Futanari Notebook Ch. 12

Zoey stood, triumphant over her felled foe. An abomination of nature, crafted to look and speak human, to lure and entice with its bright, blonde hair and erotic figure. Yet, at its core, the creature embodied darkness. Its foul stench, made to replicate strawberries, twisted her insides. She had wanted this moment for so long. No longer would this monstrosity that called itself a human torment her.

No more.

Zoey's eyes burst open at a sudden bang. Early morning sunlight seeped into her room, illuminating reality in its warm glow. She groaned and propped herself up on her elbow to see her nightstand. Her phone had fallen during the alarm, leaving it cracked around the frame, still it persisted, vibrating on the hard wood floor. The athlete deactivated it, sat up, yawned and stood. A new day, she thought, with new tortures.

She brushed her hair from her brow and rubbed at the crust in her eyes. Last night had been horrible. Gretchen insisted that they celebrate the day's activities with a trip to a woman's strip club. As always, the cruel girl had no trouble getting them in without ID or questioning. All she had to do was flash her fake boobs or take the bouncer, bartender and/or cop away from prying eyes and everything became fine. Zoey groaned at the mere thought of drinking another martini.

The fact she didn't have a hangover was a miracle. Although her head still pounded in the background, not egregious but insistent, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep through the day. But she couldn't. Gretchen would want her. And what Gretchen wanted, she got. Regardless of what it took.

What would she have her do this time? Zoey wondered as she headed to her bathroom. Her parents were downstairs, preparing for work and discussing plans for a vacation, while her sister's door remained shut tight. She tip-toed in front of it. The floorboards creaked underfoot. As if waiting for such a sound, Megan's door flew open to reveal the shorter sibling.

She shared Zoey's dark, red hair and green eyes, and nothing else. Megan ran a hand through her hair, long and messy unlike Zoey's controlled cut, while she yawned and scratched at her naked belly, avoiding her latest piercing. Neither said a word as Zoey hurried into the bathroom, thankful for the lack of interaction. Perhaps today wouldn't be so bad, she thought and sat on the toilet, keen to empty her bladder. She froze, then, as she felt the cold rim of the seat against something other than her toned thighs and buttocks.

Slowly, as if terrified to confirm what she might see, Zoey tilted her head. Short locks of auburn fell over her eyes. She'd need to get a haircut soon. Or maybe she could let it grow out? She couldn't recall the last time her hair went past her shoulders. While she was at it, she should get a makeover, something extreme so no one would recognise her. Then she could run away without issue.

She could never do it, though. Living by herself, the mere thought passed a shudder down her spine and into her legs, which made the... the thing sway. Zoey's blood ran cold. She strained to breathe against the tightness in her chest, as if she'd ran half a marathon. None of her zen training worked. She inhaled, held it tight, and released.

Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. She closed her eyes, envisioning a vision of serenity, no Gretchen, no Megan, no worldly concerns, and counted to ten, slow and methodical. The tightness in her chest dwindled. In its place, she allowed peace to comfort her.

She had seen nothing but an illusion, brought on by her fears and sleep deprivation. It couldn't be real. She sighed, releasing the last of her tension. It couldn't be real. Her eyes opened, intent on seeing the world for what it really was. It couldn't be real.

Then why did she still see it? Why did her abs lead down into her bald, feminine groin which mutated into... into a penis?

Zoey gulped and repressed a second quiver. Panic achieved nothing. After she finished her business here, then she could worry in the sanctity of her room. She trained her focus on the tiled, turquoise walls. Nestled between the oceanic colour was the door, painted a stark white, while the PVC floor resembled sand. Her mom decorated most of the house and had a theme for each room, this being the 'beach house'. Mercifully, she'd spared Zoey and Megan this treatment.

Her distraction dissipated as her bladder relieved itself. She stared down at her body, at the strange, phallic lump on her crotch, and watched as it twitched with the stream. Every inch offered a new sensation, each strange and unwelcome yet intriguing. When the flow subsided, she stood and yelped at the wet slap against her thigh.

"Ugh," Zoey grimaced and wiped at the dampness left behind. She stared at her penis, uncertain how to proceed. Another drop fell from its tip. How did guys do it? She thought and recalled what she knew. Her fingers curled around the shaft and squeezed, forcing the straggling droplets to fall. A high gasp escaped her lips. She squeezed again, this time moaning as she did so.

She tightened her grip. If any drops remained, she didn't care. Zoey stroked along her flaccid length, watching the motion as if another person was responsible. Faint palpitations throbbed against her hand, growing stronger after each one. Her considerable length swelled, forced her fingers apart and throbbed before her perturbed gaze. Blood tightened the shaft with each stroke. Its veins took on a stark contrast as they rose across its form.

The growth waned and ended. Zoey's hand slowed as it reached the top, where a purple crown of sorts bulged out from the already thick shaft. Skin bundled beneath it in a lewd mock of a nest. Her veins supplied the broad, spongy zenith with all the blood it needed. Two distinct shapes hung from the base, pale skin wrapped tight around the spheres.

"It's huge," Zoey whispered. A proud smirk slipped onto her face at the sight, before fading as her lips parted into a low moan. Her hand slid back to her body. The sack below jostled against her fingers, leaving a sheen of sweat and a coating of its potent aroma. She pushed along her member, gripped the head and bit her lip at the sensation. Moisture brimmed at the tip, pleasure accompanied it, urging her to stroke again. She did, falling to her unfathomable desires.

Sultry moans reverberated in her throat as she gave her first handjob. To herself. This shouldn't be possible, she thought. Her spare hand found its way under her loose belly-shirt to her breast, meagre by comparison to the size of her cock. She kneaded her breast, pinched and pulled her nipple as her other limb raced to and fro. A familiar heat called her away from her breast, down past her balls, to her unaffected pussy. Her relief passed as she fell into her usual routine.

She sat back on the toilet and spread her legs wide. Her back arched as her hips bucked, thrusting her cock into the makeshift pussy of her hand, while her real snatch clamped around three of her fingers. Any sense of rhythm, of savouring the sensations, was absent. Zoey moaned and panted in her pleasure. A fourth finger stretched her cunny wider. Drops of her juices fell into the water below.

Pre-cum covered her hand and cock in moments. Fitting, given her insane size. She glided along it, faster by the second. Her fingers plunged into her snatch, curled and scratched at the sopping wet insides, as her thumb massaged the plump orbs above. Higher moans slipped out. Zoey pumped her hips in tandem with her lewd noises.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Zoey wheezed. Her toned abdomen clenched, her eyes rolled and her hips lifted in a final thrust. She wrenched her hand from her pussy and clapped it over her mouth, ignorant to her juices being smeared across her face. The spicy musk of her fem-cum saturated her sinuses. Her cock lurched and, with a muffled roar, Zoey came. Yet her bliss couldn't go untainted.

"Hurry the fuck up, Zoey! Some of us actually have important shit to do in there!" Megan's harsh voice bit through the door, frothing with distaste. Violent jerks sent viscous streaks of white sailing throughout the bathroom. One slammed into the mirror cabinet, another knocked Megan's toothbrush down and a third rocketed into the light switch. Zoey moaned and shook with her orgasm, each moan accompanied by the alien sensation of semen flying from her girl-meat.

Megan banged on the door, yet she went unheeded. For every blow upon the wood, Zoey's prick twitched and unleashed another volley. Several jets splashed against the door, as if aimed at Megan. The moaning athlete grinned behind her hand. She'd love to get back at her and Gretchen, make them suffer for all the times they degraded her. But she wouldn't.

She would stay the timid younger sister and subordinate. Such was her place. Zoey gripped her cock tight, blocking the next burst of seed. Yeah, she'd always be the weak one. If she stepped away from her role, the world would punish her for it. Whether it be by Gretchen's or Megan's hand, she would suffer, regardless of how she deserved it.

"Are you giving birth in there? Hurry up, shit-stain!" Megan snarled.

"Yeah, yeah," Zoey growled back, quiet so her sister didn't hear. Her legs quivered under her weight, muscles lax after her climax. She ripped off sheet after sheet of toilet paper and surveyed the mess she'd made. Hidden by the walls, she revelled in how prolific her orgasm had been. Half a roll later and she'd wiped up the worst of it, all while Megan threatened and insulted her. Nothing new.

She stuffed her dick back into her shorts. Folds fabric turned smooth as her large member occupied the space, leaving a sizable bulge any observant individual would notice. Except Megan. Zoey pulled open the door and her sister stepped inside, showing no acknowledgement for the girl, aside from a biting comment.

"God, they must be desperate to put you on the track team."

Zoey inhaled, a deep gust of semen scented air. She held it, took a sliver of pride in the odours strength, and released, saying nothing as she stepped out. Megan slammed the door behind her. A gust of air ruffled Zoey's shirt, brushing the fabric against her nipples. Her sigh turned to a gasp. Heat flooded her body, went cold and, finally, faded. She studied herself, brow scrunched tight, in search of any other changes. Nothing jumped out at her. She shrugged and returned to her room.

Door locked. Blinds drawn. Naked in front of a mirror. Zoey stared at herself, moving her eyes across her familiar figure, tracing the tan lines around her chest and hips to an unwelcome guest, though it looked no less natural than her breasts.

"Why aren't I freaking out?" Zoey pondered aloud, hoping for someone or something to provide an answer. If she could go to sleep a girl and wake up as a... a whatever she was now, then anything could be possible, even a disembodied voice guiding her through this strange time. No response came. Of course.

She had an answer, though. She was horrified. Anyone would be. A mixture of last night's consequences and her lingering afterglow dulled her horror, but it was there on her face, in her tense jawline, twitchy nose and dancing eyes. They all portrayed the singular emotion. Yet she refused to look away from her reflection, fascinated by what should be a portrait of ruined femininity.

Tomboy made for an adequate description of her figure. Slender breasts, toned arms and stomach, and a set of legs Chun Li would take pride in. An exaggeration, but Zoey had no insecurity about her body. Until now. Where once her tight lipped pussy had laid, smooth and cute and nestled between her muscular thighs, now hung a long, conspicuous slab of meat over a pair of apple-sized orbs. It had a darker tone than her natural complexion, and nothing else to distinguish it from her body. A stranger could look at her and think she was born this way.

Born a girl in every way, but with a huge dick. Zoey turned sideways. Her balls, cradled in a smooth sack, held close to their ally, pronouncing it further. Even her loosest pants would show a slight bulge. For once, she appreciated being forced to own a skirt. Though her underwear posed a problem.

She strode over to her drawers. Each step felt new with her cock slapping against her thighs and balls, though not unpleasant. The weight provided a comfort, as if she had something to guard her other, delicate sex. Zoey shook her head and grabbed a set of women's boxers, designed to fit her form and negate any chafing. She held them against her altered crotch and sighed. One way to find out, she decided.

Tight. Zoey pulled on the band to peer inside her boxers. Her cock curled around its spherical companions, tight as a boa constrictor. All three occupants bundled together and strained the crotch, but it held. She found her regulation knee-length skirt, fastened it and returned to her mirror.

"Oh, great," Zoey muttered under her breath. Though slight, mistakable for another fold in the fabric at a glance, her member still bulged. If she were a boy, she could flaunt it all she wanted. Few people would bat an eye. And Gretchen... she'd seduce her first chance she got. Zoey smirked at herself, wondering what might happen if she pretended to be a guy, met Gretchen and tricked her. If she recorded it, would Gretchen leave her alone? The blonde blackmailed more than any politician Zoey knew of, she deserved a taste in return.

Alas, such a lofty idea would remain as such. Thinking of confronting Gretchen, to any capacity, much less with the intent to blackmail... she didn't want to think about it. Zoey checked her cracked phone; ten minutes until school. Truancy meant nothing to her, not since she came under Gretchen and Ashley's care. Between the pair, they held enough power to have any teacher fired and any student expelled. Or worse.

Her shoulders heaved with a forlorn breath. Gretchen showed up on time every day -- it maintained her appearance as an upstanding daughter of the principal -- leaving minute opportunities for Zoey to elude her. Time after time, she'd consider going late, acting the part most believed she did -- that of a delinquent brute, no better than Gretchen's Pitbull. But one thing kept her going. Two things, she reminded herself.

Students milled about in their usual cliques. Birds flew and chirped overhead, returned after their winter away, descending to land on the trees, now wreathed in fresh leaves. Early morning dew shimmered on grass. With three minutes until the first bell, no one was keen to confine themselves, yet they meandered toward their classes. Any who played hooky ran the risk of encountering Gretchen.

Zoey jogged at a brisk, consistent pace, alone, on the field. Her sneakers fell, heavy under the force of her powerful legs, and pushed off. She respired and pumped her arms in rhythm with her footfalls. Sweat gleamed across her tanned skin. Drops built, streamed and plummeted behind her. Beneath her skirt, she ignored the unmissable bouncing of her new member.

In any other situation, she couldn't. Even now, she felt its every move. Her balls became slick in the humid confines of her boxers, sliding across her prick as if masturbating it. But here, in her element, Zoey maintained full control. Her track teammates didn't practice as she did. They did so for the sake of performing well, to have fun. She wanted for neither of those. Zoey excelled because she needed to practice.

Running made everything go away. Her problems, specifically Gretchen, couldn't keep up with her. They ate her dust, rather, they choked on it, trapped in a cloud of dirt and grit and shame. Yes, shame. For being slower, weaker, than her, their poor, timid Zoey. For having their superiority put into question. For losing.

"Hey Zoey!"

"Huh?" Zoey slowed her pace, short of breath and looked to the school building. A short, bright redhead strolled onto the field, arm raised in a wave. The athlete trotted to a stop and made her way over, smile on her face. Reason number one for her to be at school; track. Reason number two; Rachel Adams.

"Hey," Zoey beamed. Her petite friend handed her a towel, "Thanks."

"Something happen?" Rachel asked. They headed for the main entrance, where several stragglers lazed about, cigarettes lit in blatant view of the 'no smoking' sign above the school's plaque.

"No," Zoey said.

"Hungover?"

Zoey shook her head, "It's nothing."

"Seems like it's something to me," Rachel said.

"It's nothing serious," Zoey rectified.

"It's Gretchen again, isn't it?" Rachel inquired.

"Always is," Zoey sighed. She couldn't tell her about what had become of her body. If anybody found out and the news found its way to Gretchen's ears, as it always did, she'd be targeted for sure. The smokers caught sight of the two, snuffed out their cigarettes and fled inside. Zoey didn't bat an eye. By association alone most feared her, Rachel and Ashley, as they did Gretchen.

"Yeah, you better run," Rachel snickered.

"So, do anything interesting yesterday?" Zoey asked. They strode into the decaying halls, lifeless save for them and the echoes of other students. She wrinkled her nose against the smell before it faded to the background. How could Gretchen's mother let her school fall like this? A simple question to answer; Gretchen.

When the most powerful student set such a poor example, even while outside of the spotlight during Mary's reign, others fell in line. And what else could the poor, job-hungry teachers do but nod and turn a blind-eye? Nothing. They needed money and Ms. Blake provided them with it. To badmouth her daughter was to hand in a resignation letter. As many had done. Zoey had to respect their bravery, or perhaps they had better offers waiting. Regardless, she wished such a simple solution would come to her.

"See you tomorrow, Teach!" Gretchen said, stepping out from a classroom. Ashley scampered after her, wide frame jiggling in her rush. With Gretchen's whereabouts marked, she had no further obligations to be at school. Therefore, neither did Zoey or the other two, regardless of whether they wanted to. The pairs came to a stop before each other.

"Hey there, guys," Gretchen beamed, her brilliant teeth shone out amongst the glossy red of her lips. Her eyes gleamed, "Nice work yesterday, Zoey. I almost thought she was gonna cry."

"Yeah," Zoey shied away, moving behind Rachel. The diminutive redhead glanced up and rolled her eyes. Her face spoke words she'd repeated time after time; stand up for yourself. In return, Zoey looked away.

"Finally found a use for you," Gretchen laughed and led them back out. She ignored the yin-yang duo hanging behind her, instead she focused on Ashley, the new second in command of their group, despite possessing no more confidence than Zoey. The athlete shrugged into her shoulders, ready to slink away if Gretchen's mood changed.

"You seem nervous. More than normal," Rachel said. They strode out the main doors, into the morning sunlight. Cars honked and revved nearby, their noises calling for the quartet to follow. Gretchen heeded the summon, while Ashley, Zoey and Rachel trailed behind her, a set of ducklings following their mother. For she guided them, for better or worse.

"It's nothing," Zoey repeated. Her brow twitched as a strange, if familiar sinking sensation fell across her body, with a faint warmth that faded into a coolness. The feelings vanished soon after, without a hint as to why they appeared at all.

"Don't tell me you feel bad about yesterday?" Rachel asked.

"Yes," Zoey said.

"Why? Carmen might not act like it, but I'd bet she's a real bitch. Probably worse than Gretchen. Anyone who looks like that, can't be good."

"She's nice."

"How do you know? What if she forced Mary and Dakota to be her little slaves?" Rachel pressed.