Double Team

“Maybe you should... drink the soda.” Yami reached for the can, but was pushed to her knees by her shoulder.

“We can’t let this go to waste.” Delia said.

Yami looked at the underside of Delia’s two cocks. Upon closer inspection, they were definitely both bigger than the one she was familiar with.

“Which one was the original?” Yami asked, hoping to favor the one she was familiar with.

“Who cares?” Delia took hold of the sides of Yami’s head and fed her the top cock, the lower one brushing underneath Yami’s chin and rubbing against her neck. Yami’s hand wrapped around the second cock, jerking it over her shoulder like mixing a cocktail. Tears gathered involuntarily in Yami’s eyes as Delia used her head and throat passively, in a way she’d never done before. She bucked her head rapidly back and forth until they both learned something interesting about this arrangement.

Apparently, both cocks work together as a pair. So for all the come poured down Yami’s eager throat, more flew off past her shoulder until she pointed it at her blouse, pushing the buttons apart to smear the hot cream against her breasts.

Delia pulled her cock from Yami’s throat, Yami slurping some remainder into her mouth before doing the same with the second cock. She opened her mouth, her tongue immersed in a thick slimy lake of white come.

From her soaked breast pocket, Yami removed something and placed it on her tongue with the same expectation of future enjoyment as a tab of acid.

A diamond-shaped pill, slightly off-white when compared to the jizz.

“What the...” Delia cried, watching helplessly as Yami closed her mouth, swallowed loudly and then presented her bare tongue.

“You’re not the only one who can hide a pill where your wisdom teeth once were.” She grinned, rising from the ground with confident posture, pushing Delia over onto the couch with a single tap on the shoulder. Her slacks tensed in the groin area, two bumps pushing at the fabric like two fat guys trying to go through the same doorway.

Her waistband, fly and panties all jointly agreed to fail at the same time, splitting the garments down the middle into two useless columns of fabric. Yami’s two cocks were side-by-side and, by her eye, just under a foot long apiece.

Yami looked to her new form with a smile filled with tightly closed teeth. The counselors she had when growing up told her that being a futa gave her intrinsic power, more even than that of a non-futa woman. She always thought they were full of shit.

But now...

“You OK?” Delia asked nervously from the couch.

“I only wish this pill gave me four more arms, too.”

“You’ve always looked like a goddess to me.”

Yami grabbed Delia’s hips and flipped her over, her knees on the floor. Yami found a bottle of lubricant, never too far from reach in this apartment. She spun the snap cap off the bottle and squeezed the container out in her fist, smearing the gel across Delia’s upturned ass.

With one hand on each buttock, Yami turned her cocks slightly so they could be stacked vertically. The top one was against Delia’s ass, the bottom one tickling the lips of her pussy.

In one lube-assisted stroke, both went in at the same time. Yami tensed, nearly losing it immediately. Delia tensed as well. She had never quite felt something like this before. This felt like her first time, with the increased sensitivity and electric feelings.

After all, one of these cocks had never once tastes pussy in its forty seconds of existence.

“What’s wrong, cutie?” Yami giggled as she worked her hips back and forth. “You can’t handle the new me?” She put her hand against Delia’s balls, hanging helplessly off the end of the couch, both Delia’s cocks pinned between the soft fabric of the couch and her torso. Yami gave Delia’s exposed balls five gentle pats... and one less gentle one.

Delia moaned and trembled, legs twitching in a way that Yami was familiar with.

“Did you mess up the couch?” Yami asked.

“Yes, and I’ll do it again if you don’t slow down.”

Yami pulled Delia up from the couch and pushed her face into the fresh puddle of jizz Delia had made. Delia lapped at the stain, retrieving what she could before Yami pulled her back up to her face with her fingers, where their tongues would wrestle a little longer, even when all the come was gone.

Yami sat down on the wet spot and held Delia’s hips up as she thrust into her. When Delia’s feet could be coaxed to the ground, she took over riding on Yami’s cocks. This freed up Yami’s hands to wrap around Delia’s cocks, jerking them in opposite positions like the pistons in a car engine.

Delia tried to resist orgasming again so fast again, but it felt like trying to keep a heavy shopping cart from rolling down a steep hill while wearing rollerblades. She came helplessly, Yami pointing one cock into each of their faces.

Yami brought Delia down to the floor and continued spearing both her holes. Delia’s legs bucked involuntarily as she came once again, splattering onto the floor before Yami finally reached an orgasm of her own. Come gushed from the edges of Delia’s tight pussy, yet her ass kept it all but for one thin trickle of white connecting her ass to her pussy when Yami finally pulled out.

Looking down at her work and clearing the perspiration from her forehead, Yami sighed. “Wow.” She gulped. “That was more intense than I expected.”

She had more to say, but Delia jumped off the floor like a frog and pushed Yami back to the couch by the shoulder. She leaned back on the couch as Delia inserted her lower cock into Yami’s pussy. The upper cock nestled between Yami’s two cocks, which Delia held in place as she rubbed her upper cock between them, like sliding a hot dog in an out of a surprisingly warm bun. Delia rolled her cocks side-to-side, the soft skin sliding about.

After an embarrassingly low number of thrusts, Delia’s muscles stiffened and she came, the two cocks surrounding her upper cock coming a moment later like the choreographed water jets in the fountain outside a hotel.

They came to rest in a sweaty and come-streaked pile on the couch. When Delia came to her senses, she picked herself and walked to her purse hanging on the doorknob of the closet door.

Somehow, she’d worked up quite a thirst.

“Bottoms up.” Delia said as she drank the entire can of weird creamy melony soda, knowing that Yami had one of her own waiting. Delia set the empty can down and looked down to her dual parts.

Nothing happened right away. The soda was delicious, now that she thought of it. She wished that she had savored it a bit. It would probably be even better if it was cold...

“How long does it take?” Yami asked sleepily, from the couch.

“I don’t know. I never actually saw them shrinking. I would just look over at other people and they were smaller.”

A longer silence.

“Maybe it’s quantum. Like, you can’t observe it while it’s happening.”

Delia got back to the couch and put her T-shirt over her eyes. Yami looked away.

“I hope that doesn’t take away both of them.” Yami said idly.

“It better not!” Delia cried. “It’s taken my whole life just to get used to having ONE.”

A few minutes passed. Delia wondered what was on TV. She removed the shirt from her eyes.

“Did it work?” Yami called from the kitchenette. “Did it change?”

“The only change is that they’re both hard again.” Delia sneered.

Yami brought the other can in, holding her phone up to it. “I’m trying to get this app to translate some of the Japanese on here. It keeps changing...” She snapped a screenshot over one suggested translation.

She read the translation aloud. “Advise. Not to use... futanari.”

A terror struck Delia’s heart. “Maybe... we should go back to where we got these pills.” She suggested tightly.

“That sounds like... a splendid idea.”

A ten-minute car drive was closer to six with how hastily Delia drove back to the studio. It still felt like forever.

They went to the front door of the gallery, but there was nobody there. But Delia remembered something from her time with this building. Gravel and other detritus tended to blow up from the street and lodge in the metal door frame surrounding the back door. When she was the last one to leave for the night, the landlords asked her to make sure to pull the door shut to stop someone else from getting in after hours.

Sure enough, the new renters might have somehow invented the super-futa pill, but they had not unlocked the secret of the unreliable back door. The door pulled open, and they slipped inside.

Nothing was the way it was earlier that day. All the curtains and partitions had been removed. Once again, the room was just an art gallery, a few faux-marble columns holding sculptures and the wall decorated with geometric paintings by someone who hoped the admiring visitor hadn’t heard of Piet Mondrian.

Delia fell to her knees in shock in the dimly lit gallery, hand over her heart. “What are we going to do now?” She choked.

Yami fell to her knees as well, but for a different reason. She pulled up her skirt and pointed her rear in the air, both swollen cocks tickling her torso.

She knew they shouldn’t. A night guard or hapless custodian could come by at any time. A homeless person could peek in through the windows. Maybe there were motion sensors that could finally kick in. She shouldn’t even think of this...

They tried to keep their sex limited to that which would not leave an incriminating mess... until they decided to show their four-cocked disapproval of a painting that appeared to be nothing but a vertical blue line on a black canvas. Their streaks and blobs of come added texture and depth to the composition.

The next day, the artist would totally claim credit for it and double his asking price. But the true artisans were nowhere to be found.

---

The Internet is deeply saturated with porn.

In the VHS era, only widespread fetishes could support even the middling financial burden of production. Thus, there were very few exotic categories made at that time. How the VHS era supported entire series themed around incest baffles contemporary observers, especially those raised on the modern era of endless choice. The Internet was the antidote to isolation, and the mystique of breaking ‘taboos’ could only exist without an Internet that saw very little as taboo.

As DVDs, streaming and other alternatives to consumer-level analog video appeared, the discriminating masturbator had their choice of endless fetishes in every imaginable combination.

But if someone wanted to watch a pair of futanari with two penises... there was literally only one game in town: Durga and Hecate.

Today, it was Hecate streaming by herself. She had a short pixie bob of blonde hair and huge round breasts that everyone assumed were implants because they definitely were. The rest of her was lean and trim, down to a narrow waist and flat stomach ornamented with a single jeweled piercing that always seemed to catch the light. To maintain her anonymity, Hecate wore a black domino mask edged with silver lace, the eye holes surrounded with rhinestones. The mask covered from her hairline down to her nose.

Of course, false breasts and piercings were not in short supply among what was euphemistically called ‘webcam modeling.’ Twelve inch cocks were rarer, but not impossible to find. But to find two... on the same woman...

And they both were twelve inches. Quite often, Hecate would receive fanmail of rulers with usernames written on them. She would measure her cocks one at a time with the donated measuring device, making sure the contributing chatter was watching at that time, and then return it to them in a self-addressed stamped envelope. There was no trick photography. She had two twelve-inch cocks, and all these lucky fans had a memento that was actually lucky enough to touch both of them.

Hecate would orgasm repeatedly on stream, unless someone paid her to hold back, sometimes while enduring the unsympathetic torment of vibrators. Today, she was sitting on the corner of her bed, thrusting two oversized artificial silicone vaginas on each cock. (Hecate had stopped buying the brand name Fleshlights, as they didn’t make one large enough for her.)

Her Bluetooth speakers made an enthusiastic jingle. This indicated that someone had offered a donation request. She released one of the sex aids, leaving it perched on her cock like it was a hat rack.

“Ohh... you’re too good to me, Rixty666.” Hecate purred. “Thank you so much.”

Both silicone orifices had been lubricated with a sponsored brand of ‘yours and mine’ sexual lubricant, one on her left cock and one on the right. Because of the viewer’s contribution, she was now allowed (in fact, obligated) to switch them.

The remaining lubricant in both toys started a chemical reaction with the complimentary lubricant left on her cocks. The toys suddenly felt warm, as if the Blue Fairy had brought them to life. Her muscles tensed, her toes curled, and she released herself with a vocal cry. Jizz leaked from the toys, dribbling down her cocks like water droplets sliding down a melting icicle.

Hecate extracted her two cocks from the toys, coming to rest on her sides like rain-soaked boughs from a tree. She set one beside her... and rose the other to her mouth like a frosty can of soda. Her lips sealed against the rubbery aperture of the toy, she slurped up her jizz from the slightly stretched silicone. She let the last ribbons of come fall onto her tongue from a few inches above her head.

And a brown hand snatched the other Fleshlight before she could have seconds.

Hecate turned to her side, to someone off-camera, and smiled. “Hey, sweetie!”

A swarthy double-cocked futa with inflated breasts, thigh-high semisheer stockings and a similar domino mask in white entered from stage left. She suckled and tongued the toy, urging the sweet jizz out before casting it aside and planting a wet kiss on Hecate’s lips.

Chat started to get excited. Durga was home.

They were not as excited as either of them, all four cocks fully erect.

“How long you been going, baby?” Durga asked.

“Hour and a half, maybe?”

“Well, we can’t sign off without giving them a show, can we?”

Hecate didn’t have to move from the corner of the bed. Durga held Hecate’s thighs apart as she coaxed both her cocks into both Hecate’s holes. Durga preferred when Hecate was on her stomach so she could put both hands on Hecate’s rear, but that would hide half of what the audience wanted to see, which was Hecate jerking off with both hands. Once that stopped amusing her, Hecate took the silicone vagina sex toy and pushed the handle end into Durga’s ass, the wider vaginal end standing out off her butt like the flange of a buttplug.

The makers of her current sponsor of sex toys had asked them not to do this anymore. Hecate promised that they wouldn’t. It was a lie.

Durga shuddered and pounded Hecate harder. Hecate took grip of her cocks again as Durga pushed herself inside for just long enough to fill her with enough jizz that it would visibly leak onto the bed sheet. The rest, Durga sprayed across Hecate’s body, painting it with long streaks of white. Hecate held one cock against her abs, the tip resting just under her tits, and one at Durga, spotting her tan form with white streaks like a slab of impure quartz.

Durga toppled over onto Hecate, kissing Hecate’s inflated breasts and gently removing the toy from behind her.

There was a standard cash register ‘cha-ching’ sound that came from the Bluetooth speakers. Durga thought that she had changed all of these to different sounds based on the amount offered. She looked over to her monitor that showed outstanding offers.

They both stared at it. It used the default sound because she had never imagined anyone would offer THAT much.

“Wow.” Hecate said softly. “That is... incredibly generous.”

“I don’t know if we can... accept this.” Durga said, trying not to sound nervous.

“Of course we can.” Hecate clicked the green checkmark button, moving money instantly through cyberspace. “Let’s do it before I get hard again thinking about it.”

Durga and Hecate got off the bed, Durga kneeling in front of Hecate. She held one flaccid cock upwards, and the other was pointed at Druga’s mouth.

At the same time, both cocks began to pee.

Druga sat still, passive as a urinal, letting the pee fill her mouth and trickle down the sides of her face. Hecate puckered her lips and slurped at her upward stream like it was a water fountain.

When the flow ceased, Druga looked up, mouth still open. Hecate knelt down and put her thumb on Druga’s philtrum and gently brought her mouth closed with her fingers.

Druga swallowed just loud enough to be heard.

Hecate swallowed a few seconds later.

The speakers made many noises of spontaneous donations. Even longtime fans had never seen that trick before.

“I think that’ll do it for now. Maybe we’ll be on after dinner, but no promises.” Hecate blew a kiss at the camera. Druga waved from her kneeling position and waited for the camera’s red light to deactivate from Hecate’s hidden mini remote control.

“You OK?” Hecate asked, offering a hand.

“I hate...” Druga whispered weakly as she got to her feet. “that I didn’t hate that.”

“Well, the next time someone wants to drop five figures for that trick, we can accommodate them.”

“I’ll get dinner started.” Druga left the room, apparently prepared to cook dinner nearly nude and soaked in jizz.

Hecate entered her bathroom, a stylish and expansive room of tan granite. She leaned over one of the two sinks, looking at her masked reflection. She undid the clasp that held it securely to her head and brought it down.

Beneath the mask of legendary double-dicked futa camslut Hecate... was mild-mannered double-dicked futa Delia.

She barely recognized herself after her sudden career change. Her hair was shorter, but still slightly matted from sweat from the mask. Her heavy eye shadow and fake lashes made her look almost like a raccoon, but washing it off would show the bags under her eyes that she struggled to conceal.

Her body was skinnier, except for her slightly silly looking implants. She was glad she hadn’t gone any larger than 1000 cubic centimeters. She’d lost some weight once they’d had their home gym installed, which made them look even larger. Not that she was thinking of working out now. Even a ninety minute stream was exhausting. She felt like she was holding herself up with her arms, like her legs could give out at any moment.

She wiped the makeup from her eyes once with special makeup-removing wipes she always kept at the sink, walking over to her shower to let the rest run off her. The shower had no curtain or glass door; it was just a powerful water feature in a tiled corner of the room. This arrangement allowed someone to sneak up on her as she gently scrubbed herself with her loofah.

Two hands appeared from around Delia’s arms and caressed her breasts with the backs of her fingers. Delia tensed at the contact, spinning in place. Yami kissed her as she spun around.

“I haven’t brushed yet.” Delia said softly, almost drowned out by the shower.

“Don’t worry about it.”

They stood still a moment, the remaining specks of soap swept off Delia’s body and down the drain.

“You OK?” Yami asked softly.

Delia put her head up. The shower poured over her head, water running down her face like uncontrolled tears. Delia’s smile appeared, though not without difficulty. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“We’ve streamed every day for almost a year.” Yami observed. “Even Christmas. We finally got to use those vibrating anal beads shaped like ornaments.”

“I’ve used those a few times in the spring.”

A longer pause. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time. Yami could see the exhaustion in them. She knew what she was thinking.