The World’s First Futa’s Daughters – Futa’s First Naughty Birthday

Chapter Three: Christina’s Naughty Birthday Gift

By mypenname3000

Copyright 2018

July 22nd, 2037 – Christina Franks

Everyone was staring at me.

I felt the cameras on me, my cheeks growing redder and redder. I didn’t like being in the spotlight. I preferred being back at my office in the White House, analyzing situations and reporting them to my mother, the president of the United States. It was what I was good at. Not talking to people. Why did I agree to do this interview?

Leah pressed me to do it. My half-sister, squirming between Lola and Rebecca on the other seat, had arranged this. She was our futa-mom’s press secretary. She dealt with the media. It was her idea for the six of us, the futa-daughters who arranged our mother’s political campaign, to appear on Adelia Tash’s successful afternoon talk show.

The caramel-skinned host was one of those staring at me.

Bethany patted my thigh. She was sitting between myself and Danielle on this couch. The cameras were pointed at me. This was being live-streamed to the world. Everyone was watching me. My heart pounded faster.

“I was reading a book… at first,” I said, not wanting to reveal the intimate and private things I did at our shared eighteenth-birthday party last year. While Rebecca and Lola were swapping their female mothers and losing their virginities, and Danielle was playing her naughty game with Bethany and Leah, I was experiencing something amazing.

“Yes, but what happened while we were having fun?” Danielle asked, sticking her head out past Bethany to stare at me. Danielle’s sandy-blonde hair swayed as she grinned at me. She looked similar to me and yet different. Our futa-mother, Becky, had stamped her look on all of us in some ways. “Come on, spill it.”

“Fine,” I sighed, pushing up my glasses. “Philippa came out and—”

“I don’t remember Philippa even being there,” Bethany interrupted.

“I invited her,” Lola said, her hand clenching her new wife’s hand. “But I didn’t think she’d show up. She’s so quiet, and she’s always practicing ballet.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think she did anything else,” said Rebecca, her flaming hair dancing around her face.

“Oh, she does,” I said, my face burning. My clit-dick throbbed in my panties, growing hard for the first time. My pussy was soaking wet right now. “So she came up to me and we started talking…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 22nd, 2036

I savored the feel of real paper beneath my skin. Real books were getting rarer, but they were just so lovely. They had a weight to them. A substance. All those words meant something when they were printed out on something solid. The scent filled my nose, mixing with the sweet delight coming from the nearby honeysuckles growing up a trellis in Lola and Rebecca’s backyard.

Inside, everyone was cheering and shouting. It sounded like Danielle’s contest was beginning. It was such a vulgar thing. I was sure my mother loved it. She was, by her own words, a futa-slut. She was so glad my half-sisters were turning eighteen. She was eager to cuckold my step-father, my namesake Chris, with futas again since she rarely got to see my futa-mother, Becky.

My step-father didn’t mind. He seemed to find it hot to share his wife with a futa.

My inclinations went in other directions. I didn’t like sharing.

I pushed up my glasses and then turned the page. I was reading a favorite of mine: Jane Austin, Northanger Abby. It would be so wonderful to live in Victorian times. To wear those elegant dresses, all those layer of petticoats. A more genteel time. Not that vulgarity going on in public. I identified greatly with Catherine Morland. She, too, wouldn’t have approved of wild orgies breaking out at a birthday party.

I would have to accustom myself to that sort of behavior. I knew these sort of orgies would happen. Our futa-mother would crave them. Bethany and Danielle would set them up. My other half-sisters would join in the fun.

But not today. I wanted to enjoy my birthday my way.

The sun kissed my face. A gentle breeze caressed my skirt. A sweet perfume filled my nose. I had a good book on my lap.

I turned the next page, my heart beating faster and faster as I read the—

A shadow fell over the pages. I frowned and looked up to find Philippa Sanderson standing over me. She was a slender girl in a proper dress and not tight jeans and a crop top. It was a sundress, light and airy, the skirt swirling about her lithe legs in the gentle breeze. It was yellow and adorned with white humming birds, little absences of color, negative space adorning her gown. Her black hair fell loose about her face, an errant strand fluttering against her cheek. She was petite, like me, graceful.

“You’re all alone, Christina,” she said, her voice melodic. “Not joining the… festivities inside?”

I shrugged.

“But it’s your birthday,” Philippa said. “You shouldn’t be back here.”

“I’m happy being alone,” I said. “I’m not like my mothers or sisters.”

“Oh, should I go?” Philippa asked, shifting. Her hands played together before her as she squirmed. There was an anxious catch to her tone.

“No, no, stay,” I said. There was something… appealing about her. The way she acted. Demure. I closed my book. “Sit.”

She sat down beside me at once, adjusting her skirt. She wore sandals, her toenails painted a soft shade of pink. Her legs were pale, calves toned from ballet. She had a light, sweet scent behind her, not a perfume, but maybe a body spray or her soap.

A tingle started in my pussy, a certain idea crystallizing in my mind. She sat with such alacrity.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” I asked her.

She nodded her head. “The breeze feels great.”

“And the honeysuckles smell delicious, don’t they?” I asked.

She glanced at the trellis and inhaled deeply. A smile crossed her pink, glossy lips. She nodded her head, her black hair swaying. “They are. I see why you’re here.”

She scooted just a little closer to me, glancing down at my book. “Oh, Jane Austin, I love her. We read her in English last year, and everyone hated it. All the girls were complaining there were no futas doing any screwing. So were the guys.”

“Philistines,” I said, voice tight. “You had Mrs. Oberon for English.”

Philippa nodded. She scooted just a smidge closer. Her sweet scent was starting to overpower the perfume of the flowers. My heart raced, pumping hot blood through my virgin body. My clit-dick swelled harder in my panties, pressing up against my book.

“You’re not like the other futas,” said Philippa. “You’re not as…”

“Horny?” I asked.

She blushed. “Well, I didn’t want to put it so coarse. Not as… exuberant.”

I smiled at that. “No, no, I don’t feel the need to slide into every pretty, little thing that drops her panties before me.”

Philippa squirmed. “I hope you don’t think…” She swallowed. “I mean…”

“Things need to be done properly, don’t you agree?” I asked her, my dick throbbing against my book. My pussy was heating up, my juices flowing.

“Properly?”

“You know, in the right way. I think that’s important.” I glanced over my shoulder, sighing as the cheering inside grew louder. “I imagine I’ll have to do those sort of things for the campaign.”

“Your mother’s presidential campaign?” asked Philippa. “Are you six really doing it?”

“We are.” I gave her a curious look. “Has Bethany been asking you to be an intern?”

Philippa’s cheeks were a beautiful hue of scarlet. “She promised I could… lose my virginity to your futa-mother.”

“And?” I asked, suddenly breathless for her answer.

“It didn’t feel like the proper way to do things,” she said. She licked her glossy lips. “I want to do things the right way. My first time has to be… special.”

My heart raced in my chest. “And what do you think would make your first time special?”

Her hand brushed mine resting atop my book. Her fingers were hot, like silk. Her stroking touch sent a shiver through me. My futa-dick pulsed and throbbed. I licked my lips, my heart screaming in my chest.

“I… I think that depends on whom I choose,” she said. “How they… think it should be. It’s the partner, right, that sets the mood for the girl? That’s how things are properly done.”

“Do you want to give me your first time?” I asked, my heart squeezing in my chest.

Philippa nodded, her hands squeezing my mind. “What’s the right way… for me?”

“Us,” I said. I swallowed. This was happening. My fantasies were coming to life. But I had to know she was the right one. “You are a virgin, yes? You have an intact hymen despite ballet?”

“Yes,” she said. “I am lucky. Most girls break theirs, but mine never did.”

“Prove it.”

She blinked her dark eyes.

“Prove that you’re a virgin,” I said, my voice commanding. “Strip.”

“Here?” she gasped, glancing at the wall.

“They’re all busy inside,” I said. “They won’t likely see you. But if you want this done right, if you want to lose our virginity the proper way—my way—then strip. I have to see if you’re the one. I have to know I’m giving myself to the right girl and not making a mistake.”

She swallowed. A shiver ran through her body. Then she stood. Her sundress rustled behind her. She trembled. It was such a beautiful thing to behold. Her eyes were wide, her face flushed scarlet, her little breasts rising and falling beneath her bodice. She reached behind her, fumbling, her forehead furrowed.

A zipper rasped.

I licked my lips as Philippa’s dress grew looser about her. The eighteen-year-old girl had such a blush rosying her cheeks as she slipped her left shoulder and then her right out of the dress, exposing the straps of not just a bra beneath. She wore a cream satin slip.

“That’s so beautiful,” I groaned as her sundress came down, revealing the slip that fell down to her upper thigh. It clung to her body. “How many girls our age wears slips?”

“None,” she said, stroking the cloth over her belly. “It just feels…”

“Right?”

She nodded her head.

My heart exploded in excitement. My pussy was on fire while my futa-dick throbbed in my panties. “Continue,” I moaned. “Keep stripping. Show me you’re a virgin.”

Let her be telling the truth.

She grew even more demure as she drew up her slip, slowly exposing more and more creamy thigh until she revealed those innocent, white, schoolgirl panties, a dark stain centered on her crotch. I groaned, staring at them as she pulled her strip higher. I hardly noticed her smooth belly, entranced by her panties.

Then her bra appeared cupping her small breasts. It was a delicate bra, with a strips of ruffled lace crossing her cups. All pristine white. I groaned as her black hair spilled around her shoulders as she finished removing her slip.

“Gorgeous,” I groaned, loving how beautiful her bra was.

Her cheeks were flaming. “I’m glad… you approve, Christina.”

My tongue wetted my lips. “I do. Now the bra. Show me your breasts. I want to see how perfect they are.”

She nodded her head and reached behind her. My heart clenched as I held my breath, trembling in anticipation. With another shy shrug, she worked her straps off her shoulders. She held her cups to her tits, hiding her breasts as long as she could as she one by one slipped her arms out of the straps.

Then, taking a deep breath, she whipped her bra away and exposed them.

Small, perky breasts topped by puffy nipples. Pink and suckable. Her areolas were swollen with her excitement. I shuddered, my clit-dick throbbing in my panties, begging to be unleashed as she shivered there, her arms twitching like she wanted to cover herself.

Didn’t.

“The panties,” I croaked, almost losing control. I needed to be in charge. “Remove the panties.”

“Yes, Christina,” she said, so submissive, so obedient. Her thumbs hooked her waistband. Her eyes squeezed shut.

Philippa shoved her panties down her thighs. She rolled them off, her body shaking. Her firm, little tits jiggling. She bent over, black hair curtaining her blushing face. I whimpered, catching just a glimpse of her trimmed bush, her pressed tight thighs hiding her. She stepped out of her dainty panties.

Rose.

Juices soaked her bush. Her dark hairs were matted by her excitement. I groaned, my heart thundering in my chest. It was all I could do not to pounce on her. I ached to press her down and thrust my futa-cock into her cunt.

This had to be done right.

“Turn around,” I said. “Let me see your ass.”

“Yes, Christina,” she moaned and obeyed.

She turned with all the grace of a ballerina, pivoting on the ball of her right foot. Her toned legs flexed. Her ass was tight, shapely, almost like a heart. I licked my lips, just seeing her black bush beneath.

“Spread your legs apart,” I ordered. “Further. Further. Yes, just like that.”

I groaned at her Now I could see her bush, her ass tensed more, her legs flexed. She was limber. I breathed in, smelling a new scent. Spicy. Her pussy. It was intoxicating. The urge to feast on her like a starving beggar at the queen’s banquet table seized me.

I fought it back. I ruled my body.

“Bend over,” I moaned, “and spread your pussy lips apart. Show me that virginity.”

“Yes, Christina,” she squeaked, her voice tremulous.

Philippa bent over, her pussy almost thrusting at me as she shifted. It was right at my eye level, her slit tight even with her legs spread wide. Her hands reached between her thighs. She slid fingers through her black bush. Her fingers pulled her labia open, revealing her inner pinkness, glistening and juicy.

And there, guarding the entrance to her pussy, was that delicate membrane. Her hymen. She was a maiden. My dick throbbed in celebration. I bounced to my feet, hands clenching my Jane Austin novel. I fought my perverse desires.

This would be done right.

“Follow,” I said and marched around her, my skirt swirling about my thighs.

We left the vulgar sounds of my half-sister’s naughty game behind as we crossed the lawn. She followed after me, her feet whisking through the grass. I could feel her excitement quivering through the air, a mix of predatory fear and wanton lust. I led her to the shed, hoping that Mr. Albertson would have what I needed in there.

Mr. Albertson would have it. I was sure of it. He seemed the type of man who took pride in his yard. His house. He would have the tools I was looking for to make this special. I reached the wooden shed and opened it.

“This is simple,” I said. “If you ever feel like I’m going to far, that you’re too scared to continue, say red light and I’ll stop. If you love it, say green light. If you need me to slow down, yellow light. Understand?”

“I… don’t. What are those?”

“Safe words,” I said as I stepped into the shed. It had a musty scent mixed with the sharp tang of oil. It was orderly. Light filtered through holes in the wooden walls and gaps of the planks. My gaze slid around it, searching for just the thing.

A bright coil of orange robe. Not good hemp, but serviceable. I had studied this for years. Ever since I first came across bondage and BDSM. It had captured my imagination. I liked to picture the girls of Jane Austin being slowly stripped and tied up, their nudity revealed before they were loved.

My dick was so hard.

I glanced up and smiled at the rafters. It was perfect.

“What is the rope for?” asked Philippa as I took it down.

“To tie you up,” I said as I uncoiled it. “Now arms before you and wrists together.”

I studied her. She swallowed then thrust her arms forward. A pulse twitched in her swan neck. There was a glassiness to her eyes, her lust consuming her while fear trembled through her body. She rubbed her thighs together.

“No red light?” I asked, bringing the rope to her wrists.

“Green light,” she said. “For you, Christina.”

I shuddered and wrapped the rope about her wrist. I did three full wrappings around her, the cords rubbing against her and her flesh. She shuddered, a little wince crossing her face as the rough fibers abraded her gentle skin. Next I shoved the rope between her wrists, looping it around the three bands squeezing them tighter about her before I threw the rope over the rafter.

I pulled hard.

She gasped as her arms were yanked up into the air, fingers twitching, firm breasts jiggling. She quivered as I pulled tighter, stretching her arms taut. I stared at her armpits, freshly shaved. Her sweet body spray and spicy pussy musk filled the air, driving back the dusty scent of the shed.

“Look at you,” I said, my dick throbbing. “Just so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Christina,” she moaned, her voice a sweet dulcet that made my heart ache.

I shuddered and then anchored the rope to a heavy, metal shelf, tying the knot with expert skill, the rope taut, her arms yanked up in the air. She shifted on her feet, almost on her tiptoes. I loved it. Her legs quivered, her breasts jiggled.

“Yes, you are just gorgeous,” I said, walking around her, reveling in the sight of her. That peachy ass tensed, her supple back trembling. I ran a finger up her spine.

She whimpered.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, Philippa,” I moaned. “Did you think this would happen?”

She shook her head, black hair dancing.

“But you wanted it, didn’t you?” I purred as I came around to stand before her.

She nodded her head. “I wanted you, Christina.”

I shivered, my fingers flying to the front of my blouse. Philippa’s dark eyes latched onto my digits as I worked my top open. Button by button, exposing my chest, the straps of my bra, my small breasts cupped in the sky-blue satin. My nipples were so hard.

I shrugged out of my blouse as she licked her pink lips. Her hips wiggled, her pussy juices trickling down her thighs. The rope creaked as she shifted her stance, watching as I unbuttoned my skirt then unzipped it.

It fell to my feet, my panties bulging with my futa-dick. They matched my bra, the same soft blue. She whimpered, her eyes locked on my cock. It twitched with my heartbeat, begging to be released to love her.

“Please, Christina!” she moaned. “I want to see you naked, too.”

“How many times have you masturbated to that?” I asked, standing there in my underwear.

“Many times!” she moaned. “I hump my pillows all the time thinking about you.”

I shivered, picturing this cutie grinding her pussy on her pillow, her firm tits jiggling. Her nipples were just so pink and puffy. She would look so wild with her black hair swaying about her shoulders. I would love to hear her gasp and moan.

“You will show me tonight,” I said, looking at her hard. “I want to watch this.”

“Of course, Christina,” she said, her voice breathless.

The way she said Christina… It was so submissive. It was full of her need to obey. It wasn’t the way anyone else said it. I could almost hear another word in its place. Mistress. But if she called my Christina, no one would know I was her futa-domme.

My clit-dick throbbed in my panties.

Her eyes were locked at my crotch. She licked her lips. My cock twitched again. A wet sport formed at the top of my satin panties, my precum bleeding through. I shuddered, aching to get out of my panties. Though they were cut to accommodate a futa’s big dick and still look sexy, they were tight with me at a full erection.

“Do you want to see me naked?” I asked.

“How else can you take my virginity, Christina?” she asked.

“Lots of ways,” I said. “I could use my fingers. A dildo. I could grab a stick and shove it up your cunt until you howled out in rapture.” I cupped her face, lifting her gaze to my eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. You’ve had your eyes locked onto my crotch this entire time. You are panting like a filthy slut in heat, your pussy juices trickling down your thighs. You’re on fire. You’re dirty cunt wants my cock in it so badly. You want to see my dick, don’t you? Because you’re a wanton whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” she whimpered.

“Yes, what?” I demanded.

“Yes, I’m a wanton whore, Christina,” she moaned, trembling. “For you. I’ve wanted to see your girl-cock so many times. I’ve pictured it while masturbating. Imagined it thrusting from your crotch.”

I sneered, shaking my head. “Why should I show you my cock?”

“It would make me so happy, Christina.”

“I’m supposed to care about what a filthy slut like you wants?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. My breasts rising and falling in my bra.

“You think things should be done right,” Philippa whimpered. “Like a girl losing her virginity. It shouldn’t be done with fingers or a dildo or a stick, but from a cock! Your cock, Christina!”

She was right.

“Convincing,” I said, reaching behind me to unhook my bra. I gave her a hungry grin, her eyes falling on my breasts. I whipped off my bra, freeing my small tits.

They weren’t much bigger than hers, maybe an inch plumper. They jiggled before me for a moment, my nipples thrusting pink from atop them. She let out a whimpering moan, the rope creaking as she shifted, her thighs whisking together. She was trying to stimulate her clit. She was so wet. So in need.

“Do you like my tits, too?” I asked, sauntering to her. “Or is it just my girl-cock that you crave?”

“Your tits! Your face! Your eyes! Your hips! Your legs! I love everything about you, Christina!” Her eyes shone with a feverish light.

I slid my arms around her neck, rubbing against her raised limbs. I pressed my body tight against hers, rubbing my bulging dick into her flat, toned stomach while our small breasts came together in firm, teenage delight. She shuddered and whimpered, her body trembling as our nipples rubbed together. Little jolts of delight shot through me.

“Oh, that’s nice,” she moaned. “Oh, you feel so good against me, Christina. So hot. So big. Your nipples are so hard.”

I leaned in and claimed her lips.

My heart thundered as I kissed my bound submissive. She was helpless. I could do anything I wanted to her. She would let me. I could feel it quivering in the air. My tongue thrust into her mouth, dominating her, kissing her with a passion I scarcely knew I possessed.

She whimpered into my mouth. A moan rose in my own. The ropes creaked and groaned as we humped against each other. My clit-dick throbbed in my panties as I ground against her. The satin caressed my cock, sending hot thrills spilling through me. My tongue caressed hers, teasing her. She whimpered, matching my passion.

It was so much fun to enjoy. Our tongues circled each other. Teased each other. I kissed her with a hungry passion. She moaned and whimpered. Her body trembled as she thrust her tongue deep into my mouth.

Our tongues dueled each other. It was an incredible delight. I groaned into her mouth as my chest rose and fell, my breasts pressing against her firm titties. My arms tightened around her as my excitement grew and grew.

I broke the kiss. “Mmm, you are just such a morsel, wanton slut.”

“Thank you, Christina,” she moaned, her brown eyes glassy. They were almost like mirrors. I could lose myself in them.

I broke away from her, my tits quivering. My dick throbbing. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She moaned in delight. She groaned and whimpered, her eyes staring at them. She wanted it so badly. She wanted to see my girl-dick.

“Show me, please, Christina!” she begged. Her feet twitched towards me, bending her back as her arms swayed above her head. “Oh, yes, please, please!”

I pulled my thumbs from my waistband, aching to tease her more. I whirled around, my panties soaking up the juices flooding me. My eyes danced around the shed, looking for just the thing and…

I spotted it.

A length of green hose about two feet long lacking any metal fittings at either end. I picked it up, feeling the firm, vinyl tubing in my grip.

I spun around and grinned at her. “You need to be disciplined.”

Her eyes fell on the garden hose. I whipped the end into my palm, the sting shooting up my arm. I grinned at her, the cracking sound echoing through the shed. Her eyes shot back up to me, wide with animal panic.

“But… what did I do wrong, Christina?” she asked.

“Do you need to do anything wrong for me to discipline you?” I asked her.

CRACK!

I smacked it into my hand again, drinking in the stinging pain.

She trembled then said. “No, Christina. I… I…” She swallowed. “Green light.”

My smile grew. “This will hurt.”

She nodded her head. “Green light.”

“I’m going to leave welts across your pretty body,” I purred. “Your ass. Your cute rump. Your thighs. Your stomach.” I paused. “Your tits.”

“Green light, Christina,” she said, staring at me, her tone surprisingly calm given the trembles wracking her body. Her fingers twitched as she swayed. “This must be done right, Mistress.”

“Yes, it does,” I said, my smile growing.

I stalked around her, my dick throbbing in my panties. I was going to whip a girl. Spank her. I had dreamed of this so many times. This was all Ann Rice’s fault. If I never read that Claiming of Sleeping Beauty erotica she wrote like fifty years ago, I wouldn’t have discovered the hot joys of this wicked treat.

I stared at Philippa’s toned rump. That beautiful, pale, peachy ass. It was perfect. Just begging to be striped in red. My heart screamed in my chest. I drew in a deep breath, fighting against the impulses in me.

I must be in a control.

A futa-domme isn’t a slave to her desires. That was what set her apart from the submissive. She yoked her passions and channeled them into the perfect moment. To deliver to a submissive—like I would deliver to my Philippa—what they craved.

The hose hissed through the air. Philippa’s rump clenched.

CRACK!

The stinging impact exploded through shed. She cried out in such wordless beauty was the red blazed across her rump. I quivered, watching the skin pucker and rise. That beautiful welt formed, that mark of my passion. Of her submission.

It was beautiful.

I gazed at it, licking my lips, mesmerized by the way she hissed and moaned. She shifted, her teeth clearly clenched as she drank in the heat. Her thighs parted as her feet danced. A fresh trickle of her spicy juices ran down her pale flesh. I inhaled her aroma.

“Green light, Christina,” she moaned, throwing a look over her shoulder. Liquid tears beaded in the corner of her brown eye.

The air hissed.

CRACK!

She jumped, her feet leaving the ground as she screamed in passion. Her black hair danced about her shoulders. The rope protested the movement. She swayed on her tiptoes, her ballerina grace keeping her from falling as another bright welt rose on her rump, crossing the other.

I stroked across her pale skin and crossed the first welt, feeling it rising up from her skin. She sucked in a breath. I pressed my finger into her hot flesh, my girl-dick throbbing as she whimpered at the pain.

“Green light, Christina!” she moaned.

My hand slid lower, following the curve of her rump to slid between her taint. I trembled as I felt the silky brush of her pubic hair. Then I found the wet heat of her virgin pussy. The first twat, beside my own, that I had ever touched. I caressed her slippery folds, sliding into them and finding her hymen.

“Is your pussy hotter now?” I asked.

“Yes, Christina!” she moaned, her voice throaty as I stroked through her folds, my other hand clenching the hose. “I didn’t know it, but pain… Agony feels so much like pleasure. They’re so closer together. They can bleed from one into the other.”

“Wonderful,” I moaned, pulling my fingers from her pussy, coated in her juices. I brought them to my lips and sucked on her spicy cream.

My taste buds exploded. I sucked on them, my arm cocking back. My cheeks hollowing, I whipped the hose at her back. It screamed through the air.

SMACK!

I struck diagonally down her back from her left shoulder blade to near her hip. Her entire body bucked. Her head threw back as she gasped in wondrous pain. That agony sang through the shed as it left such a bright, red streak behind on her pristine skin.

I loved it. My dick drank it in. My futa-cock throbbed in my panties as I cocked my arm again.

CRACK!

“Christina!” she howled as an X blazed across her back. Her body trembled. “Green light!”

CRACK!

I smacked the hose across the back of both her thighs, making her jump. Her moans were so sweet, so beautiful.

CRACK!

I landed it on her shoulders again, crossing both of the last two strikes, raising up puckered flesh.

CRACK!

I painted her rump with an other strip, lengthwise across both butt-cheeks.

The sounds she made was intoxicating. Her screams and gasps echoed through the shack. Her head tossed back and forth. The rope groaned as she whimpered out her passion. My pussy soaked my panties as I sauntered around her.

CRACK!

“Green light, Christina!” she howled, a stripe blazing across her toned stomach. Her body quivered.

CRACK!

A welt rose between her small tits while she shook and moaned. Pussy juices ran down her thighs. Her passion echoed through the shed, singing in my ears.

CRACK!

I smacked across the front of her thighs, my pussy melting my panties. It was so intense. Her skin was so fair, the red almost glowed against it. I was drunk on this moment.

CRACK!

“Christina!” she howled as her breast jiggled, the welt puckering just beneath her nipple. “Oh, god, Christina! The pain! It hurts so much!”

Tears spilled down her flushed cheeks. She squirmed and whimpered. Her eyes locked on to mine, bursting with passion. I shoved my free hand between her thighs, rubbing at her hot pussy, stroking her burning flesh.

I found her clit, massaging it with my thumb as I kissed her hard on the lips. Her feverish body rubbed against mine. I felt the welts raised on her tits and stomach as she ground against me. Her juices spilled over my hand.

She squealed in delight.

Philippa came.

The ropes screamed over head. The salt of her tears made our kiss sweeter as her juices poured over my fingers. I caressed her folds and rubbed at her hymen. Her spicy musk filled the air as she humped against me, moaning out her passion.

I dropped the hose. My futa-dick ached and throbbed in my panties, begging to be freed. I broke the kiss, staring into her eyes as she quivered through her orgasmic pleasure. Her glossy, brown depths begged me.

“Green light, Christina!” she moaned, voice slurred.

I flowed around her, my futa-dick about to tear out of my panties. My hand, soaked in her juices, shoved into my panties and hauled out my dick, forcing down the waistband. I stroked myself with her cream as I brought myself between her thighs, my eyes locked on her welted rump.

“Yes, yes, Christina!” she moaned. She still hadn’t seen my cock, but she felt the thick tip rubbing through her soaked bush and caressed the hot folds of her cunt. “I need you in me. I’m such a wanton slut! Your slut!”

“My slave!” I moaned.

“Yes!” she howled, sounding almost like she came again.

I felt her hymen against the tip of my cock. That thin membrane between me and the heaven of my first snatch. My pussy clenched as I rammed my hips forward as hard as I could. No mercy. No going easy. I was fucking my slave. My cunt.

Her cherry tore before me. I buried to the hilt in her hot, tight, spasming twat. My crotch smacked into her rump, feeling the blazing stripes of her welts. She gasped, her pussy squeezing down around me. She shuddered against me, stirring her hips around, her pussy feeling amazing around my dick.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” she howled. “Oh, that’s what I need in me. Oh, Christina, thank you! I’ve wanted this so much!”

“Me, too,” I moaned, my hands sliding around her body. I felt the welts on her stomach. I followed one up to her breast. I squeezed her tits.

Her pussy squeezed down on my dick. She hissed in a breath and then let out a wanton moan of delight. I shuddered, drawing back my hips. My futa-cock slid out of her depths. She was so hot, almost a silken vice about my dick.

No wonder my futa-mother fucked every woman on the planet. This was an amazing treat to experience. An outstanding delight to enjoy. I thrust forward and buried to the hilt in my slave’s cunt, her pussy squeezing around me.

Welcoming me.

“You’re mine for as long as I want you,” I moaned to Philippa.

“Yes, yes!” she moaned, sounding drunk and delirious. “I’m yours, Christina!”

I loved it. My pussy clenched as I thrust into her depths. My own drunken lust surged through me. The shack spun around us as I fucked into her once-pristine pussy. I claimed her virginity. Her love. I claimed her body with my futa-dick.

My crotch smacked into her rump, making those wonderful, delicious sounds of flesh cracking against flesh. My nipples throbbed against her back, brushing her welts as she squirmed and groaned. The rope twisted and creaked above us as she shifted.

Her hips bucked back into me. She undulated her body, dancing for me as I squeezed her titties. I pinched her nipples, loving her as my futa-dick thrust again and again into the silky heaven of her pussy.

“This is my cunt, isn’t it?” I moaned, my crotch thwacking into her welted rump.

“It is, Christina!” she panted. “I love your dick in me. It’s so much better than I imagined.”

“I’m going to cum in you!” I moaned. I nuzzled through her black hair to find her ear. I licked her lobe. The slender girl shuddered in my arms. “I’m going to cum in your pussy, your mouth, your asshole whenever I want.”

“Yes, Christina!” she moaned.

Her pussy spasmed around my dick.

I gasped, thrusting hard into her depths, realizing she was cumming on my futa-cock. I made her orgasm. I gave her that sweet pleasure. I shuddered, thrusting harder and harder into her. I pondered her snatch, stirring up her pleasure.

Every thrust into her brought me closer and closer to my eruption. And now that she was convulsing, her pleasure spilling through her, it only felt better. The ache at the tip of my futa-dick built and built. The pressure in my ovaries needed to escape.

“I keep cumming, Christina!” moaned Philippa. “I can’t believe it. Your dick… Your amazing dick keeps churning me up!”

“Yes!” I groaned, burying into her over and over, that wondrous ache swelling, threatening to consume me.

I slammed to the hilt in her. I couldn’t hold back any longer. My cum exploded from my futa-dick. It pumped into her convulsing cunt. Her hot flesh milked me, sucking at my ovaries, begging for more and more of my spunk to explode into her.

My pussy soaked my panties. I trembled, my snatch writhing, aching to be filled. The scent of my tangy passion rose in the air, mixing with hers. I held her tight, pinching her nipples while my passion burst from my lips.

“My naughty, wanton slave!” I gasped.

“Yes, yes, yes, Christina!” she moaned, her pussy wringing my futa-dick dry.

I held her tight, panting against her. The world swam around us as the rope creaked. Her pussy’s writhing slowed around my cock. Little stars still danced before me. My mind was melted to a puddle of rapture by the twin delights that shot through me, the powerful burst from my cock and the gentler waves from my cunt.

I nibbled on her neck. I kissed her. Loved her. She groaned, the rope creaking as she swayed in my embrace. She whimpered, her voice sounding slurred, muffled. She had so many orgasms. I had whipped her.

She must be drifting through subspace, lost to the bliss a submissive received.

I pulled my futa-dick out of her. I smiled at my cum ran down her thighs, that pearly white paler even than her skin. I walked around her, my futa-dick softening before me and drooping over my panties bunched beneath. My shaft dripped with her cream.

“You are so beautiful,” I said, admiring her body.

She sagged, almost hanging by the wrists now. Her breasts rose and fell. Her eyes fluttered. They looked unfocused. Distant. She had experienced so much her first time. I had to take care of her. Love her.

I slid my arm around her waist, holding her against me while my right hand undid the knots of the rope. She went limp, slumping into my arms. I grunted, holding her, staggering for a moment. I smiled, though, as I sank us to the ground.

I held her on my lap, stroking her hair as she trembled through her delight. Her eyes flitted open. A soft smile grew on her lips. She stirred, her eyes coming into focus as she stared up at me. She shifted and let out a soft sigh.

“That was incredible, Christina,” she said, sitting up. Her naked rump pressed on my soft cock.

“Yes, it was,” I said. “You were perfect, Philippa.”

Her smile grew. “I’m glad, Christina. I wanted you to have a perfect birthday.”

“Did you think it would end up this way?”

She shook her head. “But I’m glad it did. That was incredible. I had no idea I’d like that.”

“It was all my fantasies come to life.”

“Good,” she stated. Her arms went around my neck. Her mouth drifted closer and closer to mine. “Happy birthday, Christina. I want to do this again and again. It was perfect.”

“Yes, it was,” I breathed and then kissed her with passion.

I held my new slave on my lap. My naughty birthday gift. It was better than I could have imagined. She was so sweet. So delicious. My slave. I couldn’t wait to tie her up better. To bind her body and leave her trembling with a vibrator shoved into her cunt.

To watch her twitch.

To watch her whimper.

To love my submissive birthday gift with all my heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 22nd, 2037

My half-sisters all stared at me in shock. I felt Adelia blinking as she looked at me. The studio audience felt breathless, and I could only imagine what the world must think about me after I made that confession to them.

My cheeks burned as I said, “I like… BDSM. A lot.”

“Holy shit,” Danielle gasped, staring at me past Bethany.

“You’re a futa-domme,” gasped Leah. Her strawberry-blonde hair spilled about her flushed face.

“That’s kinky,” giggled Lola. She glanced at her wife.

Jen nodded.

“Well, that is quite the eighteenth birthday,” Adelia said, “and beats my story on how I lost my virginity.” She cleared her throat. “So let’s get back to talking about running your mother’s campaign. Now I understand that Bethany, you were in charge of procuring the virgins to keep your mother focused…”

As my other sisters talked about the campaign, my thoughts drifted to Philippa. I wondered how she was doing being bound in our hotel room. My half-sisters had no idea that I brought Philippa with us to New York City. I guess they might start to notice her being around now.

I smiled. That vibrator I left in her cunt must be driving her wild. Philippa would be begging for me to give her release when I got back. Maybe I would give my slave what she wanted, or maybe I would drive her even more wild with that butt plug I’d purchased.

Leah was right, I was a futa-domme and loved it. I was glad I told the world about my kinky birthday party. I shouldn’t have hidden it. I shouldn’t have thought it was weird. I was a futa. We were all naughty, horny things in our own unique ways.

The END of This Story of the Daughters of World’s First Futa

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