Various stories (futa, futa on female, TF, BE, + various others)
Story by Tosaku No Kishi
Hello, the following stories are those that I have ceased all work on, though if enough people request it I'll try to continue one or two of them. They are also up for adoption if anyone wants to take a crack at it. Please note: the following are not my best works, most of them are some of the first few stories I wrote. They also contain various fetishes, many of which may not to be everyone's liking, however I can guarantee they all contain Futa on Female.
A Cursed Gift Chapter 1
Normalcy. We see it everywhere and so we take it for granted, we complain about having to eat the same cereal everyday, about having to work from nine to five, and the fact that the government doesn't seem to be doing anything about it. I had this luxury for nineteen years of my life, then it was shattered, much like a glass window, into a million shards that could never be put together again. Not after my curiosity got the better of me.
Chapter 1:
(Monday, April 22nd, 2013)
"Wake up April!" My mother shouted in a sing-song voice the moment she had forced my stubborn door open. My response was a groan and turning over, trying to stay in the arms of blissful sleep.
"Come on, you don't want to sleep away your birthday, do you?" She persisted, shaking what I knew to be the first of annoying gifts. I hated birthdays, no one ever seemed to take into consideration that I wouldn't like this, or that I would detest that, they got me what they thought I'd like. Goes to show how well my own family knew me.
"Is it another sweater?" I groaned, knowing that no matter how stubborn I could be, she'd never leave until she forced me to open her gift.
"Ye-" She stopped herself, then continued, "You'll have to see." It was obviously another sweater. She bought me one every year. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
"Okay, give it." I said, holding my hand out for the present.
I tore methodically into the wrapping paper to reveal... a PINK sweater!
"Great. Thanks mum." I thanked her sarcastically, but she wasn't the brightest star in the galaxy and took it as genuine.
"Your welcome sweety. Breakfast is ready whenever you are." She told me and strode out of the door leaving me to my own company. I sighed angrily and tossed the sweater away, staring around my room, trying to determine the reasoning behind buying me a pink sweater. My room was a testament to the gothic culture; walls painted black behind the armour of band posters. Strewn across the dark crimson carpet were pitch black skirts, black jeans, shirts, whatever clothing that came in the colour black I had it. Then there was me.
I looked into the mirror, seeing my reflection and knowing that, despite my abhorrence of male companionship, they would flock to me, like an overly loyal canine. I was beautiful. High cheekbones, flawless alabaster skin, piercing blue eyes, lush lips that guys looked at almost as much as the rest of me. I had long legs with shapely thighs, 32C breasts, a well trimmed waist that wasn't a product of exercise or proper diet, and bountiful hips. All this at the age of nineteen, and now twenty. I was a miracle of beauty. I went as far as my mother would allow, trying to destroy this image of perfection.
My left eyebrow was pierced, along with my tongue, ears, and my nipples, though my mother didn't know about those yet. I wouldn't bathe for days on end, yet my body seemed to produce its own scent that drew any and everyone to me. My pitch black hair was long, falling to my shapely rear in a wave of sleek oil, while a curtain covered my right eye, which always seemed to be unable to decide what shade of blue it was, seeming to shift between a bright piercing electric blue, like my left, or it would be a deep ocean of midnight blue, whatever the shade it always shone with a spark that could either be interpreted as curiosity or malice. In most cases it was malice.
My traditional outfit was a Victorian inspired black blouse, covered by an Oxford blue denim jacket. Below I'd wear jeans or leather pants, that hugged my curves almost possessively. Shoes were whatever I picked up, always black though. My hair seemed immune to bed head, as I always woke up with it as perfect as when I went to sleep. To me this was normal.
I didn't have any friends either. Those who had been my friends had been terrified when I got my
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