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Stretched Deep by Authority Amazon: Scene 5
🕑 Added 2023-12-01 14:09:45 +0000 UTCFrom the moment they hit puberty—and even quite a bit before—every boy in Futalia had the same lessons drilled into their heads by older males. Futa were dangerous. Futa were strong. Futa were tempting. And many Futa would happily take advantage of a naïve young man to pump him full of her magic spunk, then dump him without a thought for the consequences he’d be left with.
Being literally caught by a Futa with your pants down was as good as an invitation and regardless of whether that young man wore boxers or panties, he’d quickly find that they provided his soon-to-be butt-pussy exactly zero protection to an amorous Futa with a stirring cock.
As a super-powered male, Adrian had some additional options not open to most, but that teenage programming was still there. He whirled around, dislodging the hand, snatching at his dropping spandex pants, stumbling backward in his haste, heart thumping in his chest.
The Futa was surprisingly short for a Futa, barely an inch taller than him. She had long blond hair, a pretty face, the well-toned physique that marked all Futa, and had decided to sport a turtleneck sweater and jeans… Tight jeans. Adrian stared as his brain caught up to what he was seeing. Jeans that travelled down in a lovely V-shape to cup her crotch closely — flatly. Far flatter than even most males could achieve.
“You’re female!” Adrian blurted out, hoisting his pants all the way back up.
“And you’re a naughty male,” the woman said, smirking.
The rapid tap, tap, tap of retreating footsteps alerted Adrian to just how loud his exclamation had been. The couple he’d been spying on were making their exit. He really should as well.
He tensed his muscles to get enough distance so he could use his hook shot to clear the top of the building, but before he could so much as take a step, the woman held up a hand.
“Whoa there, cowboy. Run, and I’ll upload what I just saw to everyone all over the internet.” She held up a phone and hit play. The sight of the Breath-taking Blueboy plunging his digits into his exposed backside to the sounds of a couple loudly fucking offscreen jumped into motion on the small phone screen.
Adrian stood there, totally floored. He just stared, watching his own fingers eagerly exploring his virgin fuck hole while his brain processed what she’d said. If she carried out her threat, the Breath-taking Blueboy’s reputation would be sealed. He’d never be able to reveal his secret identity to anyone without them thinking he was nothing but a massive butt-slut. One of those bois who just couldn’t control themselves around Futa cock. That wasn’t him!
Anger began to burn in his stomach.
A plan began to form.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the woman said in an alarmed voice, holding up her other hand and taking a step backwards. She’d clearly recognised something in his eyes because her whole demeaner flipped in an instant. “I’m not going to do it! I just want you to hear me out. No, I need you to hear me out. You’re a hero! I just need to… I just need to talk. To you.”
The recording happened to reach its climax at that moment, the whole of video-Adrian’s body cutely locking up as his ejaculate shot across the alley and the male and Futa around the corner howled and groaned in ecstasy. His virgin asshole winked invitingly as he removed his finger and the camera zoomed in to gratuitously frame his uncaged and untransformed cock and balls from behind as they rapidly deflated — framed in just the right way that would have any teenage Futa who watched panting hard and stiff as a flagpole at the mere sight of such an obviously unseeded male.
Adrian’s anger cooled in his stomach. Cooled to ice.
“Then talk,” he said in his best cold voice — one that had left innumerable Futa simultaneously frustrated and strangely turned on over the years. It wasn’t normally a voice that came naturally to him — a façade to hide just how nervous Futa made him, but right here, right now, no acting was required.
Needing no more prodding, the woman launched into her tale. She said her name was Clara. She’d travelled all the way to New Futalia from Triumphallus, capital of the QueenDom, on a desperate quest to find her little brother who had been kidnapped from his all-bois academy by Union pirates, somewhere near the border with Bi-Nay-Ri. Apparently, the entire academy had been raided, leaving little evidence behind but a conga line of dropped boxers and schoolboy slacks up against a wall.
Clara’s brother had been ninth down the line. Identifiable, according to his incredibly confident big sister, by the boy-ish baby blue cogwheel pattern he always chose for his underwear.
The only other clue Clara had to go on was a report filed nearly six months later — a report which noted that no communications had left the building during the attack and that all the normal security measures that any all-male institution would naturally have—gates, locks, cameras, laser beams, etc—had all mysteriously failed or been wiped.
That suggested Super Villain involvement. There weren’t many supers in the world that could bypass all that security and of those that could, many of them lived right here in New Futalia. In fact, Clara even already had a suspect in mind.
“Her name is CircuitSlide. A Futa with high-grade hacker powers. She works with a woman called TechSiren and a femboi called Backdoor. Together they run an outfit called PulseMatrix. Do you know it?”
Adrain had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. His anger at Clara had dissipated somewhat over the course of her story. He’d be the first to admit he was a sucker for the protective big sister saving her little brother from the big bad Futa stereotype. But that didn’t mean she was fully in his good books. And as far as he was concerned, the question she’d just asked him was the equivalent of a restaurant diner walking up to a Michelin star chef and asking him if he’d ever heard of Borscht.
PulseMatrix was a very well-known villain group in New Futalia and anyone who had even a passing familiarity with the scene, which he certainly did, knew a lot more than just their names. He knew their origins, their histories as villains before joining together, many of their larger escapades, and the fact that they didn’t just work together, but were also a thruple.
Hell, he even had suspicions that Backdoor used to be one of his old classmates — Evan Bennett — a boy who’d swapped his pants for skirts the moment he hit puberty and had been caught behind the bike sheds only a few years later, giving his virginity to his Futa homeroom teacher. Caused quite a scandal, he recalled.
Evan had been suspended, given a curfew by his parents, and threatened with an arranged marriage if he wasn’t choosier with his partners, but none of that had stopped the newly minted femboi from taking a turn on every Futa cock in the class by the time they’d graduated.
Superpowers were the only explanation Adrian had for how the little satyr had managed to not only ace his classes, especially the more boyish ones all males were required to take, regardless of whether they leaned more towards team pants or team skirts — classes like woodworking, plumbing, and pottery — but also avoid pregnancy while engaged in his seemingly never-ending quest to single-handedly make Futa winter-warming-cock-socks obsolete.
The fact that Evan had also been freakishly good with computers was the cherry on top. If he was right that Evan Bennett was Backdoor—femboi hacker extraordinaire—then it would explain how he never got caught by the other teachers again.
Same body height. Same build. Same eye colour. Same hair. Same plump cushy ass, the only ass in class plumper than his own — an ass that he was absolutely in no way jealous of. Nope. Not at all.
Though Adrain had no way of proving any of that. And even if he did, unmasking supers wasn’t something people did lightly. Not since what people called the Bi-Nay-Ri Incident, anyway.
Adrain nodded at Clara. “Yes, I know what PulseMatrix is.”
Clare smiled, seeming to get some of her original swagger back now that he wasn’t gearing up to show her exactly why he was called the Breath-Taking Blueboy. “Great! I’ve tracked their operations to a hidden brothel on twenty-second ring, but I wasn’t sure who to go to after that. None of the heroes give out their numbers and Hero HQ just turned me away at the door when I tried to get in. I need you to talk to your Futa, get her team together, and infiltrate their operations while keeping an eye out for any possible signs of—”
“Whoa, wait, wait!” Now Adrain was on the backfoot. They’d gone from asking the chef if he’d ever heard of Borscht to discussing the chemistry behind Molecular Gastronomy. “Firstly…” he paused. He was about to say that he wasn’t part of a hero team. That he didn’t have a ‘Futa’ who’d obviously be the leader. But now that he thought about it, that probably wasn’t what this woman wanted to hear.
It was clear from her words that she had a stereotype in her mind of Futalia males — one that was probably in no way helped by the likes of Evan, possibly Backdoor. He vaguely recalled from geography class that QueenDom males were expected to be as strong as they could be and that it was the Futa’s responsibility to simply be stronger for her to assume her natural place in any relationship.
He remembered thinking at the time how strange it all sounded. That he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He still wasn’t.
But there was one thing he was sure of. He didn’t need a Futa in his life. Sure, he wasn’t totally against the idea. And he was far too sensible not to acknowledge that fantasising about a big strong Futa slowly slipping out of her clothes in front of him, gently revealing her rising Futahood to his breathless gaze, made his body tingle dangerously. That this very image had been the subject of many a night of blushing bodily exploration growing up. Even more so when he mixed his favourite Futa superheroes into the mix. But he didn’t need it.
Adrian took another breath. “Firstly, tell me about this brothel. How did you find it? Who owns it? Why do you think it’s a front for PulseMatrix?”
Clara spent the next five minutes laying out exactly how she had tracked PulseMatrix down once she’d arrive in New Futalia and why her suspicions had grown that at least some of the kidnapped bois, maybe even her brother, might right now be working in that very brothel.
Apparently she’d gone undercover at a notorious Futanari gym that many supers of a more villainess bent frequented called BarBellEnd, donning Futa-cut panties and stuffing them with fake Futa cock and balls to disguise herself. Most girls Adrian had met in his life would never have managed to pull that off, but Clara looked like she’d been powerlifting or Olympic weightlifting since she’d been a little girl and had just about enough height to pass as a very short Futa — if perhaps not quite as curvy as the real deal.
From there, she’d networked, listened into gossip and eventually found someone who knew a friend, who knew a friend, who set up a meeting for her to be taken to ‘the best place in the city for a Futa like you to get some hot fresh boi pussy. You want QueenDom school boi fantasy, hon? Oh, we’ve got QueenDom school boi fantasy for days.’
Once there, she’d subtlety tried to question the blushing boi she’d been paired with while they were making out, complete in a highly exaggerated QueenDom male school uniform. Then some more while squeezing his cute little balls to orgasm. And some more while fingering his now very wet ass. Once he started shyly working at her flies, she faked an illness and made her exit before things got awkward. The young male had been highly reluctant to answer questions, but from what little she had managed to worm out of him, they were indeed from the Queendom, their accents weren’t fake, and they’d be in big trouble if any of them tried to leave.
Adrain listened to the story and nodded. “Okay, now why are you prowling around the docks at night trying to find someone to help, rather than just ‘going undercover at a notorious super gym for hero supers’ instead of for villainous ones and go from there?”
Clara chuckled. “It was just an accident. I was out for some milk from my hotel over there and heard the massive cockerel getting randy with his boi-hen. Then I found you, happily having a go at that quite impressive ass of yours. Why, if I were a Futa, I doubt I’d have even announced myself.”
Adrian felt his ears going red under his mask. He opened his mouth to get the conversation back on track, but she continued in a wistful voice before he could get a word in.
“Many Queendom males take part in ‘the hunt’ when they become adults, you know — a chase through monster infested forests where Futa try to find and catch their one true love. A good male will be just strong and fast enough to make sure only the Futa he wants manages to catch him. When I saw you back then, you reminded me of a male who’d been successfully caught by his Futa and was readying himself to be claimed. I guess I’ve always been a bit jealous of Futanari. Women do the hunt too, but with males chasing. That whole classic post-great-breeding gender dynamics thing. Futa dominate the men. Men lead the women. And the women protect the men from the more aggressive Futa tendencies.
Clara sighed. “It was never for me though. I guess I always saw myself as the chaser rather than the chased. Though apparently, I do fall straight into the whole ‘protect the helpless bois’ thing. Maybe Futalia would be better suited to me than The QueenDom.”
She gave Adrain a wry look. “So, who’s the big, strong Super Futa that I might have to protect you from? Or maybe you already have a super girlfriend that keeps the randy Futa at bay?”
“Err…” Adrain replied eloquently, only just now remembering that Clara was, in fact, a very lovely-looking woman — a lovely-looking woman who was still fishing for information on who his super Futa leader was — a Futa who’d obviously be able to handle her mission much better than he, a male, could.
Right now, he was officially simultaneously aroused and annoyed.
A femboi scream ripped through the alley.
Adrain’s head whipped around. Then back again. “I’ve got to go,” he said quickly, all hint of indecisiveness fleeing before him. “Meet me at West Twenty-Second tomorrow evening.” He hook-shotted the building above and hesitated before pulling the trigger.
“Bring your cock.”
Then he zoomed up to the rooftop on tinker-tech bullshit and clean out of sight.
