Below the Belt (F/F, Hyper, Multi++)

Yes it's another one of my crazy hyper stories with too many cocks in it. I don't really know why but more than anything else I like my futa's to be shy, innocent and immensely over endowed. I'm sure Freud would have something to say about that. Anyway, this one pushes the anatomy up to about 8 on my extremeometer - but it's calibrated pretty high. If you're content with being able to count your futa's funsticks on one hand you might want to give this one a miss.

Oh who am I kidding you're going to grit your teeth and read it anyway ya sicko :))

This story centres around the idea of how some of the crazier futas you see from artists like Radiohead, Makita Aoi or GFF presumably still have to live their lives after they become crazy sex fiends.

Below the Belt

With practised boredom I begin to wash around the head of my twelfth cock, wiping out the last traces of the stuff that inevitably collects in that little fold of skin beneath the flared tip. The daily cleaning ritual is probably my least favourite thing on a very long list of things I don't like about myself anymore but if I so much as skip a day I end up stinking like the combined output of half the brothels in the city by the afternoon. I rinse it off with the shower hose and pat it dry briefly. Six more to go. If I was being thorough I'd moisturise but massaging the cream into my sensitive shafts risks putting me back at square one again.

It's hard enough keeping to only four or five hours of masturbation a day - Casey is amazed I get anything done at all but in truth while my body is cursed with an almost unlimited appetite for self gratification there's only so much pleasure my brain can process at a time. I try and use the meditation tricks I've been learning to keep the entire process as methodical as possible. Wipe, rinse, dry - next cock. This time at least it's successful as I finish my remaining penises without losing my focus and the hardest part is done.

I get up off my stool in the middle of my bathroom - it's really more like an enormous custom built shower and toilet taking up the entire room designed to my specific needs. Looking in the mirror taking up the far wall I still can't help gawping at the bizarre creature I've become. As usual my gaze lingers longest on what remains of my original body - my unchanged self. My face, pretty and delicate, large green eyes, cute upturned nose and small soft lips. I take enormous pride in my hair, it being about the only part of me the world ever really sees and the blonde bob cut that perfectly frames my face is no exception. My arms and shoulders are slim and waif like, my small pointed breasts and flat stomach at odds with what waits below.

Unlike my old, girlish self, my hips extend at an alarmingly flat angle before dividing into four long, well toned thighs, calves and finally feet. The change left me almost a foot taller if I stand at my full height and all of it comes from my legs but I ususally adopt a more spread stance, my far right foot almost a metre from my far left. This gives the maximum amount of room for my other "gifts", hanging limply between each gap between my thighs.

By cruel irony, or possibly some mad God's cosmic joke my accident transformed me from a tiny slip of a girl into probably the most masculine entity that has ever lived. Stuffed into each of my three crotches is an absurd collection of male genitalia. Six flaccid eight inch shafts in each crotch, the top of each pair resting on the shaft below it with a fat scrotum containing four, golfball sized testicles hanging below each twinned set of cocks. Eighteen penises and thirty six balls in all. Hanging limp they look like sausages in a butchers window. Erect they jut out almost eighteen inches each and remind me of some kind of sea urchin or a bizarre erotic plant.

I slowly shuffle my hips around and begin spreading each set of ass cheeks as I look over my shoulder into the mirror to finish my routine. As if to try and compensate for my over endowments up front my feminine sex wasn't entirely spared either. Three sets of slick, pink lips nestle between each of my thighs for nine in total. Thankfully they're a lot easier to clean and keep under control as I wipe each one with a damp sponge. As usual the three puckered assholes above each trio of lips leave me slightly revolted. The ordeal that follows each trip to the bathroom is best not thought about.

I should probably explain how I got to be this way though there's not really a lot to tell. I worked for a bioengineering company that held contracts with the thoroughbred racing and beef industry. We'd discovered a highly mutagenic compound that in tiny doses would massively increase the muscle density, fertility and overall size of stallions and breeding bulls. In larger doses it caused runaway tissue growth that was often freakishly bizarre and usually fatal. I worked in the synthesis plant. The research we were doing was incr

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