Make Me a Futa

"Hi Bob! Welcome to Make Me A Futa," said Ann, guiding me to the contestant's chair. The audience could just be seen beyond the glare of the studio lights and the array of cameras. Certainly their rustling and murmuring and laughter could be heard. And as if it wasn't terrifying enough being centre stage for the first time in my life, I was dressed like a girl - a very slutty girl - in a thin, white, latex T-shirt, a flared black skirt that barely reached my thighs, and the trademark red ankle boots whose high stiletto heels made the short trip across the stage to the chair seem like a major expedition.

I felt utterly ridiculous. I didn't want to be here at all. I didn't want what was about to happen. I didn't want to have to look at Ann, whose voluptuous sexuality was only accentuated by clothes that matched my own. Her huge breasts strained against the latex, the outlines of her nipples clearly visible, and the head of her huge cock dangled limply beneath the hem of her skirt. I tried to focus on her face, a beautiful face framed by long, black hair, but I could see in her dark eyes her mocking delight at my impending transformation. Despite the ankle boots with their lethal heels, she strutted across the stage with an easy grace and confidence. There was a reason why so many teenage boys lusted over her, despite the ominous appendage.

I really didn't want to sit on the chair, but standing was not an option (and the boots were a torment). It was a narrow barstool that I felt awkwardly perched on, the wooden seat uncomfortable against my bare bum. It was difficult to sit still for long, or in a way that didn't potentially expose my own unexceptional cock. Regardless of what might happen later, I was not yet ready to cast all inhibitions aside.

"Tell us a little about yourself, Bob," she said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight," I said timidly, struggling to speak at all.

"And married I hear. What is her name?"

"Cheryl."

"Cheryl! Is Cheryl pretty, Bob? What does she think about you becoming a futa? You'll be prettier than her soon."

"She's not thrilled."

"Oh, trust me, Bob, she will be. That lottery ticket was a one in a million chance to be a millionaire. You can finally buy her a house to call her own, pay off all her student loans, and - of course - she won't be faking any more orgasms..." Ann gave a dirty laugh that was echoed by the audience. From the heat in my cheeks, I knew I must be bright with embarrassment

"All you have to do," Ann continued, "is play to the end. So tell me, Bob. Are you ready?"

I knew what I had to say. "Make me a futa, Ann."

And thus I sealed my fate. It wasn't what I wanted. I was a happily married man, by which I mean happy to be a man and happy with my marriage, but this happiness was limited by the constant pressure to find a job - any job - to pay off debts, to pay for food, to survive.

The world was divided in three: the precious few with wealth and comfort in their lives; the great unwashed masses such as I whose lives were a constant struggle; and the futanari, mutated humans as much adored for their virile beauty as despised for their freakish nature. There was money to be made in embracing notoriety as a futa, as proved by celebrities like Ann.

So, no, I didn't want to be a futa, and Cheryl had pleaded with me not to do it, but we had been on the breadline for weeks with little hope for a brighter future, and it was breaking my heart not being able to provide better for her. The lottery ticket was an answer to that. I'd hoped for a cash prize or something, so scratching away the silver to see the Make Me A Futa logo had been a shock. I'd nearly thrown the winning card away, disgusted by the mere thought of transformation, but the lure of money was a terrible thing.

We'd argued long and hard about it. Cheryl had even offered to claim the win for herself, but I loved her as she was. I couldn't face seeing her transformed into something other. If either of us was to make the sacrifice, it would be me. "No matter what happens," we'd both promised, "we will always love each other." An easy promise to make; no doubt far harder to keep.

As the cheers from the audience faded, Ann turned to face me. I tried to ignore the way her thick cock, half-swollen, twitched restlessly. I was a cis man and strictly hetero, and the sight of an aroused cock in front of me made me uneasy. Even one attached to an attractive woman. "Okay, Bob, there are eight parts to the futa transformation. For each part, there is a choice of three. I will ask you a question, and if you get it right then the choice is yours. Get it wrong, and the audience gets to choose. Understand?"

My understanding at this point was a formality. I'd seen the show often enough. I'd laughed at the poor fools being twisted into sex objects for my entertainment. I'd had a long discussion with the company's lawyers before the show started, and had signed my understanding and agreement, waived any potential claim for distress. I was now the poor fool to be twisted for the entertainment of others.

"Yes, Ann."

"Good! The first transformation is, of course, the major one. The template. It rewrites your body at a genetic level, rejuvenates you - not that you need that, Bob - and makes a few minor - but important! - adjustments to your mind. After this you will not be man or woman, or any other human sex or gender. You will be a futanari, a fantastical creature of myth."

A strand of precum, trailing from Ann's semi-erect length, caught the lights of the studio. There was something mesmerising about that brutal flesh. Reading from the card in her hands, she said, "Today your choices are: Blonde Bombshell; Girl on Fire; and, ooh! Creature of the Night. Like me. Do you want to be like me, Bob? Or would you rather be a blonde. I think you'd rock the dumb blonde babe look - and I know the audience always loves a blonde..."

I didn't answer, of course. Stating a preference in advance was a sure way of getting the audience to choose something else - and pretending to prefer something else just made you look pathetic when you yourself chose something else. Best just to shut up and stay shut up.

"Question One," Ann read, "and this is an easy one. Who discovered the Futa Stone?"

The first question was always a question about the Stone's history. What year, where, the first transformee, et cetera. In the days leading up to the show I'd read as much trivia about it as I could find, though it was frustrating how much false information there was. But Ann was right. This one was easy. "Victor Mason," I said confidently.

Victor Mason had been an archaeologist specialising in Near Eastern mythology. He claimed to have found the Garden of Eden, or at least a stone archway that the ancients had believed to be the entrance to the Biblical Paradise when it was still on Earth. The capstone of the arch had later been discovered to have transformative powers, and become known as the Futa Stone.

"... is right!" Ann said, and the audience clapped politely. "So, which is it to be, Bob? Your choices are: Blonde Bombshell; Girl on Fire; Creature of the Night."

I didn't have to think hard. I absolutely did not want to be a blonde. My biggest fear going into the show had been getting the first question wrong and ending up as a blonde for life. And Creature of the Night was just a little too gothic horror for me. Ann made it work for her, but then Ann herself was - to me at least - a little scary. "Girl on Fire, please, Ann."

My heart quailed at hearing my words. I was actually asking Ann to take away my masculinity, and to give me the feminine body of a futa. I was choosing to give away my fundamental identity. No one, not my friends, not my family, not even my wife, would ever look at me the same way again. The urge to run was strong, though I knew I'd look ridiculous trying to run in the red ankle boots. They wouldn't come off easily either, and if I did run then I'd have humiliated myself all for nothing. I was doing this, I reminded myself, for my wife.

"Girl on Fire it is," Ann said, and the studio lights illuminated the Futa Stone where it hung over my head, suspended by thick steel chains. The Stone defied scientific explanation, and many even worshipped it as miraculous evidence of Divine Androgyny. Reading again from the card she held, Ann intoned: "Marwael-liana liracant'o carela."

I cried out as fire blossomed in my belly, sweeping out through my flesh with painful intensity. It was all I could do just to stay perched on my high chair as I gasped for breath. For a few seconds I was sure that something terrible had gone wrong, that for me the transformation would end in cruel death - but gradually the heat diminished and my mind began to clear, sufficiently at last for me to register the changes.

The dark hair on my arms and legs had faded into pale, reddish fuzz, and where before my limbs had been skinny, they were now slender and decidedly feminine. And my hair, previously chestnut in colour and kept short and neat, now cascaded down about my cheeks in tight curls of fiery orange and red. I ran my fingers through the strands, wondering briefly how on earth I was supposed to look after it.

My chest and hips had a decidedly feminine shape in contrast to before. The white, latex T-shirt left little to the imagination, and I clearly had breasts - no more than an A cup at a guess - with thick, women's nipples. No doubt I had more too, but chose not to explore between my legs with so many eyes on me.

Ann whistled appreciatively. "Girl on Fire indeed! That's what I call hot! Tell us what you think, Bob." She pointed up at a big screen that showed me what the audience and viewers could see: a young woman with elfin features amid an explosion of flame-coloured curls. There were echoes of the former me about her in the skin colour and facial features, enough perhaps that my wife would be able to recognise the husband that was now changed forever.

I'd been sure I would hate it, this non-masculine version of me, but I didn't. It felt right, like this was the way I was supposed to be. "I like it," I said tentatively, the high, feminine pitch of my voice startling me into silence. That more than anything drove home the reality of the transformation. "Fuck," I whispered.

Ann's beautiful cock was fully erect now, pulsing gently as if to tease me, and weeping precum that bathed the glistening head and had me licking my lips - only to recoil in abrupt shock as I understood what Ann had said about changes to my mind. Where before there had been only repulsion at the thought of cocks and men generally, now there was a strong, instinctive desire. "Fuck," I whispered again.

It's not that I felt there was anything wrong about being a horny, bisexual futa. It was that, just minutes before, the idea had terrified me. The Stone had, quite literally, changed my mind.

"Let's make you more distinctive," Ann said. "Transformation Number Two. Your three choices are: Petite and Pouting; Waspy; and Tall and Tilted."

None sounded good to me. I didn't want to end up at either end of the height spectrum, and 'Waspy' sounded weird (and possibly painful). Again I was careful to say nothing.

"And here's your question, Bob. Are you sure you want to be called 'Bob', Bob?" Ann burst out laughing. "Just kidding, Bob. Who... was the first woman to win a million on Make Me A Futa?"

"Stephanie Hughes," I said - and realised my error immediately.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Bob," Ann said brightly. "Stephanie was the first man to win. Julia Mackenzie was the first woman - and that means the audience gets to choose your next transformation."

She turned to address the assembled watchers. "You have ten seconds to decide. The choices, again, are: Petite and Pouting; Waspy; and Tall and Tilted. Time starts... now."

The familiar music that used to delight me now filled me with dread. I had no control over the next bit, and yet it would affect the rest of my life. The final chord played, and the votes appeared on the screen.

"Wow! So close!" Ann said. "But we have a winner, at forty percent of the studio audience. Waspy! I can't wait."

I stared glumly at her as she read the spell on the card: "Sunsur-alna candil acant'o." Again the fire of transformation swept through me, but less painful this time and focussed within my torso. I felt almost like a giant hand had reached out to crush me.

Abruptly it was over, and I stared in astonishment at my waist, so unnaturally narrow now, and the wide birthing hips that fanned out beneath. A wasp waist, indeed. My perch on the high seat felt more precarious than ever, and while the latex T-shirt moulded itself to my new shape, the skirt kept trying to slip upwards, forcing me to hold it in place.

"Mmm..." Ann said. "Let's see if we can't complete that hourglass look. For your third transformation, the choice is: Budding Beauties; Doubly Delicious; and J for Jugs. To be honest, Bob, jugs would suit you well. There's just something about a woman with huge, jiggling breasts, don't you think?" She caressed her own huge breasts through the tightly stretched latex.

They did look amazing, but the thought of having to carry their weight made them a complete no-no for me.

And yet, seeing Ann teasing her nipples in front of me, and her huge, hard throbbing cock aimed at me too, stirred my own cock to life. For the first time since the whole nightmare started with that winning lottery ticket, I wasn't overwhelmed with dread. The damage was done, and it wasn't so terrible after all, although what my wife would make of the new me, I didn't know.

Still, I did my best to conceal the evidence of my growing arousal, and could feel myself blushing yet again.

"Question Three, Bob. What was the title of the 1993 mangarotica by Toshiki Yui?"

Damn! I knew this one. I'd stumbled across it the day before, but what was the title?

"Sorry, Bob, I'm going to have to hurry you..."

"Hot Tails!" I shouted.

"Correct!" she said, clearly surprised. The flood of relief I felt had me grinning with the euphoria of victory. "Well, Bob, it's up to you. The choices are: Budding Beauties; Doubly Delicious; and J for Jugs - and you know which I'd go for..." As if there were any doubt, she massaged her own Js for Jugs as she waited for my response.

As little as an hour before, I had been determined to minimise the effects of the transformations as far as possible. I hadn't wanted to be a futa at all, let alone some exaggerated sexual stereotype. An hour before I would have chosen Budding Beauties without hesitation, but watching Ann play with her huge breasts had me yearning for my own. Just... not quite that big.

I closed my eyes and offered up a prayer for forgiveness. "Doubly Delicious."

Ann sighed. "Oh, well. Let's see... Numpur-lirna candi acant'o pela." She hadn't even needed to read the card.

This time the heat was concentrated in my breasts, what little there was of them. Unthinking, I massaged the tender flesh, trying to ease the pain of transformation as they swelled beneath my hands, becoming heavier, rounder, stretching the latex of my T-shirt. As the fire dimmed and the swelling stopped, and the haze in my mind cleared, I became abruptly aware that not only was I mauling my new huge tits in front of cameras and a live studio audience, but also my legs were parted and my erect cock fully displayed.

I quickly tugged my skirt back into place and pressed my legs together again in a futile attempt to hide my most private parts, while Ann grinned slyly at me. "I'd love to slide my cock between those beauties," she said, and the image it conjured in my mind made me whimper with helpless lust. My cock was throbbing so hard it almost hurt. The knowledge that my wife was - or would be - watching helped me to regain my composure.

It wasn't just my cock that was throbbing either. Though I was yet to see or even touch it yet, I had a pussy that I could feel was very wet, and within those tender folds nestled a clit that was demanding attention. Only three rounds into the show, and already I was feeling like a sex-starved slut.

"But let's see if we can't get you some matching nipples," Ann said, smirking openly. "Your choices for the fourth transformation are: Teasing Tips; Swollen Succulence; and, ahh... an audience favourite: Saucers and Milk."

She was right too. Either of the others I could live with, but Saucers and Milk? No thank you. I had to get the question right. With some effort, I forced myself to sit still and listen carefully.

"Question 4: Which naiad merged with the son of Aphrodite and Hermes?"

My mind went blank. Or almost. I knew the son was Hermaphroditos, but I couldn't think of any naiads at all. All I could do was sit helplessly as time ran out.

"Sorry, Bob," Ann said, grinning wickedly. "Salmacis merged with Hermaphroditos, son of Aphrodite and Hermes - and that means, again, the audience gets to choose your next transformation."

One brief explanation and ten seconds of music later, the verdict was in. "Wow! One hundred percent! It's unanimous for Saucers and Milk." And again she didn't need to read the card to chant the spell: "Sulmur-lalina can acant'o pela."

This time the fire of transformation was concentrated in my nipples, making me want to scream. But only for a few seconds, and the fire became a gentle heat that suffused my breasts. Through the thin latex I could see that my areolae had not only widened to several inches across but darkened too, and my nipples felt more swollen and sensitive than before. What was worse, my lovely new Doubly Delicious breasts would soon be heavy with milk.

I glowered sulkily at Ann whose grin only broadened in response. "Four done, four to go," she announced cheerfully. "How ya doin', Bob? Had enough yet - or shall we see if we can make your balls disappear?"

I wasn't a man anymore, but still winced at the thought of losing my balls. It was always a possibility. But I was determined more than ever to see this through to the bitter end. "Number Five," I said through gritted teeth.

"Excellent. Your choices are: Girls Don't Come; Subtle Scrotum; and" - Ann laughed - "Goodness Gracious."

Subtle Scrotum was the one I wanted. The others sounded too extreme. I prayed for an easy question this time.

"Question Five. Oh, this is too easy. In the hit show Florida Futas, who did Stacy Z say was her fantasy fuck?"

I gaped speechless at her. I mean, yes, I knew the program existed, had even watched it for maybe half an episode, but... Who the fuck was Stacy Z?

"No idea," I said.

Ann rolled her eyes. "I bet the audience knows," she said, turning to face them. "All at once, guys!"

"Herself!" they roared back, and gave way to laughter. "Okay, guys," she said when they quieted. "You know the drill. Girls Don't Come; Subtle Scrotum; and Goodness Gracious. Ten seconds starting now."

I knew they wouldn't vote for the only one I wanted, but hoped nonetheless, keeping my fingers crossed as the music played. The absurdity of being perched uncomfortably on a stool praying for a 'Subtle Scrotum' while a crowd of strangers decided the fate of my balls was not lost on me.

"Goodness Gracious!" Ann wiggled her hips as she almost danced towards me. "Great balls of fire!" She came close enough to almost kiss me. "I envy you this one, Bob. My girls don't come, and I wish they did." Spinning away again, she read from the card: "Susu-laina candil acant'o padra."

I whimpered as my balls were gripped by hot, invisible fingers, but the pain was not as severe as I expected it would be, and it gave way to a more diffuse heat. I had to look. I had to see, even if the whole world saw too. Parting my thighs, I shifted my cock - no longer hard - out the way to see my balls, bigger than ever and growing still. Framed by fiery coloured pubes.