Cora has escaped the far-reaching futa organization, but her deep desire to be filled keeps the captors who turned him into a her at the forefront of her mind. That’s not to mention that if the organization’s plans come to fruition, the whole world’s men might share Cora’s fate.
A hot reunion is in the works because Cora, her army of transformed men, and her friend Barry are planning to slip inside the organization’s headquarters. The plan includes half of them opening up and offering themselves as a sexy and willing distraction while the others sneak in.
But there are futas everywhere, ready to whip it out and give intruders a warm welcome. Is Barry willing to risk himself for the cause? And will Cora be able to save herself and the world?
This 6200 word, futa-on-female, futa-on-male, gender swap, transformation, oral, masturbation, group, voyeur, interracial, pregnancy erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!
The spray of the shower sprays me gently in the face and fills the bathroom with a fine, sensual mist.
It’s funny. I close my eyes and my thoughts are still undeniably me. I have a secret love for ’90s gangster rap and fantasy novels. I firmly believe that pineapples have no place on a pizza. And I wish I had more time in my day to play video games.
Then I run my fingers down my body, and my hands brush over my slender shoulders, across my nipples (which are suddenly a hundred times more sensitive than they were before), down my flat belly, and finally to the tender folds of my womanhood. As I touch myself, I feel like I could get lost inside of my own sexuality.
I used to be Cole Porter, but then I was somehow changed into a woman by the strange powers of a golden idol. All because I had to stick my nose into the business of an even stranger organization made up entirely of women. I chased them to South America and back to find answers, but all I have is more questions.
Isabella, the leader of that organization, is the person who gave me my new name. Cora. I suppose I should be ashamed of it, right? But I can’t help but feel that Cora is who I really am now.
I don’t even call my body my “new body” anymore. This is me.
I give a cursory effort to drying my body as I step out of the shower. Barry’s modestly-sized apartment is abuzz with noise and activity. It’s never been that way in here. Barry prefers not having roommates, and he can have that preference because he managed to snag an internship that pays a king’s ransom. But now he has thirteen new roomies. Me and the other transformed women, a group of a dozen I freed from Casulo, have been trying to track down the organization, keeping an eye on missing news reports, scoping out the museum, and getting into the occasional argument about what to do next.
We settled on surviving. Until today.
I open the bathroom door and almost knock Barry down. He mumbles an apology, which disappears in his throat. I roll my eyes when I realize why. I might be comfortable in my body now, but I still forget that wrapping a towel around my waist has new ramifications.
“Barry, Jesus dude,” I say, crossing my arms. “It’s a fresh coat of paint, but it’s still me. You really have to get that through your head.”
“Sorry!” He looks away, then second-guesses himself and maintains eye contact with me. “I mean it’s one hell of a paint job. And now that you want me to call you Cora, too…”
He shakes his head and looks to the floor. “You just had everyone worried. Me included. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks so I don’t think I’ve told you that it’s good to have you back. Circumstances notwithstanding.”
I have to smile. Same old me, same old Barry.
“It’s good to be back. You know, a better friend probably would have called the police.”
“For an entire week?”
He shrugs, a sheepish and guilty smile on his face. “For all I know, those ladies could have whisked you off to some sex paradise. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
I jokingly punch him on the shoulder. “Well, you wouldn’t be half wrong there.”
I pull a dry shirt over my shoulders and jump into some sweatpants. I let out a deep breath, hesitating before walking out. Barry returns the punch and practically pushes me forward.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m going out there with you. You don’t need to go all Rambo anymore, you’re back in mother-fucking America.”
“Technically Rambo was still alone–”
“Not now, Siskel.”
The both of us stride into the living room, where the rest of the women have amassed for my announcement. Some of them are like me, settling into their new lot in life and actually feeling right for the first time. The rest had lives before this. Girlfriends, wives, families. While there might be a faint hope in some of them that there’s a way to reverse what had happened to us, we all agree on one thing: it might not have been our choice to become who we are now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make our own choices going forward.
I pull down a projection screen I installed the busy night before and kicked my laptop out of its slumber. A rough floor plan of Isabella’s mansion filled the screen, concocted from my own hazy memory and the original architect of the property. Life hack: posing as a student for any number of things can really go a long way. I point a laser pointer at the front door.
“This is where our first team–”
One of the girls, Sandy (who used to be a trucker named Nathan), raises her hand and says, “We’ve talked it out and we want to be called the strike team.”
I sigh. “This is where the strike team is going to enter. I’m going to need you guys to make it look good and convincing. You keep as many of them as you can occupied, and the rest of us will come in through the side door over here. When you get the signal, that means it’s time for us to get the hell out of Dodge.”
A round of nods circles the room, ending with Barry.
“You know,” he says, “I’m not getting my deposit back after they see what you did to the wall.”
I pick up the closest thing–a pillow–and chuck it at his face, and we all laugh, but I keep one wary eye on the map. There are parts of me that ache at seeing Isabella again.
“I have never been so thankful for rich people’s need to have really tall fences between each other’s property.”
Barry looks over his shoulder again, as if this time there will be a neighborhood watch dog looking at him disapprovingly.
“Isn’t your family rich people?” I ask, paying only half attention to him as I peer into the window. Isabella’s mansion is bigger than it was in my memory, and there are a lot more guards than my first night here. “Anyway, stop moving around so much. I can’t hear her.”
A crescent moon shines over our heads. It offers little light for anyone who happened to be looking down the side pathway of Isabella’s gated property, but as an added measure of security, the entire second team is dressed in black. As for the strike team…
Sandy’s voice crackles into my ear.
“…and we’re so, so sorry. We didn’t want to run away at all but she threatened us to go with her. We’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to return to you, but we got fed up and got that bitch blackout drunk ourselves.”
“Way to sell it, Sandy,” I mutter.
Two more voices, the women standing guard at the front doors, are picked up by the microphones hidden in Sandy’s clothes.
“It’s good to know that some of you are loyal to the cause.”
“Not so fast. Why didn’t you try to contact us? We could have extracted you ourselves.”
“She didn’t allow us communication with the outside world,” Sandy said, quick on her toes.
I held down a snicker. Sandy was the first one of us to make new social media accounts for herself. The one where she just posts pictures of herself so far has the biggest following.
“If you want,” Sandy continued, “we could prove our loyalty to you in other ways.”
A pause. I imagine the two guards exchanging glances in my head.
“Shit,” Barry whispers, “they’re inside.”
I see the two guards, a two fit women with curves you could taxi an airplane on, lead the strike team in. Sandy is smiling in the direction of the window we’re all hiding behind, though not exactly at us so the black is working. I smile at how modestly they’re dressed. One could almost mistake them for being innocent.
I hear Sandy sigh as she throws her arms around the guard in front of her. An amused smile forms on the guard’s face.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” the guard says. I can see a small tent start to form beneath her skirt. “You all have a long night ahead of you.”
“We’re just so glad to be back here,” Sandy replies. She kisses the other woman on the back of the neck.
“Get this woman a fucking Oscar,” I say.
Sandy’s hands slide down the guard’s blazer, the pads of her fingers disrupting the organization’s wrinkle-free facade, and pinch at the end of the skirt.
She continues, “And we’re even gladder to be back to these.”
The other guard uncrosses her arms as two members of the strike team start to unbutton her blazer.
The strike team works slowly, leaving dark hickeys on the two guards’ necks, planting wet kisses on their bare chests, and sucking on their fingers. They don’t take out the unsuspecting women’s cocks, not just yet. They move the night forward by inches, delaying the pleasure but still making as many sexy noises as possible. The audio porn is torture in my ears. It’s arousing watching strike team pleasure these women who have no idea they’re being watched.
“Are you sure we have to go on with the mission tonight?” Barry whispers, awe in his voice.
By now, several more women who have heard of the sheep who have wandered back to the flock gather in the room.
Sandy takes a look around the room and licks her lips.
“I don’t think we’re going to say no to more cocks.” She takes her coat off, being careful not to reveal the microphone set up within its folds, and throws it on the floor. Her dress follows not long after. “Take them out, girls, it’s been a long time since we’ve been properly fucked.”
The organization members surround them like a hungry kettle of vultures. Some of them merely raise their skirts, while the others take the time to take off everything below their waist, skirt and stockings and all. And Sandy and the rest of strike team is loving every minute of it.
The six of them are on their knees now, and even if the microphone has been buried under a pile of stripped clothes, I can still hear the divine sucking sounds of their mouths taking in the impressive cocks of these women.
More and more organization members wander in. But we can’t wait here for too long.
I turn, as difficult as it is to look away from the orgy happening just on the other side of the wall, and face the rest of the team. I notice some of the hungry looks on their faces, and I know that some of them wish they had volunteered for Sandy’s team now.
“Okay, strike team is really earning their name. It’s our turn.”
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