The Hunger Ch. 01

This is not exactly tranny, crossdresser or futa, but if you like those things you'll love this.

*****

First of all, I'm not a rapist. I know that's what you've probably heard about my people. That we're sex-crazed animals. That we need help. That we're dangerous.

Some of us bask in the image the public has given us. My roommate at college, Ari, often brags whenever she has an upcoming date. "Another victim tonight," she'll say like a playful child as she paints her nails. And of course when she knows I'm going out with a guy, she wishes me luck in her characteristic way: "Don't hurt the poor thing, Claire," she says.

I try not to.

On one such night, my date was already standing in the hallway when I closed the door. I jumped and squealed a little when I noticed him.

"Jesus, Chase," I said, readjusting my purse back onto my shoulder and straightening my skirt. "Fuck..."

"Sorry!" He couldn't help smiling. "I didn't mean it this time, I swear. Just... wanted to be ready. I know you hate when people are late."

He was right. Punctuality on a date was key for me. Most people think it's because I'm so uptight about being organized, but Ari knows the truth. That I get needy when guys are late. Afraid that I lost my next... "victim."

"Everything alright, guys?" Ari asked, poking her upper half out past the partially opened door. "Sounds like someone saw a ghost." She studied Chase with her eyes, almost blatantly obviously, as if to send a message. A message for me? Probably.

"Sorry, Ariana," he said. "I just startled her a little. We'll be out of your way right now."

Ari nodded cordially, and gave me a wicked grin. The message was definitely for me, and it simply read: "Delicious." It was written all over her face.

"Come on, Chase," I said, not taking my eyes off Ari as I took a few steps toward him. Then I locked my arm in his, and we both turned to go.

I bet she watched us until we disappeared around the corner, and even stayed to listen to the stairway door slam shut behind us.

"She's kinda cute," Chase said as we passed the security guard watching the front entrance to the dorm. We were headed to his room, across campus, where we planned to 'watch some netflix,' the modern day equivalent of going up to your date's apartment for a coffee at the end of the night. For a moment my mind drifted on that. We could actually watch netflix, if I could just hold off for another night. But then Ari's face popped in my mind. Absolutely not. I couldn't hold off if I was tied down.

"She's not," I said, looking down at the ground.

"Huh?"

"She's not the kind of girl you want to flirt with. She's dangerous."

He laughed and put his arm around my waist, pulling my closer. "Like you?" he whispered in my ear.

I giggled out a "Yes," but we weren't talking about the same thing. She and I were dangerous in the same way, but certainly not the way he imagined. And in the back of my mind, I thought, 'If he doesn't get his hand off my side, he's gonna be in a lot of trouble later.'

"Good," he said, his smile audible in his tone. "Then I don't need her as long as I have you. Unless you guys are the other kinda dangerous."

"Other kind?" As I said this, he covered his mouth to cough. We were passing by the benches set up on the path behind the school, where kids are allowed to smoke 'cigarettes'.

"You know," he coughed again. "Those crazy girls that supposedly fuck guys."

I forced a smile.

"You don't believe in that, do you? That the guys don't want it? I think it'd be pretty hard for a girl like that to fool you. Their cocks are fucking massive."

I wanted to say that he would be surprised, but that didn't seem appropriate. Especially considering I actually was that kind of dangerous.

To be clear, we are not transsexuals. Nor are we cross-dressers. No one really understands exactly what we are. The only thing that's clear is that we didn't comprise a high population of the human species until very recently. For a long time, we remained hidden and unmentioned. Yet my generation has seen an explosion of... well, people like me.

Some call us dickgirls, or hermaphrodites, or futanaris. None of those names are very fitting, considering how it works physiologically.

We don't have dicks with pussies underneath. Rather, our dicks sort of... develop over time. It happens on a strange cycle, sometimes every six months, sometimes every year, sometimes every month. Gradually the clitoris gets larger, over a long period. Our vaginas... well, I won't get into the details. Just know that eventually we go from having vaginas to having dicks, and the dick comes with a monstrous hunger. The hunger is insatiable, but after a while it goes away, and you start the transition back to having a vagina.

I've read a transsexual's description of getting testosterone treatment to improve his male appearance. He said he suddenly felt much hornier than ever before. He wanted to grind anything that had some sort of continuous motion, or warmth. The comedian Louis CK describes his childhood as being full of times when he would grind himself against a bed, or a wall, or a desk, or anything hard, until his desires subsided.

When I'm on my cycle, I feel an extremely exaggerated version of that. It's called The hunger.

"Well," I say to Chase after an awkwardly long silence, "Don't they say those girls drug you?"

He shakes his head. "Apparently there's a chemical mixture in their saliva. So a little tongue action during a kiss, and they'll have you bending over and begging for it."

I offered another forced smile, knowing what he really wanted was a laugh.

"But come on," he continues, "It would have to be some pretty strong shit if that small amount would make you crazy. And I mean... as a guy, trust me. It'd take some insane magic to make me do that. Mind control."

But that's what it was, essentially. I couldn't say that to him. Couldn't give any indication that I had any deep knowledge of how our saliva intoxicates you. I nodded obediently, glad to see the lobby of his dorm through the glass doors.

"So what movie do you wanna watch, babe?" He asked as he held the door open for me.

"Movie? I don't think I wanna watch a movie tonight."

"Now that's what I wanna hear." His cheeks perked up with his smile.

------

He was sitting on a chair, and I was on his lap, facing him, my arms around his neck as we kissed passionately. I don't think he expected such energy, but he didn't know what I had tucked under my skirt.

His hands caressed my back, sending electricity up my spine. Shivers, wet kissing. "Fuck," I muttered against his lips, overcome by desire. He started lifting the back of my shirt, but then I pulled my lips off his and whispered "Ass."

And so his hands shot to my ass.

That's called a feeler. We use it on "victims" to see how suggestible they are. It's a good test to check if you've given him enough of that drug-like saliva we seem to produce.

When he squeezed my ass, I groaned lustily into his mouth. Could he feel my stiffening cock yet? I fucking hoped not. It seemed like he'd take a lot of coaxing to be that suggestible. Regardless, I had to turn up the heat. I took his face in my hands, fingers pressed into his skin, and I pressed my tongue against his bottom lip. He took the hint and opened his mouth wider, allowing me to delight him with my tongue play.

I rested my tongue flat against his bottom lip and with practiced patience let it glide left, and then right. Left. Right again. Back. Forth. Finally I closed my mouth against his bottom lip and gave it a quick suck. Round two. I started the left-right routine again, but after the second time, I pressed my tongue into the corner of his mouth, and then very slowly let it ride the curve to his top lip, resting at the center a moment before sailing to the other corner of his mouth, and then to the bottom again.

He shivered.

"Suck my tongue," I commanded. Gladly, his lips closed against my tongue, and he played his own against the tip. I had to shut my eyes to clear my mind of fantasies of ramming my cock down his throat. Even when you're on top, you can't control everything your partner does.

That's the art in sex for someone like me. A control freak with a fetish for chaos. For upsetting the natural order. And for having my expectations reshaped. Maybe it's good I was born this way.

I pulled my tongue out, my hands resting on his shoulders, and stared in his eyes as I asked, "Now what will you do for me?"

"Anything," he said immediately.

"Like what?"

"Anything."

"An example."

"Die for you."

I kissed his lips and kept my face close, so he could feel the warmth of my breath against his lips, and have my face consuming most of his vision. To control, first overwhelm. I'm sure that's in The Art of War somewhere.

"What else?" I asked.

"Anything you want."

"Anything at all, huh?" I kissed the corner of his mouth, sucking at his flesh as my lips left it. Then I stood, and offered my middle finger, pressed to his chin, just under his lip.

"Suck this."

With no hesitation he closed his mouth around the tip of my finger and slowly, sensually, teasingly consumed more and more, his lips inching toward my knuckle. I curled my other fingers up, inviting him to take it all in.

"That's a good boy," I cooed.

Meanwhile, my free hand was undoing the button on his jeans. This isn't a new technique. Ari calls it Quid Pro Quo. You give him a taste of what he wants, and he gives you a serving of what you want.

You have to make it quick and dirty, like it's a spur of the moment thing. Get his jeans unzipped as he sucks on your finger. His mind will be focused entirely on what's coming next. Some guys aren't into handjobs, so you'll have to ditch the finger sucking and get on your knees. It's a pain, but you have to earn your reward.

Chase was not like that, though. He happened to have a fetish for handjobs. There are private study rooms in the library, with a glass wall that faces the lobby so you don't do any funny business. That's where I learned about his fetish. And that's where we indulged in it. Under the table. My hands down in his pants.

And here we were, doing it again in his room sans table. After unzipping him, I yanked at his boxers just enough to let the head of his dick free, and then I impatiently buried my hand into his underwear, gripping a fist around his shaft.

I started to pump.

This is another feeler. How quickly can you make the guy cum with just your hands or your mouth? Staring in his eyes as I gave him a shoddy handjob, I thought about what Ari would do in this situation. What if this didn't work out? What if I had to bail? How could I explain giving this sweet guy blue balls? It would really be-

He came. Just like that. I couldn't help but laugh as I continued to work his cock, which now spilled warm gobs of cum that stained his boxers and soaked my hand. Even the front of his shirt was wet. His teeth were clenched against my finger.

"Such a very good boy," I whispered softly to him, like a girl cuddling her dog. Squeezing his cock tighter, I continued to pump him hard. "Get it all out, Chase. Enjoy it.

He did. He had to stop sucking my finger and lie back in the chair, exhausted. Anyone with experience knows that when a guy cums like that, he's very vulnerable. He's tired. His mind is buzzing. If it's been a really long time, he might even be a little dizzy.

That's when our kisses are the most deadly. Wasting no time, I put my clean hand under his chin and planted a nasty, lusty, tongue-y kiss on him. Standing over him, I could drool into his mouth and let my tongue swim around. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

I broke the kiss and let him stare up at the ceiling, dazed by all that had been happening. And then I went in for the ultimate feeler. If this fails, I misjudged him. But if it works...

He looked down at my outstretched hand, still wet with his cum. "Lick it," I commanded him. My fingers were absolutely sticky with the stuff. And still, without hesitation, he took my index, middle and ring fingers into his mouth. "Oh thank god," I muttered.

------

With tape over his mouth, and lube all over my hands, Chase and I were in an odd position. He was on his bed, face down, ass up. His boxers and jeans were pulled down just under his ass, enough for me to get what I want. I like it that way. Maybe it just makes it more perverse if it seems like a quick and dirty job. Like we couldn't even bother to get naked. I was on my knees behind him, between his spread legs. Ready for action.

I slathered the lube all over my cock, saying, "Remember what I said, now, Chase. This is just a little fun. Tomorrow you'll say you got a handjob and fell asleep, right?"

"Mmmfmmm," he hummed through the tape.

This is called the cover. Once a guy is sufficiently intoxicated, you can tell him anything. You can even tell him what to believe when it's over, and he will. If he has any memories left over, he'll think they were a weird dream. You wouldn't believe how often I've gotten texts the day after that said "I had the craziest dream about you last night." Did you? Tell me all about it.

I rested my lubed up hands against his ass cheeks, leaning in for the kill. His reaction was too perfect. He closed his eyes and relaxed his head, like I was about to give him a massage. I pressed up against his warm hole, savoring the moment. Building pressure between us. His soft moan. My eyes rolled back as I finally broke in, and I let my weight do much of the work after that. Patiently, slowly falling into his ass. He raised his feet a few inches off the bed, but for the most part did not tense up as I entered him.

He was taking it like a champion. Ari measured me at 9 inches fully erect. Most people, guy or girl, end up very sore after a night with me, and don't know why. Well, there's your answer.

He finally tensed up when I was almost fully inside of him. It seemed I'd reached so deep into his ass that there was nowhere else to go. But experience has taught me that persistence is the silver bullet for all problems. Sliding my hands deeper up his back, under his t-shirt, where I could press my fingers into his skin, I brought my hands around and gripped his sides and grit my teeth as I forced the last couple inches down into him. And god, was he moaning while I did it.

Breathing heavily and speaking breathily, I said to Chase, "I wanna feel you clench up on me, baby." He tried his best, and for a second or two he held it. But the muscles in your ass are muscles all the same, and straight guys don't get a lot of practice squeezing cocks. He was tight enough anyway.

The fucking began. Deep and slow. Don't wanna rock the bed too much and draw any attention. If he were fucking me, we wouldn't mind having the Resident Assistant come knocking on our door, but this would require a bit of explanation. No, it had to be slow. For the time being.

And his ass was very tight. It seemed to suck on my cock, demanding that I cum. Every second of it was both delightful and infuriating. I didn't want to cum so soon, and yet cumming was the only reason I took this risk. I would be with Chase for the whole night, so there was no harm in getting off a quick one. Yet I wanted to savor the first.

My frustration made me thrust him harder. He grunted as I buried myself to the hilt with each thrust, only to pull back for a moment before doing it again. Ceaseless punishment. The sound of our flesh meeting every time I pushed in. You would think I was angry with him, but on the contrary I was very happy. Most guys are unbelievably loud when you're fucking them.

I rested my hands against his lower back and started pushing him down on the bed, following him until I could put my arms around him and lay atop him, both of us flat on the bed as I worked his ass. I kissed his ear and whispered to him everything that I planned to do to him. The biting and squeezing and stroking and cumming. God was I gonna cum.

When we cum, it's obviously not semen. We grow a dick, but no balls (which I prefer, but some of us dislike). What our cocks shoot out is the same material some women can squirt if their g-spots are stimulated. In fact, sex with our cocks is a lot like that sensation of having your g-spot worked. The feeling that you might have to pee. And then when the orgasm comes, that overwhelming sensation, and the knowledge that you are utterly powerless to stop. By then, the reason you cum is the reason you breathe: Because your body needs it.

My body needed exactly that. So I let go of him and pushed myself up a little so I could really thrust into him. "Spread your fucking ass," I growled. He nodded his head, even though his face was pressed into the mattress, and gladly spread himself for me. "Good boy," I said desperately.

I got onto my knees and put my hands against his lower back and leaned all of my weight into him as I pounded his ass fast and hard. The smacking sound filled the room, along with our heavy breathing and his occasional grunts. Just a little more.

A few more moments and I had finally found release. I stayed on my knees for the first few spurts, but then I needed to lie against him as the rest came out. I draped myself atop his back, emptying my cock into him at first with long, drawn out spurts and then with short shots. I am not a futa. I don't cum bucketloads. But I must admit that I cum enough to have to let my "victims" go to the toilet and let it drip out before we can continue. Otherwise my dick feels like it's swimming.

It was definitely swimming after this one. The hot, thick fluid pooled in his ass and dribbled out between our legs. I'd have to clean that in the morning. "How's that feel?" I whispered. "Want some more?"

He nodded.

"Well we've got allll night, baby. And I'm not going anywhere."

TO BE CONTINUED.