The Mind of a Futa Girl

I spend the morning avoiding Christina again. Although I know she'll want to see me again, and I desperately want to see her, this is for my own sake now. If I see that giant ass or those plump boobies of hers, I will instantly get a boner. I know I will. So to avoid that inevitability, I spend all day in the back rooms, pointlessly moving boxes around and hiding whenever I see Mr Tran. It's hopeless though. I have to bat away the image of her body every time she comes sauntering back into to front of my mind with that seductive sway of her hips.

At 4:30 pm, I see her materialise suddenly before me, not in my mind, but at the end of one of the aisles in the storage rooms I'd been hiding in. She comes right up to me, full of determination. I get the sense she's been hunting me down for a while. Her hips sway just like they did in my daydream a few seconds ago, her ass jigging inside her yoga pants, cleavage on full display. It's too much. I think about running to the bathroom preemptively, but she's about to say something.

Up close, and in a hushed voice, she beckons me to crouch down to her level. She says that she was worried I was avoiding her. The old me would make something up. Tell her I was just busy. But I don't even think about it. I come right out and confess the reason why, gesturing at my crotch. A wicked smirk grows on her face, and without warning, she reaches over and strokes the shaft of my semi-erect penis that is strapped to my right thigh. I recoil backwards and almost fall over. In a half-joking, half-serious tone, I warn her not to do that. It's already setting me off just being near her. The voice that comes out of my mouth is deep and authoritative. She seems taken aback but continues to stare up at me innocently with her big blue doe eyes. I notice her cross her legs together like she's trying to hold in a pee. Don't know what that could mean, but I think I might be able to guess. At least I have confirmation beyond any doubt. She is absolutely enraptured by me.

At 5 pm, I find her waiting at the shop doors as usual. I temporarily forget about my size and start bounding up to her to show her how excited I am to see her as well. But then I stop. Waiting just behind her is Carlton. Shit. They both stare directly at me from across the shop floor. Their heads tip upwards in unison as I approach. I loom down over them as if they're children. Carlton's a big guy for sure, but how did I never realise just how much bigger I am than him?

Something's wrong. They seem unsettled. They're talking to me in this forced and awkward way. I can tell that both of them have clocked that the other is acting weird. Tonight's going to be a nightmare, I can tell already.

As we're walking out to the parking lot, I try and explain that I don't need a lift back, but the couple don't listen. They practically shove my body backwards into the rear seats of their hummer themselves. As I'm halfway inside, I can feel someone pressing down on the underside of my boobs, although I can't see who it is. I grit my teeth and get on with it. Just like before, I try my best not to let too much boob spill over into the front seats, but it's no use. In the small window I have to look through past my mountains of compressed flesh, I notice Carlton shifting himself slightly while driving. At one point, he leans back so that his head rests up against a section of my chest. Then he notices something and tilts his head back upright again and pretends nothing happened. We remain silent. All throughout the 5-minute ride back, the couple seem on edge. They always used to bicker with each other while I was there, but somehow this silence is even worse. I can't see her properly, but I can tell Christina is not keeping still, always looking around and fidgeting in her seat.

Back at the apartment, Christina tells me as we're unlocking our doors that I should come over at 7 pm. She mentions something about dressing up nice, but I just assume she's joking. Once I'm inside though I start panicking instantly. Maybe she was serious. What if she does expect me to dress up nice. It's only dinner with a couple from down the hall, but still. I can't exactly show up like the dishevelled pile of garbage I usually am. I'm such a pathetic loner I have no idea what normal people usually do in these situations.

I never dress up. It's been so long since I've even worn something that I can fit over my breasts--I just leave my harness on display and pray that people don't realise that I'm basically wearing nothing but a bra, which I am. I'm so hopelessly out of options that I briefly consider going naked. In principle, neither of them would mind that, I guess, but the idea is too crazy even for this new sex-crazed woman I seem to be turning into. I search my entire apartment for something, anything to wear. Nothing. All I can find is a series of button-down shirts and blouses in the very largest sizes imaginable, all of which I discovered in thrift stores. The sizes are all ridiculously huge, but I still can't do more than the very lowest buttons up on any of them. Curse these giant boobs of mine.

As I stand there staring at my paltry collection of clothing, wearing nothing but my harness and a pair of pink underwear, I momentarily catch part of my reflection in my tiny bathroom mirror. I don't look awful, I think. Maybe I could just go like this--in just the harness, no shirt over the top. It's so heavy and reinforced that it covers almost all of my chest, and practically the entire length of my back as well. Other than the two thick black straps that go over my shoulders, it leaves the rest of my shoulders and my arms completely bare. If I squint at my reflection, it almost looks like a dress or like a fancy corset a normal woman might wear--only one with two gigantic fabric bags attached to the front to cup each of my boobs.

This is more than just a daring fashion choice. This is borderline indecent. But what choice do I have? There really is nothing else. I would never usually be seen out like this, in what is basically just lingerie, but surely if there are any two people in the world who wouldn't give me crap for it, it's this couple. Who am I kidding? They've both made it abundantly clear how enamoured they are with my tits. Why am I stressing about this so much?

So, my mind made up, I then try to scour my cupboard for anything to put on my lower half. Of course, there's nothing decent, just like before. The only items I have are the disgusting oversized slacks that I wear for work. Do I not even own one skirt? I'm sure I did at one point in my life. I really need to get out more. The only thing I own that isn't slacks is a pair of denim shorts I haven't worn since I was a teenager. In a moment of desperation, I try them on. I can barely get into them because of how huge my thighs and ass have gotten after working out. Only after pulling them all the way up to my waist can I fasten the button on them. I can barely remember how long they used to be on me, but now they are little more than hot pants. They only cover the very top of my thighs and leave several inches of penis clearly visible poking out from below.

I pause to study my reflection in the mirror. I can manage to curl my penis up and stuff it back in, but the whole outfit is painful. I can feel that my ass is about to explode out of it at any second. Yet as I spin around and look at my reflection, I can't deny I like something about it. I almost look hot. The shorts accentuate how prominent and round my ass is like I've never really seen before. It almost looks as impressive as Christina's, just in a more hard and muscular way--and that's the ass I had now spent hours upon hours thinking about it. Where are these feelings coming from? The fact that I'm just in my bra too doesn't seem embarrassing or repulsive like I expected. In fact, it's actually kind of sexy. I don't think I've ever actually enjoyed my reflection until now. That is, until I crouch down and look at the reflection of my face. I still have a lot of work to do.

I manage to find some ancient eyeshadow and lipstick in the back of one of my drawers and apply them to my face as neatly as I can. I know I'm making a total mess of it, my eyes make me like a racoon, and I keep smearing lipstick all around my mouth. I just keep applying and wiping it off until I accidentally stumble on something that looks halfway reasonable. Who cares anyway? It's not like those two spend much time looking at my face.

Now my hair. That long tangled beehive of dark gingery curls. Always been a pointless case trying to tame it, but I try and run a hairbrush through it to calm it down a bit. By any normal person's standard, I'm still a complete mess. I look like a woman coming home from 24 hours of solid partying, not one who has just got ready. But I've definitely exhausted my abilities, so I give up and walk out the door. I may look like a turd, but it's probably the most polished turd I've ever been. I almost feel proud, in a small, pathetic way.

I take the 5-second walk down the hallway to Christina and Carlton's place. As I knock on the door, I suddenly feel self-conscious that I am out here in nothing but my bra. But it's too late. I'm sexy, I remind myself. I'm a tall, big-breasted goddess. I can hear someone coming, so I bend down slightly to make sure they aren't just greeted by a pair of beheaded tits when they open the door. Carlton appears. Damn it. I was hoping for Christina. He's dressed in black chinos and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He seems very shocked to see me looking like this and spends several moments scanning my whole body up and down before letting me in. Once inside, he compliments me, saying "you look nice", but I notice that he hasn't managed to look up at my face yet. I know what he must be thinking. He can't believe this gigantic woman's shown up at his house just wearing nothing but a bra. I brace myself for the wave of humiliation I am about to involuntarily subject myself to, but it doesn't come. I feel something, but it's not embarrassment. The fact that my appearance is causing this man's mind to unravel in front of me makes me feel oddly excited.

As I follow Carlton into the house, I start to feel a bit silly for coming empty-handed. I know a normal person would probably have brought a bottle of wine or something. Perhaps he's still too stunned to speak to me, but he doesn't make any remark about it. Then from across the living room, Christina skips over to me. She's dressed in a stunning figure-hugging azure dress that accentuates her narrow waist and squishes her breasts together. Even though she's wearing heels, she still disappears underneath my chest when she comes in for a hug. She stretches her arms around me as far as they will go and, from the feel of it, presses her chest into my penis. I grit my teeth, just willing my womanhood to behave itself for once. Carlton is leaning up against the doorway to the kitchen with his arms folded, watching his girlfriend and me execute this rather inappropriate embrace. One of these days I will remember to crouch down before hugging people.

The couple point me to a makeshift dining table they've set up in their living room. They've lit some candles and dimmed the lights. I can smell some kind of meaty aroma. Though the air is warm and homely, the atmosphere is anything but. Christina and Carlton are still not speaking to each other. They each ramble away about various topics, but only ever look at me (or rather my chest) while doing so. Christina keeps complimenting me on how beautiful I look in my bra and my makeup, and I keep finding myself blushing. She's doing it too much though, and every time she mentions how impressive I am, I can see Carlton bristle and furrow his brow.

I take a seat at the table. I hate sitting at tables like this. Have to pull the chair out by a metre to allow myself enough room. No idea how I'm supposed to eat like this. The chair is too low to the ground as well, so my legs are all bent up, giving my boobs even less room. Christina's gone off to get some food, and Carlton's just staring at me now, watching his giant guest try and sit down on a simple chair. It's like he's hypnotised by me. He won't look away. He's got the same look in his eye that he had the other night, like he simultaneously despises and adores me. Any other time this much attention would have given me a panic attack, but for some reason, I just let him look.

Carlton snaps out of whatever trance he'd fallen into when Christina returns. He looks down at his fake Rolex and pretends he wasn't looking at me. She sets down a big serving bowl full of stew and a plate of sliced French bread. We start eating. I can't reach over to the table, so I'm forced to pick up my bowl and balance it at the top of my cleavage. I'd never have dared to draw so much attention to them like that before this week. I probably would have just forgone food for fear of embarrassment. But something about these two almost makes me want to do the opposite. It's pretty clear the only reason I'm here is so they can stare lustfully at me instead of each other like a normal couple. May as well give them a show.

Stew's good. Quite nice actually. Especially after so many nights of crappy pre-made food--although I'm unsure about how much of this Christina prepared herself. The stew is hot, but everything else is ice cold. No one is talking. Even though my nerves are so much calmer than I expected, I still feel too socially awkward to offer up any conversation. My mind keeps going blank. So I wait for one of them to break the silence with something that never comes. We're almost done with the food when Carlton finally asks, "So how's your love life?". Ugh. Why? Of all the questions.

Christina's pissed. She glares at her boyfriend with a spiteful look that I've never seen her make before. I can swear she even kicks him under the table. I don't know what I can say. A week ago, there would have been nothing to say. But now, there's simply too much to mention. I can't exactly say "well not much, apart from the fact I've covered both of you in cum and you don't even know it". But they are both looking at me now. For whatever reason they really want an answer. I start mumbling something. I tell them that I've never really been into dating and that I haven't ever had much in the way of a relationship. I realise as I'm explaining all of this that it's the most I've talked about my personal life so far without being interrupted. They both seem hooked, and drag their chairs closer to the table to listen in.

When I'm done listing off a series of excuses for why I never dated before, Christina asks me if I'm into women or men. I don't even know the answer to that one. The question seems loaded. I admit that I never really figured it out myself, but I guess both. The couple share a very brief look at one another that lasts less than a second. Carlton then turns to me and asks with acid on his tongue what I "look for in a partner". I can feel my face go hot now. I can handle all the staring, but the interrogation is too much, especially about this. What could he possibly want me to say to that? "Oh, as it happens, I like douchebag tech bros with tiny dicks?" But I just hold my tongue. I really don't know what to say. Until this week, I never thought anyone could ever be romantically interested in a creature like me. I'd like to tell them that they've made me realise that this might not be true, but I can't even imagine the chaos that would unleash. So eventually, I just mumble something about wanting someone who accepts me for me. Leave them to figure out if there is any insinuation there.

Christina clears the plates and brings out some dessert. A couple of scoops of flavourless ice cream. I know the brand. It's the same cheap shit I buy. Christina and I tuck in, but Carlton ignores his serving and sits back on his chair with his arms folded. He looks down at his fake Rolex for the millionth time tonight. Everything about him is fake and cheap. I can't figure out his mood. He seems hyper-interested in me and goes right back to staring at me whenever his girlfriend is out of the room. But he also seems almost bored by it at the same time--like he doesn't even want to be here. I can see him twist his shoulders and grind his teeth every time Christina opens her mouth. She has obviously lost her patience for him too, but is finding it within herself to enjoy the evening. She giggles at almost everything I say, regardless of whether I intended it to be funny. Carlton never laughs, and just shakes his head and tuts whenever his girlfriend does. I hate it. I hate this dynamic so much. I want to leave. Why did they invite me into this toxic tar pit of a home?

Once we're done with the dessert, Christina clears mine and hers empty bowls and Carlton's untouched one, and returns to the kitchen. I hear her clattering around for a while, but a few moments later, she pokes her head out and tells Carlton sternly to join her. He drags his feet over to the kitchen, and I'm left alone. It's only been an hour, but I am completely exhausted. I'm exhausted talking about myself and having these two perverts fuck me with their eyes the entire time. I can admit to myself that all of this unabashed interest in my body is going to my head a bit, but what is the point?

In the kitchen I can hear that they're having an argument now. They're whispering so I can't make out anything they're saying. All I can hear is the spitting as they throw insults at each other. My ego says they're arguing about me. What else could it be? It's the only thing either of them have been able to talk about all night.

10 minutes go by. Still no sign of them. Their shouting is so incoherent I can't understand it. I don't hear my name, but there is a lot of "she is" and "she doesn't" going on. Then, the moment I start to think I should probably just get up and leave, Christina reappears. She skips around the door, beaming at me as though she hadn't just been engaged in a 10-minute-long argument. Carlton's slinking along behind her with his arms folded and looking at his watch again.

Christina starts babbling about something totally unrelated to do with the decor or something. I'm beyond sick of this now. I interrupt her, demanding her to tell me if they even want me here. To my surprise, both of them start nodding and replying "yes we do" and "of course babe!". I don't say anything in response, but Christina knows that I want an answer to why they abandoned me for 10 minutes to scream at each other. She goes silent for a long time. When she looks up at me again, her eyes are no longer smiling. She asks if I can "resolve something for them." I frown suspiciously, but Christina keeps going anyway. She apologises for being forward and says, "I know you said you had no preference for men or women, but is that true? If I forced you to pick, what would you say?"

I'm stunned. The question is so ridiculous that I can't even think of a way of deflecting from it. This cannot be what they were arguing about. Right? But both Carlton and Christina are looking at me with deadly serious expressions, waiting for an answer. I can't think. I wouldn't have even known the answer to that question if I was just pondering it in private. With my mind coming up blank, I just reply "well, it would depend." The moment the words leave my lips though, I realise that response was a mistake. Christina and Carlton both come closer. They stand over the dinner table, looking at me sitting on the opposite side. Christina asks "depends on the person? I'm just talking about physical attraction, babe. Who are you more drawn towards." It's all too obvious now. The question sounds generic, but it's clear to everyone in the room which people the word "who" is referring to.