The New Girl Ch. 10

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

Freya actually gets out more than I'd expect, given that brief experience of my beautiful Mistress as some depressive shut-in.

Not to socialise, as such. Freya doesn't exactly have friends, given her general brashness and comfortable aloofness. What she does have is a loyalty to her family, particularly her parents, that involves a continued willingness to mimic them. Such that, every other Saturday, I'm left in the house alone while Freya does something like an apprenticeship. Learning, bit by bit, how Persephone's company works. How at some point, post-college, perhaps post-university, Freya can follow in the older futanari's footsteps.

A peculiar kind of boredom sets in, with the house to myself. It's a terribly embarrassing variety of do-nothing meaninglessness. I've got a gaming PC, plenty of food and drink, grounds to walk, exercise machines, a swimming pool, some wall-swallowing television, super-fast internet. The works.

Is that just some human thing, to have access to so much that we become paralysed by choice? It sucks, regardless. Every time I manage to start something up, some game or activity, my brain suggests an alternative. And then the cycle repeats.

Well, for a while, that is. Until Morgan appears.

'Bored?' she says, looming in the doorway to Freya's (and my!) bedroom. 'Not used to having everything at your disposal, I imagine.'

It takes a sublime strength of will to not drop the controller as she saunters in, given how readily distracting the tall gothic futanari is. Pale as cream, womanly as her mother, as heavy-breasted as her "father". And it being summer, Morgan is wearing something a little airier than her usual full-dress garments.

Airier in this case being a tank-top without a bra, and boxer shorts. All black -- it could only be black, after all -- to match her hair and makeup, which are so far as I can tell identical in style to when we met prior. She's clearly not wearing a bra, though her breasts, despite being larger than Alicia's, don't possess the same level of age-induced sag.

And those boxer shorts, baggy though they may be, have a noticeable bulge in their front.

I go to speak, but she plants herself down on the sofa beside me. The flash screen of Street Fighter 5 is up, though I'm not sure why. It's not like this is any more interesting than anything else, beyond its association with my Mistress.

'Want to play?' Morgan says, smirking. Her lips are so full and curvaceous, evil crescents of blackness rimmed in blood red. 'Or were you going to do something else before I interrupted?'

'I...I didn't expect you to be here.'

She flutters her long lashes at me, the pale blues of her eyes piercing and transfixing. 'Am I really so scary, Tom?'

The humour that oozes from her voice, so effortlessly sexual, does little to help calm my nerves. Morgan is scary, but not for any reason that makes overt sense. She's dangerous, though not how I expected her to be. Not how Freya described her to be.

'I just expected to be alone,' I say, focussing on the screen. Pressing buttons, moving through the menus, as if I've some goal in mind. 'Freya didn't say you'd be around.'

'How quaint. And here I was thinking your Mistress would keep you informed of our discussions.' She slips off of the sofa, moving towards the screen and the little shelf beneath it. As much as I don't want to look at Morgan, it's difficult to avoid the shapeliness of her figure, particularly as she bends down to collect up one of the PlayStation controllers. 'Blondie's decided to share you with us, I hear. With your consent, of course.'

The tall gothic futanari spends far too long bent over, her fat backside swaying with those rounded womanly hips. Morgan is a veritable succubus, in personality as well as physique. Freya doesn't seduce, but takes. Alicia seduces, but sweetly. Persephone...I've not seen enough of, though she seems composed and coolly alluring. But Morgan?

Morgan speaks with this air of confidence that is the source of so many of my reservations with her. That she, unlike the others, talks with expectation.

The expectation that, at the drop of a hat, she'll get her own way.

'What's that game you play with my sweet sister?' she says, standing to her full and vaguely intimidating height. When she turns, her big breasts jiggle, and her curvaceous shape wobbles enticingly. The smile she affixes me with speaks volumes, a thing of black treacle. 'She offers you your choice of sexual favour -- to perform on her, of course -- and if you win or lose, that determines the outcome?'

I nod weakly. 'Yeah. I just, I mean, I don't know--'

Morgan rolls her eyes, and approaches. I tremble when she cups my jaw, sharp-nailed thumb stroking my cheek. 'I want that mouth around my cock, Tom. I want to train it.'

God, I am way too attracted to the Venyabildts. This family of perverts, all of them wanting a piece of me, and this terrible underlying feeling that I'm somehow betraying Freya. Somehow going against her, even though she's been nothing but supportive of this peculiar arrangement.

Keep her family happy. Make her life easy.

But the guilt comes from the fact that I want it. That I'm wired to think I shouldn't, but I do. And it feels especially troublesome with Morgan, for all that Freya's warned me about her, for all that she's effectively offering to tickle that urge which Mistress struggles to accommodate.

'You want to train my mouth?'

Morgan smiles, that intensity, that expectation, raw and tremor-inducing. 'We can help one another out. You get to worship a cock that won't just -- with all politeness to Blondie and her cuteness -- blow its cargo after a few minutes, and I get to sculpt you into the dick worshipping little cum-hungry on-call suck-slut I've always wanted.'

My cock twitches, at her words, at a memory. What Alicia said, when I tasted that stupidly tasty semen of the futanari matriarch, Persephone's load fresh out of the MILF's pussy.

Morgan's is almost identical in quality if not flavour, and she has quite the fetish for all things oral.

It only makes it feel like a greater betrayal. What if I like Morgan's loads more than Mistress's? What if that need for oral intimacy is met with the older sister, and not the one whose name hangs around my throat?

'Does Alicia really suck you off?'

The gothic beauty produces a salacious smirk, shifts her thumb in a pleasing circle. 'Mother dearest does have something of a taste for her eldest daughter, that's true,' Morgan says. 'Why? Does that bother you?'

'It's incest.'

'So? It's two consenting adults. And I initiated, all the same. It's not fair that Daddy-dearest should get all the fun. Or are you worried you can't compete?'

'It's not that at all. It's just a bit, well, weird.'

She chuckles, and withdraws her hand. 'Good, because on the contrary, there's no finer blowjob than one given by a man. Futanaris are superior, and male sperm will never compete. Once a man realises that, I can make him do all sorts of embarrassing things. Admit all manner of faults and flaws. All for the honour of having his mouth utterly packed with my ejaculate.'

Morgan's is almost identical.

Why does that ghostly voice bother me so? Morgan sits herself down beside me, a shoulder-width gap between us, and starts browsing the character selection. Without even noticing, I've set it up for two-player mode, as if hoping to make a game of it. Hoping to in some fashion remove my own agency.

"Whoops, I thought I'd win, but lost! Now I'd better suck her off."

'Is it true, what Alicia said?'

Her fingers, despite those nails, move with practised delicateness. 'That being?'

'She said your...your loads are almost as good as Persephone's.'

'You'd best not be admitting that you've blown my father before you've blown me, Tom. My ego is a sturdy beast, but that might be slightly too much to handle.'

'It doesn't matter. Just answer.'

Morgan considers me, side-on. Her pale blues are extravagant in their gorgeousness, every bit as lovely as Freya's, yet different. Colder, calculating. Her milk-pale skin, spotless, complementing the darkness of her makeup and hair, might as well be marble. She, as all of them, is a sculpture, a thing of sublime beauty.

She stares for a moment, and then unbuttons the front of her boxer shorts. 'Why don't you find out for yourself?'

I'm transfixed as she pulls out her big creamy cock and a pair of superbly fat nuts from within. Flaccid, but easily eight or nine inches in length. Mine fully erect, and half of it again. She's not noticeably larger than Mistress, but her bell-end seems particularly plump. Especially huge, in fact, despite not being fully engorged.

'I...I just wanted to...'

'You like semen, don't you?' Morgan says, smirking. 'You're in good company. We've got all day together. As much as I like masturbating, it's beneath me, and you like sucking cock, so...come to my bedroom, perhaps? We can play a different game. How many loads can Tom swallow before the others come back and spoil our fun?'

Even the passing suggestion that Morgan will produce something similar to Persephone has me salivating, licking my lips. Before Freya, I'd never imagined that I'd want to suck cock, let alone want to taste semen, but things are different now.

Now, I struggle to think of anything more enticing as I look at the exposed junk of the tall gothic futanari.

'You hoped for this, didn't you?'

She sniggers. 'Am I that transparent? Of course. Of course, I hoped. Blondie's sweet and impressionable, but you're wasted on her. I saw that mouth, Tom. I saw how it craved Venyabildt sperm.'

I shake my head. 'This is wrong, Morgan. If you'd plotted for this--'

'What's wrong is this silly notion that people must meet all of their needs in the confines of exclusivity,' Morgan says. 'Freya, bless her, is a quick-shot when it comes to oral. That's simply how it is. Will she improve? Yes, of course, but that takes time. Time, during which, you've got an appetite to suck cock, and taste semen. Both of which are perfectly fitting, given your nature. Both are things that, fairly, you shouldn't have to go without.'

The look about her, the carnal glee, should disturb me. It's certainly not a kindly expression. The emotion suggests pride, smugness, something that doesn't seem to relate as much to me as I'd think.

'It gets you off, doesn't it? The idea that I'm Freya's, but I'd crave your dick.'

Morgan bats her eyelids at me. 'Of course, Tom. I don't want to hurt Blondie, but it's simply maddening that she's got you. I'll never forget that hunger in your eyes I saw that day. I knew, in that moment, that your mouth belongs to my penis. My cock, and your mouth, were made for one another.'

She's insane, clearly. Insane, and perverse, and insanely hot. But Morgan touches on something that provokes that guilt in me, stirring it up from the depths of my soul. That yes, in so many ways, I want to suck cock. Want to worship Freya in the way that feels most submissive, most her-focussed.

And Mistress, as much as I adore her, to the stars and back again, just isn't wired the same way. Through some combination of sensitivity, inexperience, and then reluctant embarrassment, Freya's simply not able to fill my mouth as readily as I want her to.

Which makes the idea of Morgan replacing her, in this regard, all the filthier. It feels like a truer betrayal, to pick my lusts over working with Freya to meet them.

'I don't want to hurt Freya,' I say. 'I don't want to partake of this weird rivalry.'

Morgan shakes her head, mane of black shivering. 'She's never going to know, Tom. Part of how the sharing process works is that our stories are separate. If she asks, by all means tell her as much as you want. But I'll never say a word. If you want to suck me off, then come to my room. And if you want some semblance of reluctance, then let's play this silly little game. But don't pretend we don't want the same thing. Not when we know each other so well as we do.'

'But I'd know.'

She shrugs, and takes to her feet. 'Yes, and isn't that sexiest part? We'd know that your mouth has a new owner.' Morgan shudders, and her cock twitches, growing noticeably larger with a single pulse of arousal. 'I can hardly think of anything quite so hot as you wearing that cute little collar while my sperm explore your tastebuds, Tom. While you suck and savour and swallow for your Mistress's older sister, tending to my needs but also, and ever so sweetly, tending to your own.'

The statuesque goth saunters towards the door, her womanly hips swinging, her body at once intensely desirable and somehow foreboding. A representation of my worst hungers, because with Morgan it seems personal somehow. With Alicia, even with those thoughts of Persephone, it's only seemed complementary. But with Morgan it feels as though we're actively betraying my Mistress.

And the older sister, at least, appears to take active pleasure in the concept.

'You know where to find me, cocksucker. I'll be happy to answer that question you had about semen quality, though you might have to do a little bit of work to get a good taste of the answer.' Morgan winks at me, smiling cruelly, charmingly, both at once. 'There's no shame in knowing your place, Tom. If it happens to be on your knees, then so be it. Good boys get big, creamy rewards in this house.'

She shuts the door, leaving me with relative silence. Birds outside, and the game idling on the screen, music somehow annoying. A testament to the fact that, on some subconscious level, I was about to shamefully seek some means of escaping my agency.

And for all of Morgan's words, for all of my worries, my cock is as hard as rock.

I...don't want to betray Freya. But I do want to suck Morgan's cock.

Morgan's is almost identical.

The taste of Persephone's incredible semen, taunting me just as much as Alicia's voice, is traitorous in and of itself.

*

Why am I so nervous, to knock on the older sister's door?

Why am I so willing, besides?

Here is this astoundingly gorgeous creature, same as the rest of her family, and I've explicit permission from Freya to mess around. To try things with her mother and her sister and her "father". There were no rules in place, no lines drawn in the sand.

Make them happy. Keep the peace.

But I'm sweating a little bit, lifting my hand. Knuckles to the wood, ready to tap, ready to choose this fate. To go and orally service the gothic beauty that is Morgan Venyabildt, eight years my senior, Freya's scheming older sister.

She opens the door before I make a sound, smirking. 'Don't give me that face, sweet Tom. You're not exactly the quietest of men.'

In truth, more of my hesitancy is born of her toplessness. Morgan saunters into the depths of room, its walls painted scarlet, adorned with all manner of peculiar artefacts. Vinyls, ranging from psychedelic rock to death metal to classical music. Pieces of art, fantastical and mundane. A vast room, much like Freya's, though cluttered where my Mistress keeps her domain (usually) clean and neat.

There's the distinctive tang of semen, fresh and stale, and a veritable bucket of jism-tissues sat beside the goth's large beanbag chair. Morgan returns to that seat and collects up an Xbox controller, though it's not for the console. She's got some mad setup, a water-cooled gaming PC, playing some Souls-like game. Effortlessly, it seems, despite her nails.

'Shut the door and get on your knees,' she says, not looking at me. Morgan twists her neck, throwing back the locks of raven darkness. God, to be told...

I do as asked, but hesitate. Holy shit, her boobs. They're enormous! A pair of milk-coloured melons, bigger than Freya's by a few handfuls, fairly pert yet showing gravitational sag given their obvious heaviness. Wide, smooth, puffy pink halos with inverted nipples makeup the front of each bosom, a familiar and attractive flat beauty mark on the inside top of her left breast.

'They're tits, yes.' Morgan smiles at me, runs her tongue against her top teeth. 'Do a good job and I might let you suck on them. Oral doesn't just mean my cock, after all. My body itself deserves worship.'

Her words only make me feel worse. It's so effortless, with her. No nerves, no wariness, no concern. I wish Freya was like this.

'Can...can I ask a favour?' I say, approaching.

Morgan makes a casual gesture for me to get down, out of her eyeline. 'Maybe. Kneel.'

I drop down onto the plush carpet and glance back, vaguely emasculated -- is that the right feeling? -- by how she's utterly ruining this game that I spent the better part of a month failing at, time and again.

'Are you really playing without armour? You just dodge everything?'

'Impressed?'

I nod. 'I cheesed it and still sucked.'

'You want me to teach you? I'm good, but I'm not that good.'

'Fuck you, of course not.'

Her smile mocks me, but affectionately. Morgan doesn't look at me, all the same. 'That favour? What is it?'

'Can you teach Freya?' I say, crawling between her perfect legs. Those boxer shorts, baggy, hint at the heavy shape within. A big, fat, pale, beautiful dick. 'To be...more like you?'

The violence in the background pauses, and Morgan glances at me. 'No wonder you look so bothered. You quite like me, don't you?'

I tremble. 'I wouldn't exactly want to put your dick in my mouth if I didn't.'

'Cheeky.' She glances down at me, eyes piercing and pale. 'Blondie's that poor a domme, is she?'

'No, of course not. It's just a lot of what we talked about.' I shuffle forwards and struggle with the angle, the lowness of her beanbag chair proving difficult. 'Freya's insecure, and she's not so confident as you.'

'But it's attractive, isn't it? My confidence.'

I nod, heart thundering. Her smells, that distinct tang of potent jism and the dark fruitiness of her body wash, mingle deliciously. 'It is.' I'm dimly aware that she's observing me as I flop down onto my belly, resting on my forearms to get my head up at the right height. The angle of her hips, the inevitable direction of her dick, suggest this stance as most productive. 'It seems wrong, to feel this way.'

Morgan rests a hand on my scalp, teasing me with those long nails. 'It's natural, sweet Tom. It's part of what attracts me to you, in fact. You're clearly submissive, and you clearly like to serve. We're quite the match.'

Before I can speak she releases me and pushes down her underwear, freeing her immense genitals. Milky-white nuts, perhaps slightly bigger than Mistress's. That creamy cock, capped in an overly large helmet, shrouded by wrinkly folds. Morgan brings down her smooth silky legs either side of me, leaving her junk to jiggle before my face. The delectable stink is stronger, richer.

'You can begin,' she says, shifting her hips, 'by eating my arse. This is an act of worship, so make sure to kiss and lick and praise me a lot. Then move to my testicles, and do the same. Only when I give the word may you, at last, get what you want.'

Morgan so effortlessly puts goosebumps up the back of my neck. That she simply picks up her controller and starts to play, leaving me in this limbo, command in my ear, only enhances the profoundly pleasant perversion I feel.

I glance at her body, behold the insane beauty of her Venyabildt curves. Womanly hips and full thighs, a big dick and huge balls. Not toned or muscular, but not anything like chubby. Her pubes, at the base of her cock, form a neat wide triangle of darkness, shorn close to the skin.

'Th-ank you, um, Mistress,' I say, gingerly reaching for her buttocks, which sit at an angle which might just about allow me to rim her. 'For the honour of tasting your b-eautiful body.'