boys only knew fat nasty thugs: There was not a single sexy one who came in near enough to Tina’s window to see it. There weren’t even any kind of cute guys. The best she could say was that some weren’t that fat. These were not the good kind of drug dealer.

Tina had to think about when she would call Jimmy Red. It was pretty obvious they were setting up for a party next door. The music began, but it wasn’t really that loud yet, and it was still early. She’d come across like a total bitch if she complained right now. But there seemed to be little point in waiting, since it was obvious where this evening was heading.

“Where’s the bitches at?!”

“Watch me drink this!”

The sounds of the party filled the air, easily audible through the thin walls of the housing projects. As the evening drew to a close and night arose, Tina sighed. The party was just getting louder and louder. Finally it was ten o’clock, which seemed like the earliest she could reasonably tell them to quiet down.

Should she just complain to them? Should she call Jimmy Red first? Should she try to get Miss Green in Apartment 19 to call? Miss Green had gotten the same letter from Jimmy Red; she was an elderly woman who lived alone, so she was more sympathetic than Tina.

“Fuck you, faggot!”

The sound of glass breaking tinkled through the air. There was a series of grunts and a dull thud as something heavy landed on the floor. Then people laughed, and someone banged on the wall.

It was a fight. And somebody had shouted the word faggot. Tina thought that was sufficient excuse to get involved.

So she went over there and knocked on the door. She didn’t expect that talking to them would do much, but if she called Jimmy Red to explain that they were rude to her in person, he’d be angrier than if she simply warned him they were being loud. It took awhile for anyone to hear her knocking.

Then finally the youngest son, nineteen year old Raekwan, opened the door. He was already drunk, clouds of cognac vapor emanating from his mouth. He burped as he saw Tina.


“Hi, Raekwan, I was wondering if you boys could keep it down,” Tina said. “Especially the faggot stuff, I don’t need to hear that-“

“Then quit bein’ a faggot. Bitch.” He slammed the door shut.

Tina was angry enough that her first instinct was to simply call the police right now. She was sure they had drugs and probably guns in there. But she didn’t want to get a reputation as a snitch. She considered going to Miss Green and getting her to call the police, but she didn’t want to get a nice old lady involved with a bunch of steroid dealers and fat meth-whores.

Instead she called Jimmy Red. He answered on the third ring. She could hear a TV blaring in the background.

“Hi, Jimmy Red, so nice to hear from you. This is Tina, remember? Your neighbor-“

“What’re my boys doing?”

She explained. She said that Miss Green was scared and that Tina was trying to mollify her — that wasn’t entirely untrue, since Tina had heard Miss Green near her door, listening, no doubt frightened, and Tina did want to mollify her. She stated that his boys were yelling about faggots and making folks uncomfortable. She said the police weren’t called as far as she knew, but it was only a matter of time before Miss Green or someone else called the cops.

That was enough, and it was accurate (or at least, not technically a lie in any way). Jimmy Red gruffly hung up the phone. Tina went back to her apartment. After about four minutes, the music cut off. There was frantic hushed whispering audible through the walls, but they weren’t shouting to be heard over the music anymore, so Tina got nothing but a few scattered words. She heard people drunkenly stumble down the hall and outside.

Finally, there was a knock on her door. Tina didn’t intend to answer it, but it wasn’t Raekwan or any of the other sons. Through the peephole, Tina was shocked to see a muscular young black buck with a square jaw and a strong face. He was sexy. He was not one of Jimmy Red’s boys.

“Hey, um… Ma’am…” He smiled nervously. He sounded like he wasn’t sure if ma’am was appropriate. He shifted his weight between his feet. “Uh, so… Hi…”

“Hi.” He was cute enough that Tina had an instinctual desire to flirt with him, even if she was in a bad mood still.

His eyes opened wide. He hadn’t thought Tina was going to say hi. He bit his lip. “Uh… Hi.”

“Hi.” Tina giggled.

“I’m… uh… Marshall.”

“Hi Marshall, I’m Tina.”

He took a deep breath. “Uh… Look… So, you know… Raekwan said, like… I, uh-“

Someone hissed and whispered something. Tina hadn’t realized anyone else was out there. She opened the door the rest of the way, revealing Raekwan there just out of sight.

“Get out of here, Raekwan!” Tina said. She shoved him away from the door. He was too fat to really push, but he got the hint. She was annoyed seeing him next to Marshall because he somehow made Marshall less hot, like a sexiness vampire.

“He’s yo’ boytoy, Miss Tina. Don’t call my dad again,” Raekwan said. He no doubt intended to sound tough, but he just sounded insolent and spoiled. He snarled. “You can do whatever you want to him.”

Marshall’s eyes bugged out once again as he blurted out, “No!” He paused and straightened his shirt. “Not whatever, nigga. Nope. I said I got-“

“You said you like freaky-deakies-“

“I ain’t say that!” Marshall roared. “I don’t gotta do it! I don’t gotta!”

“Then fuck off, Marshall!”

“Hey!” Tina clapped her hands. “I asked you boys to be quiet, so you may not come to my doorstep shouting. Nosir.”

They both quieted down. Marshall looked scared, avoiding eye contact, while Raekwan glared at her.

Tina cleared her throat. “So what is this?” She pointed to Marshall. “You, Marshall, tell me what’s going on.”

He looked at his feet. His big muscular body all flexed at once, making Tina’s dick perk up beneath her skirt. Marshall sniffled. “Uh… So… If you… I ain’t, like… gay or nothin’.”

The T-Girl in the Alley

Here’s the beginning of The T-Girl in the Alley, a new story of urban transgender erotica!


Tina very rarely slept with anyone, so when she awoke feeling the warmth that emanated from Hardneck’s body, she was momentarily surprised. She had plenty of sex, of course, she just very rarely allowed any men to actually sleep with her.

Hardneck was a special case — he was so sexy it hurt to look at him. He was a scruffy thickbody, with light skin that Tina’s grandmother would have called high yellow. Tina was pretty light-skinned too, but not pale enough to qualify as high yellow. Hardneck would have looked white if it weren’t for his tightly kinked black hair, squat nose and thick, full lips. His massive chest rose and fell as he breathed.

The sun was coming up. Tina knew Hardneck would want to get up soon, so she decided to wake him up in her own special way. She slowly moved her head under the covers, where the smell of his unwashed body filled the air.

She moaned and let her delicate fingers roam over his body. He didn’t react, still sound asleep. She made sure to angle her body so her own penis was nowhere’s near Hardneck — he was fine with sleeping with a transgender woman as long as he didn’t see or feel her penis.

His cock had flopped out the fly of his boxers, which made Tina giggle; it looked like a large snake trying to escape from his crotch. She licked his dick from tip to root. That at last made Hardneck shift and twitch, but he still didn’t wake up. Tina licked as gently and quietly as she could, hoping to get him hard and on the verge of orgasm before he awoke.

Hardneck’s harsh features were soft because he was asleep. He had looked cruel and vituperative when Tina first met him — that was his default look, always scowling, perpetually scolding when he spoke. Yo, bitch, hurry up, I’s tryin’-a sleep! That was what he had first said to her, one night when Tina drunkenly fumbled with her keys coming back home through the alley.

He lived in that alley at the time. He was homeless, or as he put it, between females right now. He said he’d get some beautiful white girl to hook up with him and then live with her for awhile. That was his plan, but it didn’t seem to be working.

Instead, he was living with Tina, who was not white and though she was a girl in her own way, Hardneck didn’t see her as a true girl. That hadn’t stopped him from treating her like one so long as he didn’t see her penis.

Yo, baby, you look good enough to eat. If you had a pussy, I would lick it clean, I’d be like a kitten with catnip, I be all over you, baby. I make you feel so good you melt in a little puddle of pussyjuice. You like dick, huh? I bet you do.

He had flopped his massive tan cock out right there in the alley, not even bothering to move behind the dumpster so he couldn’t be seen from the street. He waggled his dick back and forth and let Tina stroke it.

She hadn’t intended to give him a handjob there in the alley. She thought it was just harmless flirting. But he had moaned passionately, as though he had never felt anything as good as her hand on his dick.

Girl, move ya hand a bit, just a bit, okay? Move it up and down… I want you so bad, I need you…

He whispered in her ear, and Tina was seduced. She stroked him to full completion right there, and he shot his load in two minutes — Tina was very good at handjobs when she wanted to be.

Now, in bed, she didn’t want to be too good at handjobs. She stroked his dick gently, licking the tip with her tongue, until he was fully hard.

At last he gasped and murmured, “damn, girl, you gettin’ a headstart.”

It sounded like he meant to say something else too, but he bucked and a spasm of pleasure ran through him. His spine twisted, as though he had been on the verge of orgasm when he was asleep, and his mind caught up all at once now that he was awake.

“Mornin’, sugar,” Tina said from under the covers. She giggled as Hardneck’s whole body shook, and the salty taste of precum exploded in her mouth.

“Aaaaaaaah… Girl… Girl, you know how to treat a nigga right… Yeah, suck it deep, girl, make a mess.”

She obliged, choking up as much spit as she could, until it coated his spasming dickshaft and soaked into his pubic hair. A lot of saliva spilled down onto the bed too. She didn’t mind, she would wash her sheets today so her man would have a clean place to come home to.

“Alright, baby, you so special, you amazin’, girl, you treat me so right,” he said softly, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m-a treat you rough now. Don’t mean I love you any less.”

His firm hand wrapped around the back of her head, while the other grabbed her chin. He pistoned his dick all the way down her throat. It was a facefucking, but not in a violent or aggressive way. He made sweet love to her face, clucking his tongue when she gagged but inexorably forcing his dick all the way into her throat.

The T-Girl in the ‘Hood

Here’s the beginning of The T-Girl in the ‘Hood, a new story by Calvin Freeman about a transgender woman living in the hood, getting propositioned by all the sexiest straight bucks the ghetto can provide!


Tina looked out her window. Her apartment was freshly cleaned, so she felt good — she loved a clean apartment. From her vantage point, she could see the park next-door. It wasn’t a nice park; Tina lived in the ghetto; it did have one redeeming factor though.

The shirtless men who played basketball every day. Tina watched them bump sweaty chests and clasp each other on the well-muscled back, stroking her cock until she shot all over her floor. Tina did the same thing nearly every day.

Today, however, she was distracted almost as soon as she wrapped one hand around her cock. Walter was back. She shivered with delight and anticipation.

Walter was her neighbor, or to be more precise, he was her neighbor’s husband. He was a middle-aged black man; there was no objective reason he should be so hot, Tina thought — he didn’t have a perfect body like some of those basketballers; he had a nice face but he was hardly some Hollywood heartthrob in that department; he was scruffy, ever-dirty because he was semi-homeless with a serious gambling problem and semi-serious drug problem (according to Tina’s neighbor, whom she didn’t entirely trust). He was ungodly sexy though, with swagger dripping off him and a hefty frame that made Tina drool every time she saw him.

“I said I’d do it, baby, damn!” Walter’s raspy deep voice rang out. He was one of those people who didn’t really have a quiet voice, so Tina could always hear when he was back in his wife’s life. “Don’t start this shit again!”

One of the sexiest things about him was that he had checked out Tina’s ass, and then when his wife told him Tina was transgender, his eyes opened wide as though he thought that made her hotter. Tina didn’t often see that look on men’s faces. But he had gone then, after an argument, before spending a few months in prison on an ancient child support beef, then living on some “white lady’s couch”. He had come back one other occasion, but only for a few days before he got kicked out again. Tina hadn’t had any opportunity to be alone with him.

Until now.

She hurried into the back alley when she saw him grumbling as he left the building. Tina’s apartment was right there adjoining the alley, so she was the only person that had her own side-entrance and -exit. That was the door she used now.

“Hey, Walter,” she said. He had a bag of trash in his hand. It was heavy enough that it made his biceps flex holding onto it. He wore only a wifebeater and a pair of shorts. He tossed the bag into the dumpster.

“Hey,” he said with a casual nod. He grabbed his cock through his shorts and smiled at her. “What’s ya’ deal?”

A Texas College Football Jock Will Do Anything for Luck Before a Game

Here’s a sample from the beginning of A Texas College Football Jock Will Do Anything for Luck Before a Game, a hot transgender str8core alpha male servicing story from the All-Strong League!


“Do you wanna go upstairs with me?” asked the football player. He was young, a freshman, probably, with a baby’s face and a very adult man’s body. He was blond and broad-shouldered like some Norse god. He looked optimistic that she would say yes.

“Before I answer your question, sweetheart,” Tamsin said, leaning in to very nearly kiss him. She could smell his nervous sweat beneath the mountain of cheap cologne he wore. She whispered so only he could hear. “I’m not biologically female. I have a penis, and these tits are plastic.”

He frowned, first in confusion, then dismay — he looked briefly hopeful when his buddies, the rest of his college football team, burst into laughter — he thought maybe they laughed because she was joking. He laughed with them as though he was in on the joke.

But when he raised his eyebrows at her, Tamsin took his hand and guided it to his crotch. As soon as his fingers touched her dick, tucked between her legs, he blanched and pulled away.

“Oh, hey, y’all, she got a dick, man!” he shouted. He repeated himself, more emphatically as though this was entirely unprecedented, and he jogged back over to his teammates. He sounded like a native Texan, she thought. Tamsin wished she didn’t love Texan men so much; she felt like she’d be much happier in general — though less sexually fulfilled — if she moved somewhere people like her were more tolerated. But she couldn’t bring herself to move away from Texan redneck alpha males like those football players, who were now chugging beer and organizing an arm-wrestling competition.

Tamsin sighed and sat back down with her plastic cup of beer. She was at a house party near the college campus, which was where spent a lot of her Saturday nights these days. She loved sexy young macho jocks and frat boys, and usually she could find a couple who didn’t mind that she wasn’t biologically female.

As usual, the football players had dared someone to hit on her. They thought it was hilarious, clapping that freshman on the back as he blushed. He still seemed to think it was a mistake, that the seniors hadn’t known Tamsin had a penis.

His name was Danny, she gathered from their boisterous chatter, and he was a second-string quarterback. He was burly and broad-shouldered, blond, with a deep southern accent that showed off his Texan roots. She loved that accent so much she could masturbate just listening to him talk.

Do it, Danny, do it! Do it, Danny, do it!

They were all chanting now, stomping their feet in rhythm with the words. The entire house party was chanting even though only a dozen or so football players clustered in one corner were involved. The rest were quite a bit drunker and were just joining in for the fun.

Blushing so hard his round face looked like a cranberry, and rearranging the tattered green tractor cap he wore, he reapproached Tamsin. He stammered, “Uh, miss… Or sir, or whatever… I mean…”

“Go on, Danny. It’s okay. You should call me Miss Tamsin,” she said. She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. He wore his football jersey, so she could feel his broad muscles through the gauzy fabric. He was number 72, and his last name Carroll, according to the jersey. He shuddered nervously.

“It’s, uh… I was hopin’, uh…” He continued like that for some time. As he talked, Tamsin let her hands roam around his upper body, which was taut with anxiety and tension. She didn’t need to hear his words because she already knew what he was saying. A lot of athletes had told her this story — not that she needed them to, since she had been there for it.

Two years ago, Tamsin had nabbed the star quarterback, then a senior named Thad. He fucked her good at a house party just like this one. He had been horny because his girlfriend dumped him just a few hours ago, and he was just desperate enough to get his nut off that Tamsin had managed slide in there.

But Thad had gone on to play a near-perfect game the next day, and he decided that “fucking a boy-girl” was good luck. Tamsin had no desire to disabuse Thad of that notion. Much to her delight, the rumor stuck, and it hadn’t even remained specific to football. It was now a well-know fact on  the GHU campus that having sex with a chick with a dick was good luck for male athletes.

“So, I ain’t know that,” Danny said. “They jest tol’ me that somebody should be… you know, wit’ you before every game. I said… y’know, I could do it, but I ain’t know-“ He yelped as Tamsin’s finger pushed under his pants and caressed his ass. She made it feel like she was going to stick her finger in his asshole, but then didn’t, she just touched all over the surface. Her dick was rock-hard, painfully squeezing between her legs.

“Do you want to take me into one of the bedrooms?” Tamsin asked. She kissed his bicep, which twitched as he grew more anxious. His friends hooted like the studio audience in some cheesy talk show. “I’ll let you show me what you can do.”

He hesitated.

“Do you have a girlfriend, darling?”

He shrugged. “Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“You wanna impress her, right? With your sexual prowess,” she leaned in closer and inhaled of his scent again, this time so close she could taste the fuzz on his neck.

“Well, yeah… We ain’t do it yet. I mean… we been doin’ some stuff, but not-“ He blushed even harder and looked away from Tamsin.

“It’s okay, sweetie. How many women have you been with?” She looked at his team, who were clustered together and watching as though this was the most exciting thing they had ever seen. “You can whisper it in my ear if you don’t want anyone to hear.”

He hesitated, then whispered, “Just one. We only did it once.”

The Yakuza Muscle and the Futanari

Here’s a sample chapter from The Yakuza Muscle and the Futanari, a new story by Rick Mann!

Mitsu sighed as he got in his car. He was being punished, and everyone in Clan Kyuu knew it. They were avoiding eye contact with him, refusing to say goodbye. He wasn’t surprised. He had been in their position before, and knew very well how awkward it was. They couldn’t do anything that would make it seem like they were on his side.

Not that there was any side to take. He had humiliated himself over something so stupid, he berated himself over it as he drove away from the compound.

It was a hangover. That was it, just a little hangover. Not really a huge deal, except that big dumb Mitsu thought he was better than anyone else. He thought he could come in to work despite the hangover. He thought he could keep it under control, but then he had snapped at Mr. Monanari, insulted his honor and, to turn a problem into a disaster, had managed to mollify Mr. Monanari long enough to drive him out into town… where he was promptly pulled over for speeding, given a breathalyzer and been sent to jail for still having alcohol in his blood.

To say that was a major faux pas — leaving the oldest and most respected yakuza in the prefecture on the side of the road while his driver got arrested — was the understatement of the century. Mitsu knew there was a genuine possibility he’d lose a finger, hand, foot or even his head. Clan Kyuu did not suffer failure lightly.

But in the end, he was merely upbraided, told he would not be paid for the next six months in order to cover the liens placed on the vehicle as a result of the arrest, and he would need to use his limited savings to pay off his personal fines. He was also given a shamefully low task: protecting a girl.

She wasn’t even the boss’ daughter or anything like that. She was Hangetsu, the daughter of a watermelon farmer out in the country, a farmer who had been paying protection money to the Clan for years. He was concerned for her safety because her brother had angered a group of local toughs. They weren’t yakuza, just low-rent thugs who had said they would come rape his sister.

So that was it, Mitsu had to spend a few weeks keeping her safe while the Clan found the thugs and taught them a lesson. If he had been respected, that was what he’d have been ordered to do — be part of the team that destroyed them. That was one of his specialties; he didn’t like killing but he was big and muscular and intimidating, and he would have been an asset on that team.

This was probably useless. Those thugs were likely full of shit, and never intended to do anything to the girl, who was like twelve, or so Mitsu thought. Few Japanese thugs, even the non-yakuza kind, were so brazen as to rape a little girl under the protection of Clan Kyuu.

But she was not a little girl, as Mitsu had originally thought. He had been confused because his boss described her using a Japanese word that normally connoted either a soft-spoken man or a girl. But that might have been a mistake, he thought, his boss might not have known if the girl was really a girl or how old she was. (Wouldn’t he have asked? Why would you send a bodyguard without even asking who the target is?)

She was sitting there on the couch in the rural farmhouse alone. Her father was out in the fields with the farmworkers, and she was sitting there bored when Mitsu arrived. Her father had told him to go on in and to stay out of her way so she could finish her schoolwork.

“You the dumb muscle?” she asked. She had a petite smile that Mitsu found alluring.

Mitsu shrugged. “What do you mean?”

She was a pretty young girl, just barely eighteen, with nicely curved hips and big bosoms pressing against the undersized t-shirt she wore. Mitsu felt sexual tension wash over him. She looked like a pop singer, and he could think of nothing else but taking her to bed with him.

“Your boss came over here a few days ago. He said he’d send some big dumb muscle to protect me,” she said. “That must be you, yes? He said you’d be my servant.”

“Not exactly a servant, more of a bodyguard,” he grumbled. He took a walk around the tiny farmhouse, making note of the windows and doors. He ensured they were all locked.

She scoffed at his actions as though there was no real danger. “He definitely said servant. He said you’d do anything I wanted.”

“I am here to protect you,” he said. “That is all.”

She thought for a moment. “Take off your shirt,” she said.

Mitsu hesitated.

“I need to see if you are wearing a wire,” she said.

He nodded and lifted his shirt up, showing his bare, powerful chest and yakuza tattoos. He flexed his pecs and watched her eyes twinkle. Was she flirting with him? It seemed unlikely, such a rural, unsophisticated girl. She wouldn’t come onto a man so strongly right away, he thought, she probably just doesn’t realize how flirtatious she’s being right now.

“All the way off,” she said, “You could be hiding it in the shirt fabric, I don’t know. Besides, I need to see your tattoos to know that you are for real.”

He had to admit there was logic to that. His entire career in the yakuza was spelled out in his tattoos. He stripped his shirt off and flexed his muscles for her — his tattoos looked better on flexed muscles, he thought, and he liked the way she looked at him.

She stood up and inspected his chest. She let her fingers trace one tattoo that extended beneath his pants, and her fingers danced along his hips.

“Take your pants off,” she said. “I want to see the rest of your tattoos.”

He did as he was told. “You don’t need-“

“Hush, I will decide what I need. You want me to tell my father that he did not receive any help after paying your Clan for years?”

“Of course not,” he said. He dropped his pants, wondering what her father would say if he saw this; Mitsu would probably lose even more face within the clan. He stood there in his plain white boxers, feeling very naked, while she inspected the tattoo that ran the length of his thighs.

“If you had done something shameful, they might have tattooed an owl on your thigh,” she said.

He had to admit that was right. It was an old-fashioned fashioned tradition practiced solely by Clan Kyuu, and not even that often anymore.

She pulled his boxers down without another word of warning. She giggled at his oversized, uncircumcised cock, dangling between his legs. Mitsu felt very naked and exposed, and he nervously waited for her father to come in. He stood straight and proud with his hands behind his back, thinking at least that would look least like he was seducing her if someone did see it.

“You have a big dick,” she said. She reached out and stroked it, and Mitsu straightened his back.

“I’m not supposed to-“

“Hush,” she said. “You’re supposed to do what I tell you.” She stripped off her t-shirt, revealing perfectly plump tits. “Lick these.”

Mitsu told himself to refuse but his body didn’t hesitate for an instant. He was going to be killed for disappointing the Clan if he got caught, he was sure of it, but she could lie and ruin him if he said no. The best thing to do was to go along with it and get it done quickly, so they were less likely to get caught.

She had much larger tits than he was used to, and Mitsu forgot about his anxieties as he licked every inch of her supple flesh. Her nipples got hard in his fingers; her breaths grew sharped and ragged, and her fingers crept inside her skirt.

He kissed her. She had soft, tender lips and a little tongue. He lost himself in her dark eyes and pale skin. His dick grew hard between her fingers.

She dropped her skirt, revealing perfect panties. He got on his knees, hoping to get a taste of that perfect pussy. He kissed her hips and let his tongue slowly creep down.

He pulled her panties down, and a long cock popped out. Mitsu was so shocked he didn’t have a response, he just looked at it like a test result he didn’t understand.

She giggled at his confused reaction, then whacked him across the face with her cock. “Silly muscle, you didn’t know I had one of these? It’s almost as big as yours.”


“I’m a futanari, yes,” she said, “Full package.” She showed him her heavy swinging balls. “Suck it.”

He said no, as though the idea was preposterous, but he was so horny he dived right in. He had been so tense since the hangover incident that he hadn’t even really thought about sex, and now that it had started, he was going to see it through to the end.

He opened his mouth and swallowed the salty tip of her cock, letting her push it deeper into his throat. It tasted pretty much the same as pussy, he realized, and he wondered if all cock tasted like that, or just futanari dick.

She was just as hard as he was, and she reached down to stroke his dick. She laughed at how raging hard it was. “You want me to suck on you too?”

“Yes, god, yes!”

She giggled and held her hand over her mouth. “No,” she said. “You’re supposed to be serving me. Jack yourself off.” She pushed Mitsu to the floor and then lowered her dick into his mouth so she could watch him play with himself.

Mitsu was surprised by how easily he had gotten hard, and how quickly he was reaching orgasm. He was almost embarrassed by it, thinking that he shouldn’t be able to cum so quickly with a dick in his mouth. But it did taste just like pussy, and she had fantastic tits that felt perfect in his fingers.

He moaned and gagged a little around the thick cock crowding out his throat, as he shot a load across his own muscular, tattooed chest. His spine shuddered. His arms tightened and his pecs flexed beneath her grasp. Wave after wave of cum covered his chest.

She shot her own load at the same time, pushing her dick the rest of the way down into his gullet as she filled him up with creamy cum. It was salty and sweet, and though it didn’t exactly taste good, Mitsu was desperate for more as soon as he tasted it.

He didn’t have to wait long. Before he he could even catch his breath, she took her dick out of his mouth, then wiped up all of Mitsu’s cum off his belly. She smeared it over his face and into his mouth, laughing at his surprised and disgusted reaction.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll  tell my father you were very helpful today, very honorable.”