Make Me a Futa

More interesting, though, was my pussy, lips parted and glistening wetly. I ran a curious finger between the inner lips, feeling for the entrance to my vagina. How utterly weird it was. It felt completely right, but also undeniably new. And there was my clit, responding to my teasing. I was an ex-man with my very own pussy to play with.

And huge balls! Hidden beneath a flaming bush and soft skin, but they felt like ripe, juicy plums beneath my questing fingertips.

"Now now, Bob," Ann said. "There will be plenty of time to play with yourself later. First, let's amp up that pussy. Ever Ready; Perfectly Pierced; and What a Squirter! Ready for the question?"

"Yes, Ann."

"Where might you find a Labarindja?"

I'd read about them somewhere in passing. Wild women with cocks and blue skin. But where... "Australia?"

"Good guess, Bob! So what's it going to be? The choices are: Ever Ready; Perfectly Pierced; and What a Squirter!"

The piercings sounded painful, and Ever Ready would probably have me dripping wet all the time. But I had to admit squirting sounded like fun. "What A Squirter, please, Ann."

"Oh, dear," she said, backing away. "This could get messy." Reading the card, she intoned, "La-laina can acant'o padara-li."

This time the fire was not exactly painful, more an intense pressure and stimulation within the core of my brand new vagina. Immediately my cock surged to a demanding rigidity, and my clit throbbed in need for attention. Despite the intently watching audience, it was impossible not to stroke the former and rub the latter (and what a wonderful sensation that was!), but these were just mild distractions from the pressure building within.

I pushed a finger into my virgin sex, half expecting to have to break my hymen, but there was no obstacle, only the stunning sensation of having something - anything - inside me. An audible moan escaped my lips as my finger's exploration answered my body's need. Thrusting in a second finger, I massaged the front wall of my vagina, distantly aware than Ann and a studio camera and beyond them an audience quiet in suspense were all focused on my genitals and what I was doing to them.

I certainly wasn't the first contestant to masturbate, I just never expected to be one. The need was too great, and the pleasure too, and the volume of my cries increased as I built to the point of release. Suddenly I was there, but distracted too as I lost balance on my perch. I managed to grab hold of one of the chair's legs with one hand while the other concentrated on my clit.

My cock began its wild dance of jerking victory, a huge spurt of creamy cum shooting up into the air, but what completely blew my mind was the stream of clear fluid that burst from below, arcing out towards Ann and the camera. "Fuck!" I screamed as I tumbled onto the floor, onto all fours, bum to the audience, my body convulsing in helpless pleasure, cum bursting from me in two directions.

By the time I calmed enough to think, the floor beneath and behind me was a mess. I wondered what my wife would be thinking as she witnessed me having the most spectacular orgasm of my life. The idea that my life could somehow return to normal after the show... well, it wasn't impossible, but it was getting there.

We'd talked about me being a futa in an abstract way. We hadn't talked about me having lactating breasts that dwarfed hers, and we hadn't talked about me soaking the bed sheets with every climax. We certainly hadn't talked about me finger-fucking myself to a screaming orgasm in full public view, in front of a cheering audience.

And there were two transformations left. I could feel the slender hope of maintaining my happily married status with Cheryl slipping away - but at least I could still get her the money I had promised her.

Still trembling in the aftermath of that phenomenal climax, I struggled to my feet and resumed my place on the high chair. "Bravo!" Ann cried, and took care where to step as she approached. Scooping up a drop of cum from my drooping cock, she sucked it from her finger with a sigh of pleasure. "With those huge balls of yours, your lucky young wife will have all the cum she wants... but Bob, you're a futa now. You need a bigger cock."

I was less than average for a man, in both length and girth. Cheryl had always said I was perfect for her, but I'd often yearned for more. It was the one part of Make Me A Futa that I had actually been looking forward to. "I do," I agreed.

"Let's see what we've got - oh, gosh: The Satyr - that's what I've got; Slippery Fella; and Lady's Choice. Any of those will be an improvement. Ready, Bob?"

"Yes, Ann."

"Question Seven, then: Actually this is a challenge, not a question. You have sixty seconds to make me come using only your mouth." When I stared at her in disbelief, she showed me the card. It said: "60 Second Blow-A-Futa Challenge."

Challenges were rare, and this one was cruel. It would force me to have oral sex with someone who wasn't my wife, and Ann's monstrous cock was already salivating at the prospect. "Starting... now," she said, and the music started.

I hesitated for all of five seconds, torn between the goal of money and my enduring desire to save my marriage, and then I was down on my knees in front of Ann, wrapping my lips as best I could about her huge member.

Before the show, I had never dreamed that I would one day suck a cock, let alone one of such size. The mere idea would have made me shudder with disgust. It was a measure of how much I'd changed that the taste of Ann's precum thrilled me and I couldn't get enough of her into my mouth.

The music was playing and the clock was ticking. I wasn't allowed to use my hands on her prodigious shaft, so kissed and licked it instead, concentrating on that most sensitive spot underneath, or I took the bulbous head in my mouth, sucking fiercely. "Mmm, yes, make me come, you horny little slut," Ann growled down at me, thrusting with her hips as if to penetrate me deeper.

Clearly she was very aroused from the show, because I could sense she was close. Her breathing was increasingly laboured, her thrusting increasingly urgent, and I didn't dare to stop for a second. I wanted her to come, and not just to win the challenge. I wanted to see cum erupting from her in glorious pleasure.

The music was increasing in pitch. Time was running out. "Keep going, Bob," she cried. "Keep going!"

I sucked hard on the head that stuffed my mouth, while trying to use my tongue to excite her further. Her breathing became rapid and her cock was suddenly harder than ever, and I knew I'd done it. "Yes!" she screamed, and with a mighty pulse of her cock her cum flooded my mouth.

I recoiled away from her, choking on a mouthful of cum that I'd wanted but really hadn't been prepared for. Ann aimed her cock at me, and streams of cum splashed against my latex-covered breasts.

"Nice job, Bob," she said, once we had both recovered and I had taken my seat again. "But five seconds over time! Let's see what the audience chooses for you.

I was a mess. I'd wiped the cum from my face as best I could, and wiped my hands on my skirt as best I could, but there was nothing I could do about the oozing mess on my latex T-shirt. I left it alone, just as I left the skirt alone; it had slipped up around my narrow waist yet again and I couldn't be bothered to fix it. The audience had already seen it all anyway.

How many times I'd watched this show and laughed as some sad, uptight sucker got transformed not only into a futa but into an abandoned slut. How many times I'd laughed even knowing I was seeing the end of a marriage over the chance to be rich - and not even very rich, merely rich enough.

How many people were now laughing at me? No doubt I looked ridiculous. And what of Cheryl? What would she think seeing me sucking Ann's futa cock and now covered in cum?

The audience decided. "The Satyr!" Ann cried. "Excellent!" She chanted the spell, "Ruma-liana liracant'o tanask," and I flinched as transformative fire suffused my erect cock, growing it, almost inflating it, at once a dream come true and an utter nightmare. I would have been content with an extra inch or two, but I was being gifted with an instrument that could not be measured with a single hand.

Magnificent indeed. I knew without asking that Cheryl would never dare to attempt it, but the thought of plunging my hard, new cock deep into my wife... My cock twitched excitedly and precum oozed from the tip. The temptation to wrap both hands about the shaft was almost irresistible.

"Now you look like a real futa," Ann said. "That was the last of the physical transformations, Bob, but there's one more transformation left to do, if you dare. Do you still want to be a millionaire?"

"Yes, Ann."

"Of course you do. Your final choices, then, are: Silly Slut; Sexy Siren; and Kinky Pro. These are all purely mental changes, of course, but whichever you get, you'll end up loving it."

Of course I would. They could turn me into a bimbo or a porn star, and I would think it perfectly natural. I'd never truly believed it before, but then I'd never thought I would be able to accept being a futa - and yet, after seven transformations I couldn't conceive of being anything else. I remembered being a man, but already it seemed a lifetime ago.

"Final question. What is the current record for the most cum produced in a single orgasm?"

I had no idea. I looked down at the mess on my shirt, but it wasn't much help. I'd heard some futas bragging about being able to fill a glass... "Two hundred mils?"

"I need an exact number, Bob."

"Two hundred and sixteen," I guessed, completely at random.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Bob! So close! It's two hundred and thirty-six," Ann said, "so for the final time today, let's take it to the audience. Okay everybody, the choices are: Silly Slut; Sexy Siren; and Kinky Pro. Voting starts... now!"

No point in praying. They were sure to vote for Silly Slut, when the only hope of me saving my marriage was surely Sexy Siren. I would have liked being a Sexy Siren.

"Wow, that's a surprise," Ann said. "By a narrow margin, the winner is Kinky Pro. Are you ready, Bob, to claim your million and discover the new you?"

I took a deep breath and tried to hide my nervousness. "I am, Ann."

"Fantastic! Here goes: Marwua-liana liracant'o cala."

This time there was no pain, no fiery heat of transformation, only a momentary dizziness. I would have fallen from the chair had Ann not been there to hold me steady. I sensed nothing different about myself, though exactly what Kinky Pro was supposed to do to me I really wasn't sure.

"Wow, Bob! You're a winner! A millionaire! Congratulations!" For the very first time, Ann's smile seemed quite genuine. She even startled me by leaning in and kissing me full on my lips. "Now strip out of those clothes and let us all see you properly."

I was more than happy to strip out of the soiled and stretched latex shirt, and the absurdly short skirt that covered nothing at all. Even the ankle boots came off at last, and I stood there completely naked in front of the cameras and the world. I could see myself too, on the big screen, a wild redhead with an exaggerated hourglass figure, with a huge semi-erect cock that would have looked incongruous on a woman but suited futa me perfectly, and breasts that somehow managed to look perky despite their significant size and weight - I could feel the building pressure to express - and their wide dark areolae.

The resemblance to the old me, Bob the man, was almost gone, overridden by voluptuous sexuality. His memories were still there, but I felt disconnected from them, as if they were a life lived by someone else entirely. Only his love for his wife, for sweet, pretty Cheryl, betrayed for her own good, still held strong.

The old me would never have displayed his naked body proudly to the world, but the new me, futa me, was grateful to the world for remaking me this way.

A stagehand brought a box onstage and handed it to Ann, and darted away quickly. "Well, Bob," Ann said, "we like to give all our contestants something to remember the show, and we've got a whole box of stuff for you. Starting with this gorgeous pair of black rubber boots."

They were gorgeous too, black and glossy with high stiletto heels, and they reached well above my knees, zipping up the back. I loved the material, and I loved the way my legs looked in them. I didn't even particularly mind the heels, although I was far from confident walking in them.

"Next," said Ann, "we have this amazing black rubber corset!"

I was sceptical. A corset? But again, the same glossy material, laces front and back, reinforced with belts with steel buckles. Ann tightened the laces at the back for me until it fit my narrow waist very snugly indeed - almost like a firm, lover's grip on my whole body. "I love it," I decided, caressing the smooth rubber and teasing the laces.

It was an underbust corset that left my breasts fully exposed, and of course it did nothing to conceal my cock that was once again rigid, thrusting up out of my flame-coloured pubes. Amazing. That was the word Ann used, and she was right. I looked amazing.

"See," she said, "I told you you'd love being a Kinky Pro."

"It's not the 'Kink' I was worried about," I said. "It was the 'Pro'."

"I'm sure you'll figure that out eventually. But in the meantime, we have one last gift for you..."

She handed me a box still wrapped in cellophane from the shop. Breast pumps. I laughed and showed the box to the camera. "Thanks, Ann," I said. "I'm sure I'll be using these very soon." The audience laughed in response, and I grinned.

"One last question, Bob," Ann said, and I knew already what it would be. "Are you glad we made you a futa?"

"Too fucking right I am, Ann," I said, admiring the image of me on the screen, a horny, rubber-clad, flame-haired goddess. "I look fucking fantastic."

"You certainly do," she said. "A big round of applause, everybody, to thank Bob for playing Make Me A Futa!"

And feeling far happier than I did when I walked onstage, I tottered offstage to the cheers of victory.

*

I met Cheryl in a discreet café not far from her new house. I'd transferred half my million to her account after the show, but had not had the courage to face her. That she made no attempt to contact me either just confirmed to me that our marriage was over. Even the divorce could have been handled by lawyers without us ever needing to meet, but it felt wrong to me to do it that way.

My heart leapt at the sight of her beautiful face framed by the blonde tresses I'd always loved, but her once sweet eyes had a haunted look as they rested on me, and seemed bruised from lack of sleep. There was no disguising the tension in her frame as she took the chair opposite me. "Can I get you a coffee?" I asked.

"No, thank you."

I'd made an effort to dress like a normal person, to suppress my extravagant futa nature and appear as much like a natural woman as possible. I'd even made a point of emptying my breasts of milk beforehand, and taming my wild hair (with some success, if very temporary). "How are you?"

Her cheeks tightened with anger that she attempted to suppress. "Surviving," she said. "You?"

Before I could answer, she sighed and muttered, "I can't do this. Sorry." She stood and made to go. "I never want to see you again."

I let her go, saying nothing to stop her. I had loved her with all my heart, once upon a time, but she was no longer the answer to my prayers. She was nothing more than a youthful fantasy.

Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my appointments and clients and tapped for Vanessa. "Hi, babe!" she said.

"I'm free now if you're still wanting."

"I have been a very bad girl, Mistress."

I laughed. "If you bring the lips, I'll bring the whips. See you in thirty?"

"I can't wait..."