The New Girl Ch. 10

Morgan says nothing, though the faintest smirk forms in the corners of her black-and-crimson mouth. That, too, that sheer lack of acknowledgement, does something for me. It's so dirty, isn't it? To relish in being ignored, in being used, in being seen as some tool for her pleasure, a masturbatory aid with a face.

But God, it makes me hot and bothered.

'So beautiful.' I'm speaking to myself, adhering perhaps too rigidly to her command. Leaning in close to those plump cheeks, getting a whiff of her potent musk, her pseudo-feminine sublimeness. 'Your body's exquisite, Mistress.'

Morgan says nothing, does nothing but continue playing, as I spread her arse and lean in closer and press my lips to her cheeks, kissing and smooching the soft milky flesh, warm and sweetly fragrant. She smells, fundamentally, completely, good. Not freshly clean, but not dirty either. Her pretty sphincter, pale pink, sits between those fat and creamy buns.

I realise that I've never actually eaten arse before. Freya always had it as a choice, that or sucking dick, and I always chose dick.

But now that I'm here, as instinctually dirty as the notion is, I'm licking my lips in readiness.

'God, your butt is beautiful.' Morgan might make a sound of acknowledgement, but just as well might simply be responding to her game. 'I can't, um, wait to taste your body, Mistress.'

'Slut,' is all she says. A single word, and I shiver. It's said unkindly, not maliciously, but with plenty of implication to it. A suggestion that, fundamentally, I'm easy, servile, dirty.

And if such were possible, it makes her bum look all the more tempting.

'Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for this opportunity.'

I shove my face between her cheeks, inhaling the pleasant bitterness of her arse. Kissing it, touching my lips upon its smooth yet firm wrinkles, provokes a sensation of genuine naughtiness. That this is particularly filthy, particularly pathetic. To treat her backside like a palace, a thing of nobility, deserving of such artful affection.

Smooch. Smack.

My lips and their sordid song play back at me, especially carnal. The meeting of a mouth and an arsehole, hot and humid against my face. Her big balls wobble and shift against my forehead, and Morgan goes to some effort to tighten her cheeks, to squeeze down against me and in a fashion to kiss my mouth with her puckered pretty paleness.

'So--smooch--beautiful, Mistress.' I test with my tongue, meeting that peculiar texture, tasting faint acridity. Not dirty, not unpleasant, but distinctly vulgar. Smack. Slup. 'So--smooch--tasty.'

Does Morgan chuckle, or do I imagine it? I suppose, in some filthy fashion, I am laughable in this moment. Licking and lapping at her tight backdoor, massaging those pale wrinkles with my slutty eager tongue.

Teasing, again and again, at that slowly loosening hole.

Should I...should I just?

'Get your tongue in there,' Morgan says, cool and firm. 'I've a prostate, and you're going to pleasure it.'

Of course, she'd have a prostate. Of course, right? Dick, balls...yeah. Big, fat, silky-skinned balls, wobbling about against my forehead. The feminine musky sweetness of what must be an exquisitely beautiful pussy, awaiting behind them.

And this pretty pink arsehole, ready to eat my tongue.

Schlup. Mlep.

I push my face into her crack as deeply as I can manage, practically burying myself into that subtly dirty -- in raw emotional terms, at least, given her cleanliness -- depression. The faint bitterness on my tongue grows richer, stronger, as I manage to wiggle my tastebuds into her hotly gripping sphincter.

The gorgeous goth shifts herself forwards slightly, aiding my tongue's efforts. Inches of my perky pinkness slip inside of her, into that carnal crevice, finding silky flesh and a peculiarly pleasing heat. I'm dirty, but I already knew that. A filthy man with a filthy mind.

I'm eating my Mistress's arse, and I love it.

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Does Morgan laugh again? God, if she does, it's so faint and brief, a torturous thing.

Schlap. Mlup.

I dig around inside of her, worming my wriggling tastebuds about the interesting illicitness of her bum hole, attempting some poorly-managed mental mapping of the biology of it. When Freya fucks me, it's...down, from behind? Up, from missionary? Right. So...up.

'Aah.' I actually get a response. 'My, you're a natural at eating filthy things, you disgusting little slut.' But the vulgarity at least is paired with a momentary pausing of her game, and a degrading yet delicious patting of my head. 'Go on, sweet Tom. Earn the right to suck my dick.'

Something about that spurs me forwards like little else on Earth, so hungry I am to worship Morgan's penis and taste her genes. I move my tongue with wild abandon, tracing patterns on that male-form G-spot, pressing against her prostate in a fashion that makes her squirm and shudder against my face.

'Mhm. Shit, that's--aah--really good.'

'Mhm. Mumph.'

Schlup. Schlurp.

She doesn't un-pause her game. There's no more touch, but Morgan basks in the worship I'm giving her, sighs and exhales, murmurs sweetly. She moans softly into the calm of her bedroom, legs trembling and plump cheeks wobbling against my hands while her seed-churning nuts jiggle and sway against my forehead.

'You might actually...' Morgan suddenly laughs, and stops me with a firm yet gentle hand. 'Up. Tend to my balls. You're surprisingly good, so be happy. Rare is the tongue that tickles me quite so well.'

The shame, the guilt, has to compete now with a fuzzy sense of meaning. Of importance, knowing that I can do this thing so well for this woman who is so beautiful. Knowing that I can please her in this most carnal, and -- given how she treats this, some expectation, some honour -- most degrading of fashions.

'Your body is so beautiful, Mistress,' I say, pulling my tongue away. Kissing her cheeks, smooching her sphincter one last time. 'I want to taste your semen so badly.'

'Then suck on my nuts, slut. Tell them what you want, that they might deliver it.'

'Yes, Mistress. Happily.'

My traitor mouth and my traitor soul. What would Freya think if she saw this? I'm doing what comes naturally, approaching this as I would anything with her. Submitting, behaving like my subby slutty self, following my instincts.

Lifting my head causes Morgan's big bloated balls to flop down against my eye sockets, the excessive rolls of saggy skin tickling the bridge of my nose. I lick my lips frantically, with disturbing hunger, wanting something that now seems so normal and desirable and once seemed so odd.

Semen. Sperm. Venyabildt genes.

I completely ignore her pussy, wonderful as I'm sure it is. Morgan told me what to do, so I'll do what she's told me. Simple as that. And these big beefy bollocks that bounce so beautifully against my face, engulfing my nose, now come to rest against my lips. And her cock, a heaving mass clearly engorged either mostly or fully, replaces their weight upon my forehead.

I am, in so many ways, little more than a seat for her genitalia. What a fucking glorious notion.

'Mhm.' Schlup. Smooch. Mlep. 'Mumph.'

Her balls are faintly sweaty, salty, richly flavoursome. Virile loins, productive, fatter than my true Mistress's. I hate that they are, and love that they are. Morgan is older, and if what she says is true, then it makes sense that her sperm-makers are more sizeable.

Still, she doesn't play. I glance up, my vision mostly obscured by her thick pole, and find the gothic futanari smirking. Pale piercing eyes, lips voluptuous and black, rimmed in crimson. Those big breasts sag in the most beautiful of fashions, displaying their heft and womanliness, inverted nipples a striking curiosity.

And I can't look away as I taste her sack, trace out the contours of her fat futanari hangers with my tongue, in the process getting well acquainted with their unique bumps and dimples and distinctive shape. Enormous eggs in a loose-yet-taut scrotum. They shift as I chase them, some muscle movement voluntary or teasing, at times making them bulge out against the silken skin and then drawing closer to herself, forming greater quantities of rolls and wrinkles and creases.

'Don't stop, but listen,' Morgan says, putting the controller down. She actually rests a hand atop my scalp, proprietary, casual. Those sharp-nailed fingers tickle my scalp, slow and methodical. 'I'll teach Freya. I was like her once, if you can believe it. Until Daddy taught me a trick or two about self-control.'

Don't stop. I want to talk so bad, but don't stop. I use her left nut as a gobstopper, managing -- barely -- to take the ludicrous lump past my lips. It oozes saltiness and something clean, sharp, dominant. Pheromonal, that fills my head with thoughts of wriggle little white things, desperate to escape, growing in number with every flick of my tongue and moment of steadily increasing arousal.

Schlep. Schlup.

'Mhm.'

Morgan pets me like a dog, like a serf, like a suck-slut slave. 'It's going to be a little awkward, at first. She'll take some--mhm--convincing.'

Her mighty member throbs against my head, and her balls pulsate, one in my mouth and the other dangling against my chin. Fat fantastical lumps, lurid and lovely. I suckle, slurp, but can barely move my tongue against the overwhelming heft of her fully-developed adult testicle. Another thought I hate, another I adore.

Morgan's older than me, a fully-fledged person, while I've still yet to graduate sixth form.

Why is that so hot? Why does it make me hungrier to taste her spooge?

'It's going to be a lot of fun, though. For all of us.' Her eyes glisten, and her cheeks go flush. 'I'm going to help you suck my little sister's dick, and then you're going to--aah--help make sure that she sucks mine. And if you do a very good job for me generally...well, a double blowjob for you isn't the worst of things, now is it?'

I have to stop, because what she's saying is insane. Impossible. No way could she ever get Freya to suck me off, and no way is it appropriate, given that these futanaris are in charge and I'm just--

'So nervous,' Morgan says, patting my head. Soothing me with sultry voice and sweet touch. 'Blondie has a silly view of things, okay? And I know what I said, but you're never going to demand anything.'

I let her ball slip from my mouth, slick. It shivers in the air, jiggles about.

'But--'

'Did I tell you to stop, slut?'

I shake my head. 'N-o, but--'

Morgan sighs, and rolls those perfect eyes. 'Do you remember why you thought Freya might be in the closet, so to speak, about having submissive tendencies?'

Her face, stricken by the sheer giddiness of being blown by me, and the nervousness, and the overall shyness, comes rapidly to mind. 'She seemed to be weak, when I was sucking her. Putty in my hands.'

The gorgeous goth nods. 'Precisely. Because Blondie, and so many others, until they grow out of it -- though sadly many never do -- mistake acts of service with submission. If I tied you to a chair and sucked your cock, teasing an edging, letting you beg and wail and whine, would you really be in charge?'

I can only shake my head. 'Well, no. Of course not.'

Morgan titters, smiles. 'Blondie's my equal, and we're both superior to you. You'd have to be ever so thankful, insanely grateful, but the fact that you get so nervous about it only makes me want to do it more.' She brushes my cheek with those talons, tickling away. 'For the first time in my life, I'm jealous of my little sister. You're a remarkable little pet, sweet Tom.'

'Th-ank you, Mistress?'

Her eyes widen minutely. 'Do you want that?'

'What?'

'For me to be your Mistress?'

To be called out on it, the topic raised vocally, provokes a chill. 'I just...it came naturally, and--'

She effortlessly pushes my head backwards, and wallops down on my cheek with her fat futanari length. Morgan holds it there, this dense weight with a truly insane helmet, a thing like an apple, something that looks as though it'll strain my lips like nothing else in the world.

'I want to feed you my sperm, Tom,' Morgan says, pulling back her foreskin. That glistening glans drools and splatters my cheek, its heat immense, its stink provoking a sudden onset of saliva. Her words, of course, only help matters. 'I honestly wish I could see them all, swimming around on your tastebuds. Little else on Earth is so satisfying as knowing that someone is tasting my semen, tasting me. But few people really enjoy how I taste.'

'But Alicia said--'

I immediately shut my mouth. Oops. The beautiful futanari simply smirks.

'What did Mummy say? And why were you talking about family secrets?'

'I just...I'm sorry.'

She pets me, but this time with a faint wiggle of that wet-tipped dick. It pulses, throbs, and I'm struck by a powerful shyness. In its presence, I'm nothing more than a cocksleeve, a means to pleasure this mighty member.

'It's fine, sweet Tom. Yes, we do things a little strangely. But finish your sentence. I'm genuinely curious, and I won't judge.'

How to tell her, exactly, politely and diplomatically, that I ate her father's load out of her mother's snatch?

'Um...Persephone's cum is very tasty,' I say, provoking a growing smirk. 'And...it's like Freya's? But older. More potent. And...Alicia said...she said that yours...is almost identical? But you say that people don't tend to like it?'

Morgan lifts her gaze from me, as if computing the words. Scanning the upper orbits of her eyes, then returning to my cock-smeared face. 'I'm more like Gen, unfortunately. Persephone -- and one of the reasons I want to blow Blondie -- is quite creamy, sweetish, wouldn't you say? You might even, if you'd somehow ignored where the substance came from, forget what it is.' She quickly shakes her head. 'Mine's not like that. Gen's complex, and has a deal more bodily control, which unfortunately wasn't passed down beyond Persephone. She enjoyed, in her rapacious brutality, making sure there was no way anyone could mistake her immense loads for something gentler on the palate. A trait I unfortunately inherited, however it all works. And so I ended up with especially dense and thick ejaculate with a rich but in no way sweet flavour. With mine, it's a lot harder to pretend that you're not tasting semen and sperm. Which, for many people, puts them off.'

The thought of tasting something more concentrated, in a sense more vulgar, has me weakly licking at my lips. 'Not me,' I say, shuddering. 'I...want to taste you.'

'Did you hear what I said, sweet Tom? I don't need flattery.'

'It's not. Nothing turns me on more than the thought of having a beautiful woman like you, or Freya, or Persephone, shooting your genes into my mouth. You see it the same way as me, Morgan. Uh, Mistress.'

'Mistress might well suit me perfectly,' she says, teasing at her lower lip with her teeth. 'Do me a favour, Tom.'

'Anything.'

'If you really do like it, if you really enjoy the experience, become my outlet. We clearly share this interest, and as much as I've warned you, I do so for your sake and not some inadequacy in myself. As much as I despise my grandmother, I appreciate her logic. If you really are as compatible with me as I'm starting to think, then not a day should pass without you servicing me. Let this room be a temple, and I your goddess, and fellatio your act of prayer. And let your deity's blessing be my ejaculate, and your mouth its intended receptacle. Do you agree?'

I'm not sure any force in nature could deter me from this feral hunger to taste the produce of Morgan's beautiful balls. And her language, that filthy confidence, only enflames my desires all the fiercer.

Freya cannot give me this thing, but Morgan can. And if what Morgan says is true, few in this world can give her what I can.

What good is worrying over nothing?

'Yes, Mistress. I'll be your cumdump.'

She gently slaps my forehead with her slick glans. 'Suck out my sperm, sweet Tom. This is going to beautiful.'

Morgan lifts her cock, and I draw back my head from her crotch. To actually behold her engorged member fills me with the most vulgar and carnal of lusts, the desperate beyond words desire to please this creature and receive her ejaculate.

The gothic futanari's bell-end is huge, a fat pale purple crown atop her creamy cock. Her dick is no longer than Freya's, no thicker around the pole itself, but the head is ginormous. Its contours are charming, thickly flared around the base of the tip and then narrower at the front, a true "helmet".

Smooch. Smack.

Before I know it I'm kissing her cock, practically snogging it. Its heat is sweetly searing, its stench musky and sexual and thick. Not dirty, but clearly clad in the vestiges of past ejaculations, given that Morgan seems to care little for restraining herself.

'It's a travesty that Blondie has such oral issues,' Morgan says as I kiss her. The dominant goth plays with my hair, smiling away. Satisfaction, smug and snarky, is ripe on her red-rimmed black lips. 'You're clearly made for this, sweet Tom. Put on this Earth to tend to my family's cocks. To consume our strong and healthy genes.'

I've nothing to say that would contribute anything of value, because she's right. With Freya, everything is how it should be. Used with loving affection, fucked raw, but it's earnest and honest and the way of the world.

And so it was in tasting Persephone, out of her wife's cunt. And so now smooching Morgan's dick, treating it like a familiar lover.

'Mhm-hm.'

Smooch. Smack.

Morgan chuckles. 'You know, you don't have to kiss it to draw things out. Even if you're sucking on my glans -- the best bit, let's be honest -- it'll still take me at least half an hour to give you that virile mouthful you so crave.'

That spurs me, because it touches on the reality of things. If I can give her a better "kiss", with my whole mouth, but not lose out on the duration...then that's what I'll do. So I lurch forwards, parting my lips to engulf the entirety of her enormity. That monstrous purple apple atop her delectable dick spreads heat and potent salty-bitterness inside my mouth, sliding silkily onto my tastebuds. The same tastebuds that, soon enough, will get their first experience of Morgan Venyabildt's apparently rather special semen.

Schlup. Slurp.

'Good cocksucker,' Morgan says, patting my head. 'God, I'm pretty sure this is fate, sweet Tom. Your mouth and my cock are just naturally meant to be together. Mhm.' She wets her lovely lips, stares into my eyes, right into my soul. 'I might have to lay down the law with Blondie, and claim your mouth as my own. I'll share, of course, but--aah--I want your face as a toilet for my loads, on-demand.'

I'm dimly afraid of her. Beyond her confidence, I'm scared that she's right about this. About me, in this situation.

What if...what if I like Morgan's the best? How would Freya take that kind of betrayal? Is it a betrayal? I'm not going to suddenly sleep in Morgan's bed, and Mistress has my heart, but...

...I really, really like sucking her big sister's big beautiful dick.

Schlup. Schlop.

'Mhm. This is how nature intended things.' The gothic beauty trembles, exhales softly. 'The male mouth is just ideal, in size and musculature, to extract Venyabildt ejaculate.'

She says it so honestly. It's stated so plainly, albeit in her ludicrously luscious voice, that it goes through reason straight into the infernal depths of horniness. Because the implication is that I, a male, am less than she is. That all I'm good for is to pleasure her, to service her body, to act as the equivalent of a masturbatory aid.

And again, Morgan scares me. Because Freya would never behave like this.

Is she just saying this to help me with my guilt? Because I certainly feel less bad. This is definitely not a romantic act.