Deep Threat

AUTHOR'S NOTES :

I don't do it usually but in light of recent events I guess I should address it: this story takes place in Futaworld and not the clown world we live in. This is why the fictional Ivy League university the characters attend seems so laid-back and devoid of any kind of extremist shitbags. And please don't think that it's some sort of political statement either, it's just easier to write stories this way.

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Thank you to my consultant in French culture. Hon-hon-hon back at you, bro.

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And finally, as you, loyal readers, may have noticed in my other stories and will encounter here, in my headcanon the words futanari and futa don't take 's' in the plural. Like Jedi.

Yes, Jedi doesn't take 's'.

Like Lego.

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It was going to be a sunny day. Audrey didn't have to turn on the light in the bathroom this morning and it gave her a motivational push for her waking routine.

7:30am

The guy who had decreed for all humanity that you should get out of your warm bed in the morning, take all your clothes off and get wet was surely a masochist of the worst ilk.

Or a sadist. Audrey was a bit masochistic herself, so he was definitely a sadist.

She could be eating breakfast right now. She could be in the kitchen, wrapped up in that Snuggy she stole from her mom when she left home, the silky steam of coffee caressing her face, strawberry jam on toasts enchanting her mouth. She could be watching some crap on her phone. Instead Audrey was trying to Kareem her pajama bottoms into the laundry basket.

It landed close enough. She shambled to the center of the room, where a square of sunlight filtering through the window was warming the tiled floor, and decided to keep her top and her socks on because despite the promising weather it was still chilly in there.

She also rolled her eyes and sighed, and did a quick roundtrip to her bedroom as she had realized that, like every morning, she had left the key to her chastity lock there.

It was some cheap thing, she could likely open the little padlock just by screaming at it, but using the key was part of the ritual.

So as soon as she was back in the bathroom, she obediently observed the procedure of disassembling the plastic device encasing her genitals and tried to pay deferent attention to it, until she put it in the sink to be forgotten as she shifted to the way more absorbing task of scratching and rubbing her testicles, an activity which since mornings immemorial had unified men (and futanari) in perfect concord.

She looked at her freed penis. Not without a certain satisfaction. She approximated it to be no more than two inches long. She would have to measure it someday although numbers didn't interest her, only results. It used to be six inches long flaccid. The permanent locking up was paying off. And she guessed it was now safe to say her brain had given up on morning woods.

Ironically, the thought gave her a chill that could easily spark off an erection, so she moved on and had a look at her face in the mirror, her disheveled mop of chestnut hair, her sleepy eyes, and of course her yawning mouth. She'd have to take care of all that. For now, Audrey stuck her suction-cup dildo to the floor and drew a stool closer to have something to hold on to.

She applied a generous amount of lube on the toy, then on her anus. So early in the morning it felt colder than it was.

Audrey squatted in front of the stool, lined up the nicely tapered head of the fake penis with her hole and then, way too easily, slid its eight inches into herself.

Her balls came to rest on the balls.

I'm gonna hurt some joints doing this everyday, she thought while fumbling with the straps of her sports bra that had fused with her skin during the night.

And one day I'll pass out doing it on an empty stomach.

She decided to tuck the bra up above her breasts. At first. But quickly she removed her red flannel jacket and the bra altogether. A wave of goosebumps rolled from her upper arms to the hair on the back of her neck. Chilly. But she knew having her big boobs bounce around brought this thumping heaviness in her nipples, which always was a welcomed help on her way to the ever-elusive prostate orgasm.

Plus now she was only wearing her big wooly socks. I must look sexy like that, she thought, if only I didn't look like I just woke up.

She picked up her top from the floor and put it back on. She unbuttoned the front and let it hang at either side of her tits. It wasn't just about keeping herself warm. She was pointedly sexy now.

No one was here to see her, or catch her. It was all for personal show. But this was part of the daily routine. Audrey was a bottom and wanted to be the perfect bottom. Because, despite what her mornings looked like, Audrey was a romantic. She adored sex as much as the next futanari but saw it as a gift that she, in time, would give to her lover. Scalding-hot sluttiness behind thick ramparts of perspective.

When she would find the one, oh yes there would be kinky sex--fuck marathons, anal, oral, quickies, screaming orgasms, porn, reach-arounds, cum flying and cum swallowing, threesomes, orgies, anything she and her love could come up with really, the bedroom ceiling's the limit--but only within the sanctity of a committed relationship. And who knows, of marriage even.

So in the meantime she had to prepare. For that special one who would have to face it and hit the jackpot. Not that she had not dated people before--she even had her share of the monumental sex futa easily get--it's just that she had decided her next futafriend would be special.

Futafriend. As in Audrey was gay.

It didn't help. Futanari represented less than one percent of the world population; you would be lucky to pass by more than a dozen in your lifetime.

And most of them liked to see a vagina below the butthole they fucked, not a pair of balls.

There were meeting apps and real places, many kinds of networks for the gay futa community, if they could call themselves as such, but Audrey didn't like that, she was a romantic. Hopeless perhaps.

And she wanted to be ready. Whatever the season, she would withstand a chilly bathroom at daybreak.

She raised her pelvis until only the head of the dildo stretched her anus and uttered her first moan of the day, taking in the sturdy sensation. She pushed the shaft back inside her and moaned louder as her prostate responded on the spot.

Before her training, she used to need at least five days of total chastity in order to have a prostate orgasm. Her naughty little gland may have been more sensitive than most futa, it needed a rest between each use. Her objective had been to reduce these five days to twenty-four hours. A goal achieved a few months ago, and now Audrey came anally once a day, with variable ease. She could even observe that she had reached a plateau and couldn't cum any more even if she tried. And try she did. Because at the end of the day she liked to cum so fucking much.

Part of why she got her ass out of bed everyday to practice.

She was ready. Her penis had become vestigial and her ass had become a vagina. She was ready.

She even was in love.

Had a crush, at least.

Hopeless.

She thought about her. Her dreamy futa. And started training her ass, squatting up and down, little red and pink and orange hearts bubbling above her head.

She couldn't wait to cum on her crush's cock, to give her this. She pictured the look on her face at the very moment she would understand Audrey was about to. It was easy because she had lived that moment once before. When she was nineteen Audrey had dated this older futa. Mona Hopkins, her name was. And Mona knew how to fuck. And the third time they had sex, when Audrey, riding her straight and deep, had started to cum with her ass and ejaculate from her otherwise untouched penis, she saw Mona's face, astonished by the ropes of semen suddenly streaking her stomach, and vanquished by the contractions of a climaxing rectum.

It had been incredible to watch this futa, confident and tough, high bodycount, suddenly overwhelmed and humbled in the face of a college kid, vulnerable by her own volition, exposing so wantonly the mystery of the anal pleasure, saying with her body, 'See, I'm such a slut that my ass can cum like a pussy.' Even among futanari the prostate orgasm was a rare and unstudied phenomenon, so in the collective mind it lived unresolved, this state where words tend to meddle, sacred and dirty, shame and pride, giving and taking.

It was a very emotional memory. And also their last time together because, of course, Mona Hopkins was otherwise a two-timing douche.

Audrey strained on her legs, her hole gliding up and down the length of the toy. She was hungry. And dehydrated. She only needed a few minutes to reach climax but from there it felt like an eternity.

Like almost every morning, she reached out and drank the water left in the glass she used to brush her teeth.

Her housemate had already left, she could be as loud as she wanted.

"Aaaaah," she moaned open-mouthed as the tip of the toy rubbed against the build-up of her assgasm. The sound echoed over the bathroom walls.

Her penis and her ballsack were swinging silently. Another progress she had made was that she didn't get erect from being fucked in the ass anymore. It may not look as sexy but it made it feel even better. All the blood that would go to her penis was now in her prostate.

Her calves were starting to burn, she moved to her knees and fucked herself a little faster.

But then it was her knees that hurt against the hard tiles so she waddled back to sitting on her haunches and pushing on the stool with her forearms, she focused her motion on only stimulating her P-spot with the head of the dildo. After all, she wasn't practicing her depth.

She had to concentrate and catch that thing, that little thing that would explode into big. So big it was always half-forgotten.

Concentrating was letting go.

Her voice, for example. One mean pinch on each of her nipples. "Oooh f-huck!"

The two tiny fireworks rained down her rectum and for a full minute she went full speed, pounded her prostate.

Until her muscles were flooded in this amazing kind of sore that sport people know well.

And then she used her ultimate technique:

She articulated the thought that she was practicing.

She was such a pleasure-seeking slut, such an unabashed dirty little sub (such a hopeless romantic) that she could cum casually. Poker face in the face of one of the most extraordinary of all physiological events.

It didn't really make sense but it was enough for her hazy mind. Audrey unstuck the suction cup from the floor and turned away from the stool to get on all fours. She gripped the base of the dildo and fucked herself as hard as her incoming orgasm would let her.

Then harder, a last and particularly sharp series of blows punching her slut-spot. And her moans got struck into silence, like a huge gasp about to happen.

She closed her eyes, sucked air in and the pleasure in her ass collapsed into coherence.

That's it, she started cumming. With her ass. A whimsical phrase that couldn't be inside her head at the moment--none could--but nonetheless the gasp she gave sounded more like surprise and astonishment than bliss. Despite cumming with her ass everyday.

No one could get used to this, not even a futa.

Solely from muscle memory she pumped the pleasure of her prostate into the walls of her rectum and even the ring of her anus. Her orgasm leached across her. It was so goddamn too much and yet she still kept silent. It's when her asshole started to contract that the most depraved groans she didn't mind uttering finally resounded through the room.

Another noise accompanied it: when she started cumming, her defunct penis had started to stir, to get a little hard actually, only enough so then it would be able to ejaculate the load that was squeezed out of herself with each upstroke. Watery cum splattered the floor. Her little cocklet barely moved as the jets passed through it. It barely felt anything, and despite her regular urge to call it her clit, Audrey hadn't felt pleasure in her dick in months. She loved that fact. She groaned harder from that fact.

Now that physical pleasure had ignited her ass, it went on its radiating extinguishment up her spine. It went to her breasts, her nipples, to her brain, to her smile.

Audrey lay down on the floor, squishing the puddle of cum she had just created. She misted the tiles with her panting.

Done.

She would have loved to obey her body right now and fall asleep for a little nap right here and there, but she had to get going. It was eight o'clock. Right on time.

Audrey peeled off her socks and her wet jacket. The dildo slipped out by itself, with a turbid lump of lube. She had seen enough porn to know how naughty it looked. If only it could be semen instead of lube...

Naked and feeling outrageously good whereas lightheaded, she scooped a little of her own cum off her body and licked her fingers, sprawled on her back.

Once she had gotten rid of all the cotton in her legs, she hopped in the shower. The way-more-normal part of her morning began.

After showering, shaving her legs where needed and putting back on her chastity lock, she at last had herself a nice strong coffee, and strawberry jam on toasts, wearing only her mother's Snuggy. She read the news on her phone, then went to clean the bathroom, brushed her teeth, blow-dried her hair, threw insults at the few blackheads on her T-zone and put some fresh clothes on. Then it was makeup and deciding on jewelry for the day.

She refilled the bowl of dry food she left outside for the cat that wandered somewhere around in the neighborhood. He wanted out of the stray life but was still shy. Audrey called him Couscous.

He had lost the tip of his tail, which was quite freudian when she thought about it.

She took her purse, sent a kiss to the framed picture of her grandparents whom she had inherited the house from, locked the front door and left for work.

Oh I know what the next step could be. Tomorrow morning I'm doing it wearing high heels.

* * * * *

Her existence was ideal. At twenty-one she had her own place, little to no student debt, and she could walk to work. She had to cross the campus, which even in March felt idyllic. It made her nostalgic for something she had actually not lived: Ivy League years. After a diploma in management in New Jersey, her family had sent her here up north to take the reins of the cafe her grandfather had owned till his death.

She had not needed a thorough market research to get the green light to turn it into a smoothie bar. The Them Apples. It was the only one close to the university if you didn't count those motherfuckers at the Frapponiño. The students loved it, the place was doing well, from ten in the morning to eleven at night. They were all there for the star product. The 'Secret Ingredient', the best smoothie in town, whose secret ingredient had yet to be revealed.

Audrey strolled. Tuition money made everything look like a garden.

There was the equestrian statue of Major Bierce, the futanari who led the Union during the battle of Anchortown. She liked to look at it. She liked to wave at students, who knew her somehow, liked to nod at the security guys who had stopped asking her for student ID a long time ago.

One boy wobbled by on a unicycle and again he knew her. "Sup, Drey,"

"Hey, Gerald," she replied with a smile. "Keep it real."

At that, he raised his fist and, deviating from his trajectory, nearly slipped over the grass, which allowed Audrey to notice a squirrel running in the late dew not ten yards from them.

The cute little gray furball disappeared up an oak tree.

Far away, near the dorms, a four-hundred-year-old bell tolled nine o'clock. Audrey could show up late, she was her own boss.

Really, she had it all.

But love.

Boo-fuckin-hoo, she thought stepping into the Them Apples.

The morning shift staff was already there, the lights turned on, the tables wiped down, the machines whirring. One of the guys was sitting on a table, arms crossed, trying to come up with something funny to write on the chalkboard sign.

"Good morning, wagies," Audrey said, going straight for her office.

"Good morning, booooss," they all replied, except one who made a pretty realistic fart noise with his tongue.

She hung her coat, opened the blinds, turned the heater on. And then she sat at her desk for her emails, and spreadsheets, and bills, and daily employer's red tape.

An hour later she resurfaced, checked on the kitchen and then the front-of-house staff. It was the first peak hour of the day but the place was noticeably more packed than usual. Probably because outside the chalkboard sign was showing a hastily printed picture of Charlton Heston taped below a speech bubble that said, 'The secret ingredient is cum!'

"How are we holding up?" Audrey asked Damien, manager.

"The trainee cried in the bathroom for ten minutes cuz he found out work is actually hard."

Fucking liberal arts... she thought, impassible.

"He made a TikTok video about it, sitting on a toilet. Wanna see?"

"I'll pass."

"Perhaps you saw: the party of eight back there," he went on, "I'm afraid they're here to camp."

Of course Audrey had noticed the concerning customers in the dining-room--they were hard to miss, they had adjoined four deuce tables in a line, and they were loud.

Her heart fluttered.

"They asked Amelia if they had to tip her," Damien added with a snort, but it fell into the background of Audrey's attention. Among these eight people was Emma.

Emma Levasseur. Her housemate. Her good gal. A true sis. Foreign student. Junior year in Business. Emma, her crush. The futanari of her dreams. From Saint-Cloud, France, wherever that was. The face that all day long teased her mind's eye. The voice she had imaginary conversations with. The hands that she wanted in her hands or in the backpocket of her jeans. Emma the knockout. The heartthrob. Wife-stealing Emma. Her unrequited love who paid her rent on time and assured a permanent supply of beer. Emma.

She had brought her fellow expats here for the first time. Seven Frenchies so obnoxious-looking they were indistinguishable from any other American student but made sure everyone around could hear their barbaric language.

"Vas-y, vos gueules, vos gueules! Guys, this is Audrey! El famoso," Emma announced as she saw her approaching their group.

Her name coming out of this mouth echoed inside Audrey's crotch.

"Hi, Audrey!" they all said in their puzzling accent.

"Hey, kids. You know you're still paying for all that, right?" she said pointing at their smoothies, already goofing around while at the same time trying to take a hold of her escaping heart.

These last seven months, living with this futa she wanted in her bed had been a crash course in how to keep composure. This futa precisely, who had no problem walking around in her underwear, masturbating loudly one drywall away from people, starting conversations about this pair of tits she saw or that piece of ass she fucked, and often while scratching her balls.

But right now everything Audrey had learned and her self-confidence in it were tottering under the scrutiny of these people who, any second now, would notice she only had eyes for Emma.

"So this is the French Core," Emma said, "I managed to assemble them together. So here you have Delphine."