The New Girl Ch. 09

***The characters referenced in this story are Sixth-Formers, aged 18, or they are teachers. No character is any younger than 18***

How can I possibly refuse the opportunity to live with Freya?

I'd have to be insane. To look the love of my life in her bright blue eyes and choose the lesser option, to keep ourselves separate when an alternative exists, would be utterly daft. To choose to stay with Dad and Mum, instead of with Freya in that fuck-off big house, wanting for nothing, needing nothing, would be foolish.

So of course, I jump at the chance. But it involves, from the very beginning, introductions.

Because my parents want to meet Freya's. Because, unsurprisingly, this offer of an "all expenses paid young couple moving-in together" situation provokes questions.

And what better way to introduce everyone than have my family visit the Venyabildt Estate.

Not Freya's idea. Not mine. The whole process is awkward, to say the least, given that parents can be embarrassing at the best of times, when all is profoundly normal, and Freya and I are deeply aware that our situation -- her situation generally, in fact -- is the farthest thing from "profoundly normal."

I have the luxury of suffering parental inquisition on the car journey there. "Why haven't we met this girl yet?" and, "Are you sure you've not been confused about what's happening here?" and, "I don't want to lose my baby boy to anyone less than perfect, and if--"

It takes some heroic effort, but I tune it out. It's not that I don't appreciate the worry -- they're just trying to help, to be protective -- but I don't have any answers to offer that they'll actually take into consideration. They love me, sure, but legal adult though I may be, they still treat me as though I'm a child when it comes to anything so life-altering as this.

Dad and Mum marvel and mutter, upon reaching the house. A cacophonic commentary trails alongside us as we walk up to the main house, two fundamentally regular people in a fundamentally irregular environment.

Alicia -- Mrs Venyabildt -- welcomes us in. It's my first time meeting the actual "Mum" of Freya, and it's more than a little uncomfortable. She smiles at me, and I shiver. Shiver, because I should not, in meeting my girlfriend's mother, immediately think "God, it's no wonder that Freya and Morgan are so fucking hot."

But Mrs Venyabildt clearly contributes her fair share, especially in Morgan's case. 'Mr and Mrs Olsen,' she says, stepping to one side of the opened door. 'Please, come in. Freya's waiting inside, and Persephone -- my wife -- is just preparing dinner.'

Dad gives me a look, when Alicia moves ahead of us. A kind of old-fashioned, "ooh, lesbians!" look. And I smile, not because I get the outmoded male humour -- I mean, I understand it I guess, but it's not funny or interesting -- but rather because if Dad knew quite what goes on in the Venyabildt line he'd be as pale as a ghost.

Whereas my real issue in the heat of the moment is this vague worry that I'm going to struggle to talk to Freya's mother, what with her seeming to be some mature older shorter non-futanari fusion of both my Mistress and her sister.

Alicia Venyabildt is tall, but not Amazonian. Especially curvaceous, with womanly, motherly hips and a prominent backside that shifts as she walks ahead of us, a knee-length black skirt clinging to her shapeliness. Her raven hair is similar to Morgan's, though she keeps it up in a ponytail with a parted fringe. When she turns and smiles, lips full and glossy chocolate, her breasts -- easily as large as Freya's -- are impossible to ignore given how they visibly shudder and seem wholly unsupported.

'Sit,' Alicia says, gesturing towards the downstairs lounge. A large room, as they all are, with several sofas and a vast flat-screen television taking up one wall. 'Would you like anything to drink? I make quite a mean cocktail, alcoholic and not.'

My parents are all thankful, on their best behaviour, tripping over their words. And all the while Mrs Venyabildt smirks at me, her pale blue eyes a contrast to the olive tan of her skin. Everything about her face is neat, carefully assembled. A flat beauty spot sits beneath her left eye, a point of darkness amidst the bronze. At a glance I'd think her thirty-five or so, though she must be older, given Morgan's age.

And when Dad and Mum have put in their requests, given the vast range of choices, Alicia sends them into the lounge to meet Freya. But she stops me, taking hold of my wrist, when I attempt the same.

'A moment,' Mrs Venyabildt says. Her voice is warm, sweet, easy on the ear. Posh without being grating. I don't resist when she pulls me aside, out of sight of Freya and my parents. 'Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? And here I was thinking I'd be the only non-futanari living here until the end of time, at the rate Morgan goes through partners.'

She straightens up, form-hugging white buttonless blouse failing to hide the heaviness of her breasts. Are those...her nipples? Is she not wearing a bra? Don't look. Don't stare. Jesus what an awkward--

But Alicia takes hold of my arms, stroking my biceps with gentle up-down motions. 'You don't need to be so shy around me, Tom. Stare all you like. It's rather flattering, really, being able to produce such an effect in so handsome a young man despite being forty-five.'

I meet her pale blue eyes, so much like Morgan's, and blush. 'Mrs Venyabildt, I--'

She puts a finger to my lips. 'Tom, we're going to be living under the same roof. Call me Alice, Alicia, Mummy, whatever, but please, don't be so formal about things. We're in the same boat, aren't we?'

Alicia pulls back the collar of her blouse, revealing the pretty bronze of her throat. And there, dangling from a black leather collar around it, is a little tag which reads: "Persephone's Slut."

So...it's not just Freya and Morgan. It's a family matter.

'Woah.'

She smirks, and wets her lips with a pretty sliver of pink. 'Woah indeed, sweetie. Doubtless my dear daughter hasn't quite explained how things work around here, but satisfying our Mistresses doesn't mean that we can't have our other needs met.'

My eyes bulge slightly as she cups my groin, doing it with such irreverent nonchalance that I'd almost think this fake. A strange fever dream. This is Freya's mother, birth-mother, and she's...molesting me?

'You're making me uncomfortable,' I say, yet find myself paralysed. 'Freya's next door.'

Alicia immediately removes the hand, smiling with all the cheek of a schoolgirl. 'I take it you've not discussed how exclusivity works here, Tom.' She moves past me, peering into the lounge where my parents are. The pair of them sat together, meeting my girlfriend-Mistress for the first time. 'I'm just going to take Tom away for a little while, to meet Persephone. We'll return with drinks in a moment.'

I catch a glance at Freya's face, finding on it something remarkably familiar. The awkwardness of family, especially one's parents, though I don't know how I'm going to raise the matter of her mother's crotch-groping in a way that doesn't sound terrible.

Mrs Venyabildt takes my wrist and leads me through the house, towards a thickening odour of restaurant-grade cooking. Something distinct yet impossible to place, a fusion of familiar scents mixed into something that goes outside the boundaries of my grasp.

And there, slicing vegetables with apex preciseness, is Freya's "Father." The futanari matriarch, Persephone Venyabildt. The older Mistress Venyabildt.

'Mistress,' Alicia says, grinning from ear to ear. 'This is Tom. Freya's pet.'

I'm not sure what I expected, but a naked woman in an apron was certainly not it.

Persephone is, much like Alicia, some contributor to the qualities that her two daughters possess. Mistress Venyabildt is a blonde, like Freya, but pale as milk, like Morgan. Her hair, the colour of spun gold, is luscious and full, flowing down around her shoulders like a regal auric mane. The same height as Morgan, the pale futanari is closer to Freya in terms of musculature, though with a larger backside and plumper breasts.

And when she looks my way, full ruby lips faintly smiling, I'm struck by a pair of eyes that are the spitting image of Freya's. Distracting to the point that I don't even focus on the immensity of side-boob presented by the apron that lewdly covers her front.

'Tom Olsen,' Persephone says. 'Or is it Thomas?'

'T-om's fine, uh, Mistress Venyabildt.'

Both women chuckle and the tall futanari puts down the folded-steel knife, wiping her hands on her apron. 'No need to be nervous, boy. I don't bite, unless you explicitly ask me to. And even then, I'm not prone to honouring requests from submissives.'

She struts over to me, opulent hips swaggering, peeking out from the sides of the apron. Her cleavage is insane, all of this is insane. All these beautiful women, in one family. Persephone Venyabildt, the head of house, the tallest of the futanaris, appears in many ways to be some older rendition of Freya. Her age is obvious, matured like fine wine. Youth fades, but to mistake youth with beauty would be foolish. Persephone is no less beautiful than her daughters. Her allure is regal, noble, gorgeous.

'I'm Persephone,' she says, extending a long-nailed hand. 'Whatever silly ideas Freya's filled your head with, they can die a death here. Unless -- and until -- I have my name on that collar, I'm no Mistress of yours.'

As I take the hand, out of politeness, I'm struck by a powerful notion. That I am, in this place, prey. A feeling felt before, at times. At the best of times, even, in the most erotic bouts of fucking with this woman's younger daughter. But in those brilliant blue eyes, it's clear where I stand.

Freya, as troublesome as she can be, is the safest of the lot.

'Um, thank you?'

Persephone smirks, and says, 'Definitely a submissive.' Alicia chuckles, and strokes my back. 'You're welcome, Tom. And it'll be good to have you around. Freya's been dramatically better since you entered into the picture. You're a good omen.'

'Better?'

'Freya is prone to bouts of bad behaviour,' Alicia says, moving around to my front. She drags her hand in the process, fondling me in passing. The "mundane" woman stands beside Persephone, who idly hangs an arm around her waist. 'Or was, anyway. Her grades are up, and she's not been in a fight for months now.'

They smile at one another, and then at me. There's something touching, about the idea that I've been good for Freya. She always seemed to be, well, doing me a favour. But maybe it's a lot more complicated than that.

It does, however, make things a lot more difficult when her parents are giving me eyes that suggest an undeniable degree of voraciousness. Alicia alone is enough to be problematic, without the addition of the motherly futanari beside her.

'I'm...glad?'

Persephone cocks her head at me. 'You're all nerves, boy. What's the matter?'

Alicia smiles up at the taller woman. 'I may or may not have introduced our dear Tom to the possibility of being shared, Mistress.'

Perhaps my eyes deceive me, or I've simply got the imagination for such, but there's a subtle shift in the angle of the drooping apron. Is that...is that what I think it is? Persephone...might actually be bigger than Freya.

'Is this true, Tom?' Persephone says. 'Would you be interested in such an arrangement?'

'I...um...'

'Where are those drinks, you cretins?' Freya saves me. She barges in and halts behind me. 'Oh. No, you don't. You utter perverts.' My Mistress puts her arms around my shoulders and draws me against her body, a show of safety and possessiveness all at once. Bubble-gum safety. 'What've you said to him? And why're you cooking in nothing, Dad?'

The older futanari winks at me, smiles at Freya. 'We simply were suggesting to Tom that there's the possibility of him being shared, given that he's going to be living with us. What's yours is mine, darling daughter.'

To my surprise, Mistress's grip softens. 'Oh. Well, uh. I don't know about that.'

Wait, what? Alicia finds something in my face particularly funny. God, she won't stop looking at me, eating me with those pale blue eyes.

And Freya? Freya...she's meant to be angry, right?

'He is going to be family, darling,' Persephone says. 'He's yours, obviously, but you know the place of men in this household.'

Mistress squeezes my shoulder. 'I...I don't know.'

'Morgan told me that the two of you were talking about this. She seemed to think you were coming around to the proper way of things.'

The proper way of things? Freya talking to Morgan? What the hell's going on?

Alicia clears her throat. 'Sweetie, shall I take Tom back to his parents with those drinks, while you and your father hash this out?'

Freya's grip on me fades into nonexistence. 'Yeah, sure, Mum. I...need to work this out with Dad.'

I've nothing to say. Nothing to add. All of it's weird. Strange.

Mistress gives me a funny look as her mother guides me away, taking me by the wrist. Not a look of upset, or anything malign. I can't quite put my finger on the meaning of it, all the same.

Like she's viewing me in a different light, somehow.

*

The introductions go swimmingly, at least.

I'm left with a low-level foreboding throughout, wondering about so many things that will have to wait until I can sit in private with Freya, but at least she's beside me. At least she touches me regularly, each rub of my shoulder or pat on my thigh ensuring a prolonged feeling of being safe and wanted.

Alicia rarely takes her eyes off me, throughout the wonderful dinner. Persephone -- now in a form-hugging black dress -- occasionally smirks my way, but mostly eyes her daughter. My parents are too busy being brown-noses to notice anything amiss. But they come away with a deep enthusiasm for my decision, with nothing but good words and high hopes.

Partly, I imagine, because they hope for some degree of financial assistance if I'm to be the long-term partner of a scion of the Venyabildt billionaires.

And when they leave, my moving here agreed upon without reservation, Freya and I slip away to her bedroom.

'What the hell's going on here?' I say, sitting down on the sofa.

Mistress hesitates. Freya looks divine, especially in her burgundy dress. It clings to her curves, a selection of criss-cross cut-out sections revealing her hips and her bounteous cleavage while otherwise being fairly tame. At the very least, in his vulgar outmoded fashion, Dad approves.

'It's complicated,' she says, lingering by the door. She folds her arms across her chest, stares out of the windows behind me. 'You know how I said that men don't do well here? This is what I meant.'

'You didn't seem all that bothered, though?'

Freya affixes me with a brilliant blue stare. 'Because I shouldn't be. Because Persephone isn't exactly wrong, and...Morgan's been very forthcoming about how things are. Or should be.'

'You're listening to Morgan now?'

Mistress nods as she approaches the sofa, sitting herself down beside me. She casually puts an arm around my shoulders and brings me in close, filling my nose with that tell-tale bubble-gum perfume. The warmth of her body, her beauty swallowing the world, isn't enough to stem the tide of concerning concepts.

'We talked, okay? Made up a little. And...she's teaching me to become more dominant. More in control. Like I should be, given what I am, and who I am.'

'Meaning what?'

Freya blushes. 'Meaning that it's no threat to what we have for me to share you with the others. Just like they always do, not that I ever wanted to take them up on it.' She quickly takes one of my hands in hers and squeezes. 'It's like I said, Tom. Futanaris are superior. Men and women both exist to cater to our needs, and if I've found a good pet, then that pet should serve Persephone and Morgan as well.'

I stare at her face, in profile, because she can't seem to look at me right now. 'You sure they're not just trying to have a shot at me without consequences?' I say.

And Freya shuts her eyes. 'Yeah. That's pretty much the first thought.'

I lean into her, nuzzle her throat, kiss the silken bronze of her skin. 'I'm yours, Freya. Nobody else's. You don't need to share me because your Dad-Mum and sister want a piece.'

Mistress strokes my head, tussles my hair. 'But then aren't I admitting that I'm not so confident in my ability to control you? That what we've got only exists in the absence of competition? Dominance is about confidence, Tom. And if I can't confidently believe that you'll pick my bed every night, even with the offer of Persephone and Morgan, then how can I claim to be confident? My behaviour would tell it true. I'd be scared of losing you to them.'

'You'll never lose me to anyone. I don't want anyone else.'

'Tom, that's bull.' Freya's tone is soft, though, and she smiles warmly at me. The blonde beauty kisses my brow. 'It's okay to fancy other people, you know? You're not the only man in the world I notice, after all. Just the only one I want as my slut.'

'A slut you're thinking of sharing. And what about your Mum? She made her intentions way too clear, Jesus.'

Mistress giggles. 'Alicia's no threat, because she's not a futanari. It's a bit weird, but as I'm sure you're discovering, this family is fucking weird.' She rolls her eyes. 'Do you know that Morgan sometimes blows our Dad? And gets blown by Mum?'

I did notice something off about Morgan's kiss, that day when it all kicked off. It certainly wasn't a purely platonic thing. 'I...get the impression that Morgan's into you, as well.'

Freya shudders a little, blushing brighter. 'Yeah. Me too.'

'That doesn't bother you?'

She shakes her head. 'It's a kind of fucked-up coping mechanism. Because of what Genevieve did. To Dad and Morgan both.'

'You don't mean she...?'

Freya shuts her eyes, wincing. She nods. 'Yeah, Tom. It ended before I hit puberty, but from the little I've been told, Persephone was exposed to some seriously messed-up things. Morgan was on the tail-end of that.'

Psychotic raping bitch, indeed.

'Shit.'

'Yup. Partly why we're so close. Why this idea of sharing doesn't seem so bad. I love my family, weird as they are. I was too young to suffer the darker stuff, and end up involved in the resultant incestuous shit, but even so.' Freya opens her eyes, looking exhausted just from talking about it. 'The whole "futanaris are superior" thing stems from the mess they went through. If we look out for each other, and view ourselves as deserving only of the finest treatment, then the mess with Gen won't repeat itself.'

'What happened to your gran? Morgan said she's not allowed here, but beyond that?'

'Too rich to go to prison,' Mistress says. 'She's still, de facto, the head of Venyabildt Industrial. But she's nothing to worry about. Lives in California, hasn't been in touch for years. Persephone put her in hospital. Like, badly.'

'Coach Bulger badly?'

Freya grips me a little tighter, smirking proudly. 'Worse. I heard they reattached it, but Gen had her cock cut off. Almost became some Cronos and Ouranos shit.'

I smile at the reference, at her unassuming cleverness. Where her sister and parents are so overtly intellectual -- at least by their manner of speaking -- Freya can seem rougher around the edges, with her casual speech and easy dialect. But this is the girl who reads Dostoevsky and Nietzsche during lunchtime, after all.

'I love you, Mistress.'

She ruffles my hair. 'Where'd that come from?'

'Just thinking, is all. How easy it is to imagine that you'd have no real issues because of your money, but then you've got this psycho rapist for a grandmother. Money doesn't cure that. Makes it worse, even, by the sounds of it.'