/monster/ - The Last Bastion of Romance★

>>300321

You love this girl, right? She wants your hot hero body?

>>302654

I feel like that swimsuit doesn't cover as much as a swimsuit is supposed to

>>302654

This reminds me of the futachitsu-onna and futamanko-onna discussions we had ages ago.

I'm just stuck with this idea of a girl with one pair of big, beefy arms and one normal, delicate pair. I think the bigger pair would be the lower pair, closer to the center of gravity, since they'll be doing a lot of lifting, striking, etc. Whereas the upper pair would be for fine motor skills and supple handiwork.

Of course, I'm only thinking in terms of practicality. If I were to produce a number of genetically-altered super soldiers, I'd give them such arms. I'd also give them digitigrade legs so they could run and jump better. Thicker bones, higher muscle density, and springy tendons. A brain that goes into asymmetric slow-wave sleep, hooked up to four eyes so that binocular vision can be maintained. The second pair of eyes are equipped with stronger night vision, since those will be opened during night hours.

A powerful, highly mobile, intelligent super soldier with no need for sleep.

Of course, who would voluntarily become such an abomination? A giant, four-armed mutant with four eyes who, by the design of their legs, walk with such a monstrous gait that children on the street would hide behind their mothers?

I would imagine the volunteers would be aspiring criminals, the desperately impoverished, or those of significant psychological affliction.

Could you imagine if a childhood friend signed up for such a program in desperation? She didn't have the brains or brawn to receive any significant scholarship, nor was her family rich enough to afford even a small community college or technical high school education. Not that they would if they could, they were trailer trash who were far better at domestic violence than finances. She almost seemed spiteful towards life when she signed up, like she was trying to spit in the face of her own existence by signing away her body.

It seemed like life was spitting at her right back when the Army wasted no time in pulling her in for the therapy, just a day before you were to start your first day of college. She didn't even get to attend the party your parents threw for you before you left. Maybe she didn't care. Maybe to her, you were just another part of her shitty life that she'd happily give up for something else, anything else.

And things continued to line up for you: Top grades, a great job right out of college, an obscure relative dying and leaving you a solid house. You forgot about her. And why not? She chose her path. That was almost a decade ago.

And one day when you're sitting around forcing yourself to play some game in your Steam backlog before you'll allow yourself to buy any more from the Summer Sale (Not that you have anything else to spend your fucking money on). And you hear the chirp of a new Steam message. You glance in the corner and it's Marcia, whom you left in your friend's list because you've never even come close to the friend limit. She's still using the same Steam account as she was before she left, with the same Slipknot band logo as her profile picture.

"Hey, you haven't sold this account, have you?"

You were playing a game with a controller, so you have to get your lazy ass up to walk over to the keyboard to respond. You're only a little annoyed, you're mostly just curious.

"No, still mine. Is this really Marcia?"

"Yep. I'm retired. Officially a veteran."

"That was quick."

"They're suspending the program for a while because a bunch of people were bitching about it. All the muties were retired."

"Ah."

"Yeah, so being retired doesn't actually pay well.

I'm not moving back in with my parents.

I heard you had a big house.

Could I crash there until I sort my civilian shit out?"

Well, fuck. You've got fuck-all going on right now though, so…

"Yeah, sure, I guess. How long do you think it will take you to sort stuff out?"

There was a long pause between messages. You begin to doubt yourself and go back to playing your game to distract yourself. Doesn't work, you add another message.

"Not that I'm, like, trying to rush you or anything. I'm happy to help a friend."

"Sorry, I got distracted. I'll be over Saturday."

"Ok."

But it was not ok. You just remembered that you haven't seen or heard from this girl in almost a decade and you just volunteered your hospitality. What kind of person had she become? If she became anything like her family, you sure as shit did not want her in your house, more so if she was a big, grotesque mutant designed to murder.

You google pictures of mutants like her. You don't like what you see. Doesn't help that a vast majority of them are mugshots and missing half their teeth. You spent a lot of money furnishing your house. You hadn't bought homeowner's insurance yet. Oh, look, this one is a meth addict, you wonder how he lost not one, but two of his four eyes. Not even on the same side, diagonally.

Fuck. That is the last thought that crosses your mind when you finally coax yourself to sleep on Friday night.

You are woken up by a firm knock. Not even the fogginess of sleep protects your mind from the immediate realization of who it is at the door.

>>304422

Tumblrtale is against the law as it is an inherently homosexual game. Also that is a 10mb SFW with just 1 scene?

What a waste.

>>304375

>>304376

this is pretty good

>>304376

The thought of pretending not to be home crosses your mind. Go back to sleep, spend the rest of the weekend on your computer, forget about the whole thing. Be a dickhead.

You sigh and pry yourself out of bed. You walk across the house to the front door and glance through the peephole. You see Marcia out there. Aside from a new pair of eyes and a tan, she looks no different from when you last saw her. Well, she's a grown woman now, and her haircut looks like it was done by a proper stylist instead of her mother with a pair of poultry scissors and a bottle of cheap wine.

Hell, she even looks a little cute, balancing that box on her head and glancing around awkwardly. You open the door and take in the rest of her. The first thing you notice is the pair of heavily muscled arms protruding underneath her normal arms, gripping a much heavier box than the one she had on her head. This massive box is obscuring the rest of her.

"Hey, where can I put these?" she asks.

"Oh, uh, here," you lead her across the house to the guest room. "I don't have a bed in here yet. The couch in the living room folds out."

She steps past you and hoists her haul onto the floor. She dusts off her hands and turns to you. Finally able to take her in, you can see the full extent of her mutations. Her upper, second pair of eyes remain closed for the moment, probably because it's daytime. She was always a small, chubby girl back in high school, with a heaving bosom to make up for it. Now she's a full head above you, and her entire body is toned. Yet she somehow managed to keep the tits. You can see them perfectly well through the tank top she decided to wear and the lack of bra. The armholes are completely blown out from the accommodation of two arms. Down below, she wears a pair of jean shorts and what appear to be a pair of custom footwear for her warped feet. Her digitigrade stance gives her an air of aggression, as if she was prepared to pounce.

She positions her muscular arms on her hips and cross her other pair under her breasts. "Are you satisfied?"

"What?"

"You're just standing in the doorway, staring at me. Which is it, my tits or my mutations?"

You swallow, unsure which answer was the wrong one. Hoping she doesn't push you for an answer, you step aside and let her pass.

She steps back outside and you curiously follow. She rented a small U-Haul and pulled up into your driveway.

"Wait, what? I thought you were just crashing here for a while?" you say.

"I am. Me and all my stuff are crashing at your place for a while. What, do you want me to leave it with my family? Fuck that, not on your life."

"Where'd you keep it while you were in the Army?"

"At my parents'."

She stepped past you into the house with another haul. You feel kinda scared to argue with her.

>>304550

You offer to help, but she refuses. Instead, you sit on the couch and watch as she carries her life into…your life. She doesn't seem to have changed much, personality wise. She was always brusque and confrontational. Sort of a side-effect of her upbringing, you figured. It's just that it was sorta cute back then. Now, as she walks across your living room with one of those big CRT televisions under one brawny arm, a mini-fridge under the other, and a futon held up high above her head by two more, you can't help but feel that the cuteness is gone.

"Alright, that's the last of it, I'm taking the truck back," she says as she stops in front of the couch and looks down at you. She resumes the stance she had before. Arms on her hips and crossed under her bust.

"Ok," you nod at her, trying not to stare at…anything.

She stands in silence for a moment before sighing. "I'm going to need a lift back, genius. I don't have a car."

"Oh!" you hop up and grab your stuff.

You follow her to the U-Haul and wait as she returns the truck. While she's inside, a rain cloud drifts over the sky and it starts pouring. Doesn't bother you, you were getting heat stroke waiting in the car. However, she seems very displeased when she steps out and rushes over to the car in only a few wide strides. She tugs on the door handle. You forgot to unlock it. She swears up a storm while you fumble for the switch. She swings the door open and throws herself into the passenger seat, slamming the door closed.

"Can you believe this shit? It was a sunny 90 degrees out here a second ago, goddammit," she bitches and flicks water off herself. "I was going to have you take me to the liquor store. But fuck that in this weather."

You start the car and start the drive home without a word.

"So, yeah…" she says. "What's up? Heard you graduated, got a good job."

"Yeah."

"I kinda took a vacation after the Army. Spent some time on the beach, got a tan. Got my hair cut nice before coming here."

"How was the beach?"

She exhales sharply through her nose. "Sunny and wet. Full of children to scare."

That was the last of the conversation until you pulled into the driveway. You found yourself forgetting how to walk normally as she followed you to your own front door.

"Well, uh. The bathroom's over there. There's not much in the kitchen, but you can help yourself to what's in there. And, uh," you search for anything else to add while trying to keep your eyes off her wet tank top. "That's pretty much it I guess. Good luck with the, uh…I guess job search?"

"Yeah, job, sure," she marches off to the guest room. "Thanks for letting me crash here."

"You're welcome."

You can't help but feel like you've done something wrong.

>>304558

You silently spend the rest of your night playing your game in peace. She proves to be a good guest. Quiet and solitary, only coming out to ask you what the wifi password is. She was wearing pajamas, albeit with holes torn for her extra arms. You could also see her second set of eyes open. The pupils in them were slit vertically.

The night ends uneventfully. The next day, you wake to find her preparing a breakfast with what little you have in the house. Her numerous hands allow her to fry up some scrambled eggs as she tries to peel a slice of American cheese out of the plastic.

"I'd make an omelet, but your milk was sour," she comments. "I tossed it. Hey, can I use the car? My license is still good."

"Huh? What do you need my car for?"

"Well, for one, I owe you for letting me stay here. So I was going to go shopping for the house. For two, I applied to some places near here, and I read online that you get more responses if you get up in their faces in person."

"Oh, well, I guess."

She scoops the eggs onto a plate and passes a washrag between her hands, scrubbing them in turn. "Listen. Maybe I'm being a little too, eh, idealistic, but I was hoping you wouldn't be all…"

She struggles for the right words before gesturing animatedly at you. "Spooked. And stuff. By me. I know I'm a freak, but I was kinda hoping that we'd pick up where we'd left off. We were, like, best friends back in high school. There was none of this shyness or anything. Hell, we used to make fun of shit, rip on each other. Like, I'd call you a fucking pussy and you'd call me a poor piece of shit."

You snort, if only to relieve the tension in the room.

She grins a bit at that and flops the rag back on the counter. "Yeah, I mean. Maybe you've changed, and that sucks. Maybe you think I've changed. But I don't want you to be afraid of me or anything. Look, I made eggs, like a goddamn housewife or something. How can you be afraid of someone like that?"

She shoves the eggs at you. You accept them with a nervous smile.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "Well, I just hope I don't get radiation sickness or anything from eating all the hairs in these eggs."

"What?" she charges forward and damn near buries her nose into the eggs looking for offending hairs. "Wait…"

She gives you a toothy grin. "You motherfucker. Ok, it's a start. It's weak, but it's a start."

"If it's so weak, why did you overreact like that?" you tease.

You swear you see a slight color in her tanned cheeks as she points at you. "Don't push your luck, boy. Give me those car keys, we need milk."

After briefly considering a joke about her tits and milk, you instead just silently hand over the keys with as friendly of a smile as you can muster.

She leaves you alone with your breakfast. You allow yourself a glimmer of hope that maybe she's not going to kill you or steal anything. Hell, maybe it'll be fun having her around.

Eggs taste great too.

>>304621

You slide over and plant yourself on the edge of the bed next to her. You pat her on the leg. With the encouraging squeeze, you can feel her firm muscles underneath.

"Don't worry so much, there are some decent people out there. Just keep, uh," you stop to think carefully about your next words. Marcia was not the type to let you get away with saying anything too corny. "Just keep being a huge bitch to everyone, right? Someone will eventually like it. You've seen that Ted movie?"

"Eating your wife's box," Marcia smiled broadly at the reference. "Yeah, that's a good movie."

"Yeah," you nod blankly.

There was a silence before she spoke again. "If there was a moment for you to slide your hand up my thigh, it just passed."

You quickly pull your hand off her leg. "Sorry."

"Did you puss out on it, or are you just as empty-headed and socially retarded as you always were?"

You feel your cheeks get hot. "I guess I'm just retarded."

"Sure are," she flopped onto her back and raised her hips. Before you could process what was going on, she was stripping out of her pajama bottoms.

You tense up enough to become a human statue.

"C'mon now, you started this. Look at them," she commanded playfully, though you could hear a sort of optimism in her tone.

You turn your head to look at her legs. They were not as monstrous as they seemed when she walked around on them. Your eyes trace them from hip to toe. Smooth, very smooth. She must have just shaved. The image of her coiled up in the shower, using a razor just like any other girl on her irregularly angled legs. You suppress a laugh.

"I'm like something out of a horror movie, right?"

"Y-yeah."

"Wanna touch?"

"No, I'm good."

Her smile sort of lost its glow, leaving a forced substitute. "I'll pay you back for gas tomorrow. I forgot to get cash from the grocery store. Night."

"Shut off the light, please," you ask her without thinking.

She picks up her pajama bottoms and leaves the room, shutting off the light and the door behind her.

"Fuck," you mutter to yourself in the dark.

>>304375

>digitigrade

Thats pretty close to furfaggotry broham

>>304628

Keep going, this is great

>>304628

The remainder of the week passes with few major events. It's surprising how quickly you get used to having a decent breakfast and dinner served in your house, like you're living with your mom again. In fact, you start to worry about getting fat before you realize it's only temporary. But how long is temporary? You never asked Marcia what kind of turnaround she was expecting on employment. And considering how moody she is, you feel afraid to ask. It's only fair to ask, it's your house and your utilities, but something twists in your stomach when you think about it. You leave it alone. It hasn't even been a week yet, no need to force yourself into an awkward situation yet.

You get a text in the office on Friday from Marcia.

"You drink, right?"

"Like, regularly? Not really. Now and then."

"What do you like?"

"I guess vodka."

"Goose?"

"You don't have to."

"I'm getting Goose."

You find yourself smiling as you return to work.

When you arrive home, Marcia's in the kitchen, cooking up a storm while singing the chorus of Dragula. Your eyes flutter at the smell of seasoned meat. Curious and hungry, you step over to the kitchen to see what she's preparing. You've watched Marcia cook before, it's entrancing. Each arm has a mind of its own and she can juggle four activities at once. Today is a little different, she cooks with a religious fervor. She is so involved that she did not hear you enter over her own singing. When you finally call attention to yourself, she nearly puts her knee through the oven door.

"Jesus!" she whips around to look at you. "What the fuck, even?!"

You can't help yourself, you laugh raucously at her.

She crosses both pairs over her chest. "Yeah yeah, faggot, laugh it up. But I got news for you!"

She lowers the heat on the stove top and skips out of the kitchen. She returns with a polo shirt. It's got the logo of a local restaurant on the front.

"I got a fuckin' job!" she bounces on the balls of her feet excitedly. "I'm a chef! I'm a chef!"

"Hey! That's great! Is the pay good?"

"Nope!" she throws the shirt over her shoulder. "But it's full time and it's close by. I could walk there if I needed to."

She bends over and lifts up a giant bottle of Grey Goose from a paper bag. "We're drinking tonight!"

"Shit, you didn't have to get the big bottle!"

"We're sharing it, dumbass!"

"I…" you stop short. How much does she drink that any of the smaller bottles wouldn't be enough to share?!

>>304842

"Put something on, relax," she shoves the bottle at you. "Get your pregame on. Dinner will be done soon and food tastes better when you're drunk."

You're not sure you agree with that notion, but you oblige anyway. You haven't browsed Netflix in weeks and are surprised to find Moana on there. Fuck it, you're about to get smashed. You start the movie and mix yourself a screwdriver.

"What's that??" Marcia calls from the kitchen.

"It's a Disney movie."

"Which one?"

"Moana."

"I haven't seen it, is it new?"

"Eh, -ish."

"Is it good?"

You shrug. "I like it."

After you finish your second screwdriver, Marcia comes out with a spread of food in each hand that she places on the coffee table. Maybe you were wrong, being drunk has made you extraordinarily hungry. You almost cream your pants when she finally slides a plate in front of you with silverware. Not wasting a moment, you load up a plate and dig in.

"I'm rewinding this," she says as she does so.

The movie starts again and she plops down next to you with the bottle of vodka. She tilts it back and tugs heavily. She hisses and replaces the cork. She spots your drink.

"Ey, it's Goose. You don't have to mix it, it's smooth."

You shrug, your mouth too full to protest. She gives you a grin and digs in as well.

The pair of you watch the movie, eating and drinking like vikings. The pair of you only make it three quarters through the meal, but the bottle of vodka is annihilated. It was mostly her, you wanted to keep the food inside.

She demanded a rewind of "Shiny" four times. Three of them, she sang along in a drunken stupor. Two of them, you did too. The pair of you collapse back onto the couch, laughing and muttering "shiny" to one another. As the laughter winded down you noticed she had both of her left arms around you, and her head resting contentedly on your shoulder. Suddenly, the movie became background noise.

From your angle, you could see down her pajama top through the valley of her breasts and down to her abs and navel. Too drunk to care if she noticed, you drink in the sight.

"Hey…" she says quietly without taking her eyes off the screen.

"Huh?" you peel your gaze away and stare at the film. "Yeah?"

"So, I got the job, but I don't think I can afford to live on my own with it."

"Uh huh."

"I'll ask you again tomorrow, when you're sober. But do you think I could just sorta live here with you?"

You stay silent.

"I kinda wanted to get drunk so I could work up the courage to ask. After I enlisted, I couldn't stop thinking about you and how I left you behind. I felt bad, but I felt more angry. Angry at the thought of you forgetting about me and finding someone else. When we were kids, I always thought that we'd, you know…get married and have kids and stuff. Like one of those stupid storybooks."

"Me too," you thoughtlessly say. "I mean, when we were kids. We played house and stuff when we were little."

"I know, right? We totally nailed it."

You laugh lazily.

"Anyway, I've never been smart. I'm dumb, and I left and I screwed any chance of that happening. Because dreams and shit seemed like pussy stuff for dumb kids. Not for adults, not for smart people."

You shake your head. "No, don't say that. You're not dumb."

She squeezes you closer. "But after the gene therapy, I couldn't sleep anymore. I couldn't just go to bed when I was sad or pissed off anymore. I had to deal with it. I had to find something to fill the time. And I sorta used it to, like, read and stuff. Try and become smarter and better. To figure out who I was and what I wanted out of life."

She sighs and buries her face into your chest. "And I figured out that it was too late, I missed my chance to get what I want. I'm a monster. I can't bear children anymore. You won't want me. Nobody does."

You can feel her spasming and her hot tears soaking your shirt. You are effectively at the end of your emotional expertise. You awkwardly pat her back.

"But, I guess…when I retired, I looked you up and found out that you're still single. I got a glimmer of hope back. Maybe there's a chance. I got a tan, and my hair styled. I shaved my legs and stuff. I was hoping you'd notice. You're living the dream with your cushy job and nice house. I know I can't have your children or be anything but the freak I am but…maybe…I could be a part of your dream. I can cook and clean and do laundry. Hell, I can do yard work and home improvement, I've got the muscle for it. I'll give you my shitty paychecks. Is there any chance that maybe we could be together?"

>>304857

Just read this through. Good stuff so far.

>>304857

This was the kind of crazy stuff that sent up red flags in your head. She gets you drunk and tries to sweet-talk you into being her sugar daddy. Women and their manipulative tricks and…phew, you are just too drunk to think about that kinda stuff now. Also, her heat and weight on you isn't helping to clear your head. And maybe the paranoia you're feeling is just a residual effect of the prolonged isolation and loneliness. Funny how a little alcohol can make you think about stuff you've never thought about, while at the same time pushing down the usual worries that plague your every action.

Doesn't matter to you, something feels right and you're going to ride that beam of light even if you'll regret it in the morning. You slide your left hand up her neck and over her hot cheek. Marcia flinches from the contact, as if expecting something worse than a gentle touch. She pulls her head from your chest and looks up at you with her cat-like eyes. Tears run down her cheeks from all four eyes. You can't help but smile at her. She weakly smiles back as her eyes water up again. She does not break eye contact, though you can see a bubbling pressure within her. She wants to kiss you, but wants you to take the initiative. Now, why the hell can't you have this kind of intuition when you're sober?

Fuck it, you seize the moment and lock your lips onto hers. It was like opening a violently-shaken coke. She throws her heavier arms around your torso and grips your face with her delicate arms. She thrusts her tongue past your lips and seeks out yours. You meet her halfway and the two of you taste one another with sexually-charged vigor. She pushes against you and pins your body against the couch. You slip one of your hands into her pajama bottoms and grip a fistful of her firm ass. With your remaining hand, you slide up her shirt and caress her soft breasts. Her sensual moaning drives you crazy and you twirl your tongue ever more intensely around hers.

You thrust your hips forward reflexively, driving the head of your cock towards her. You unconsciously realize that this is what they meant when they say that one's hips are moving on their own. She responds by burrowing into your pants with one of her delicate limbs and placing her palm flat against your shaft. She massages it as she breaks off the kiss. She pulls her head back and looks at you with an expression of pure bliss and affection.

"We gotta stop," she says.

"What?" you push your cock into her hand hungrily. "Why?

"You're drunk. We're drunk. Let's not do something we'll regret, huh?"

"Bullshit," you grunt angrily as she withdraws her hand from your pants.

"Don't be a little bitch. You'll thank me in the morning," she strokes your head, the one on your shoulders, gently. "If it's alright with you, though, we can move to the bedroom and sleep it off in there."

You sizzle with unspent desire, but are tempted at the idea of sleeping next to her. Her hot body pressed against yours, her arms gripping you in a tight embrace. "Fine…"

"That's better. If you're still feeling the groove tomorrow, I'll run you ragged," she assures you. The two of you drunkenly stumble through the hallway to your bedroom. "And then we can do it drunk, stoned, tripping, whatever you want. Just not now, not the first time."

"Yeah yeah," you grumble as you flop onto the bed.

She crawls under the covers next to you and pulls you close. You run your hands over her body, spitefully feasting upon her form with your hands, extracting payment for the tease she's being.

She whispers. "I really hope you feel the same way tomorrow."

>>304970

>inb4 miracles can happen

>>304970

Your first thought on waking up is "Ow, my head hurts."

Your second is "This isn't my bedroom ceiling."

The events of the previous night come flooding back to you and the only question on your mind becomes "Where did Marcia go?"

You sit up on the couch and glance around the living room. She's not there. She cleaned up the food though. You stand up and walk over to the window and check the driveway. Your car's gone.

Fair enough.

You chug about a gallon of water and try to find where you drunkenly left your smartphone last night. After some cushion spelunking, you manage to find it and check for calls and messages.

No missed calls. Text from Marcia. "Shopping for shit we ran out of last night."

You plant yourself on the couch and open up Google on the phone. You look up whether mutants are actually sterile. It's apparently a popular search, according to the autocomplete. They absolutely are infertile. The feeling is bittersweet. On the one hand, she wasn't just blowing smoke at you last night in an attempt to get knocked up. Then again, you were totally DTF and she's the one who pumped the brakes. And on the other hand, poor Marcia. Surely, there's a way to reverse it? We have the technology to engineer giant mutant soldiers, surely we can, well, undo it. That, too, is a popular search. There's a way to reverse it. It's prohibitively expensive and no insurance covers it. According to insurance companies, the mutants are significantly more robust and healthy than regular humans, and to reverse their mutations would once-again expose them to health troubles and lowered quality of life.

Going down this rabbit hole reveals to you exactly why Marcia was retired early. The super-soldier bubble has popped, and the soldiers returning are being treated like scum, worse than regular veterans. They've formed a movement and have rallied enough support from the public to create drastic social change. Currently, the ball is up in the air whether Tricare will be forced cover the reversal therapy or the military will simply stop producing mutants and wash their hands of the whole affair. In the meantime, they've retired their current mutants and froze any applicants to the program. It seems pretty clear to all involved that the whole program will just be swept under the rug. All the applicants signed waivers, so the government legally owes them nothing.

Marcia opens the door. You nearly drop your phone in surprise.

"You're jumpy," she comments, hoisting all of the grocery bags with her brawny arms as she uses the remaining two to handle closing and locking the door.

You chuckle sheepishly. She walks past to the kitchen and starts putting stuff away. You quickly close all the browser windows on your phone and clear your throat.

"So, uh, about last night…"

"How many times have you had to say that?" she snickers.

"Well, uh, none."

"You're a virgin?" she leans into the kitchen doorway to look at you.

"Well, yeah…"

"Loser!" she cackles derisively and disappears around the corner with a crackle of grocery bags.

Your face flushes. "Well, fuck you! How many men have you slept with?!"

"None. But it's ok, because I'm a girl."

You can't argue with her. Also, you're kinda happy to hear that.

"You certainly didn't act like a virgin last night. Your hands were all over the place," she adds.

"I was drunk…" you sputter. "And that's not the point I wanted to talk about."

"It's fine. I just needed to get it off my chest," she assures you as she steps back into the living room and sits on the couch. "You're probably not interested, and that's fine, don't feel all guilty about it. You don't owe me anything, if anything, I owe you for letting me live here for a while. I'm just not the kinda girl who can go for long without speaking her mind."

"Well, I mean…" you begin.

"I feel better already just finally letting it all out," she interrupts. "I needed to vent, and you let me. Thanks for that much, and thanks for not making it awkward or anything. We can go back to just being normal friends. No baggage."

"For fuck's sake, I'm not trying to turn you down!" you blurt out. "If you just let me finish…"

She flinches, like she did last night when you touched her cheek. You open your mouth to speak but can't think of anything to say that hasn't already been said by the context. You find yourself unable to meet her elated gaze. You look at your feet and try to ignore how hot your ears feel.

"So, I mean," you finally manage to say. "We can give it a shot. We're already living together, so…"

"We skipped a few steps, yeah," she laughs nervously.

"What do we do first? Go to a movie?" you cringe at your own words.

"We've been friends since we were kids, what's seeing a movie going to do? We already know we have the same taste."

"I know, that was a dumb suggestion."

"There's really only a few things we don't know we're compatible with…"

You swallow. "I guess let's try those then…"

>inb4 a literal miracle happens and their daughter has a heart and feather birthmark

A man has a right to dream

>>305134

Keep this going.

>>305134

She stands up and walks down the hall.

"Where are you going?" you call after her.

"I'm going to brush my teeth and get a shower. I'm kinda disgusting right now."

"Oh, uh. Ok."

That was abrupt. One moment you're 99% sure that you're about to get laid, and the next she's going off to do something else. Maybe she doesn't see it as a big deal like you do. Getting a shower and brushing her teeth is more important than taking advantage of the mood.

Oh, wait, you're an idiot.

You leap from the couch and dash across the house. You stop in front of the bathroom door and try to muster the courage to knock, or just barge inside. Something. C'mon! Be bold, dammit! You hear the shower head turn on. Here goes!

You throw open the door and see her hunched over the sink, toothbrush in her grip. She stops mid-brush and looks at you with surprise. She's already undressed and has a towel wrapped around her. You know you have a boner, and you're trying not to care.

"H-hey," you stutter.

She spits into the sink and looks at you endearingly. "Would you like to join me?"

"Yes," you boldly step forward with ideations of pulling her towel off like a macho Casanova. You lose your nerve and grab your toothbrush instead. You brush aggressively to hide your shame.

When you finish, you turn around to find her standing patiently in front of the shower curtain. You swear you hear an angelic choir as she peels the towel away with her lower set of arms, holding it open like a set of wings. She crosses her other pair in an X across her torso, pushing her plump breasts together. Her nipples, hard and pink, sit nestled inside the lighter triangle of skin that she was not able to tan on a public beach. You trace the lines of her abs downwards and see her lower set of bikini lines. She apparently shaved down there as well. You can see the shower curtain through the gap in her well-toned thighs.

She drops the towel and pulls the shower curtain aside. "C'mon. Water's hot."

You can't even begin to compete with that reveal. You pull off your shirt and drop your pants quickly, trying to minimize your embarrassment. Your cock stands at attention, almost painfully hard. You step past her without making eye contact. As soon as the water hits your back, you shout.

"Fuck! That's hot!" you retreat to the corner of the bath.

She laughs heartily at you. "Hot water is a luxury, kid. You take it when you can get it."

She climbs in and uses her large frame to block the water from hitting you. The sheer amount of steam filling the shower is enough to keep you warm anyway. She doesn't waste a moment, soaping up and lathering her hair. You follow suit, allowing habit to control your movements. Though it is nearly scorching your skin off, you manage to rinse away the shampoo and soap well before she's finished. Since you're done, and you feel it would be inappropriate and a wasted opportunity to leave early, you watch Marcia shower.

>>305171

She takes her time, enjoying the water and the act of bathing. Watching her run all of her hands over her body, her flesh resist and jiggle, you very much have to resist the urge to grip yourself. When she finishes rinsing herself off she turns to you and gives you a warm smile. Without a word she braces herself against the wall behind you with her left elbows and reaches down with her delicate right arm. She caresses your manhood, looking intently at it. It may very well be the first one she's seen in person, if she was telling the truth before. She probes at its every detail, fascinated. You don't argue, but her tits being so close to your face is becoming too much for you.

You raised your arms up and fondle them. They're hot from the water. You massage them and press them together, exciting yourself with thoughts of them being yours to play with whenever you like. Emboldened by your increasing arousal, you cup your lips around one of her nipples and flick it around with your tongue.

"Oh my," she raises her free hand to cover her mouth in mock surprise. "We're using our mouths now? Well, if you say so."

She bends her legs into a squat, bringing herself to eye-level with your penis. Steam rises off her crouched body, you can see her sinewy back and the firm, round hills of her ass. You hear the moist sound of her parting her lips and pushing her tongue out to softly lick the head of your shaft. Dear lord, you did not expect it to feel so good, like a bolt of pleasure lightning striking you in the dick. Much to your embarrassment, you loose a gasp. She giggles softly before dragging her tongue up from the balls along the length of your cock, watching your face for those reactions she apparently likes. Apparently you didn't learn your lesson the first time, you gasp heavily as she does so.

"Ahhh-mmph," she vocalizes teasingly as she accepts your member into her toasty mouth. Too much. Your legs give out. Relentless, she cups your ass with both of her powerful arms and lifts you off your weak legs. She forcibly pulls your hips towards her head in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. The suffocating steam, Marcia's aggressive oral sex, and your own inexperience make you approach climax faster than you ever have. You surge forward and grip the back of her head as spurts of cum fill her soft mouth.

She lowers you gently to the bottom of the tub and spits towards the drain. "I was kinda expecting it to taste better."

You are too exhausted to reply. She turns off the shower and pulls the curtain. You remain sitting at the bottom of the tub, watching her dry herself. She spots you staring at her.

"What? Never seen a girl facefuck herself before?" she laughs. "I'm sorry if it was too much. The sounds you were making, they were so cute I couldn't control myself. I'm so horny right now, I could fuck a cactus."

She tosses the towel at you. "Dry yourself off and let's go to the bedroom?"

>>305172

You dry yourself alone in the bathroom, your limbs trembling in excitement. You can already feel your body chambering another round. Without wasting another moment, you exit the bathroom and enter your room. On your bed sits Marcia, locks of messily dried hair sticking to her cheeks. Her thighs are parted and her silky pussy invites you. She props her torso up on her lower arms and holds her other pair open towards you. You crawl across the bed and accept her embrace. The pair of you kiss firmly. You grip one of her breasts and massage it as you move your lips away from her mouth to kiss down her neck. You rub your manhood against her slit, you can feel a little hard bump against your shaft. She's ready.

You pull back and guide yourself into her. A slick, tight heat engulfs you and seems to suck you in hungrily. Marcia reaches down and parts herself further to accommodate you, emitting breathy 'ha's as she takes inch after inch. Seconds pass before you've given her your full length. You stop, savoring the shared bliss.

"Congrats," she says with a light smile.

"You too," you smile back.

You kiss again, wrapping one another in tight hugs. You begin to move. She moves with you, matching your rhythm, like she always did. Your mind flashes with memories of the youth you've spent with her. Videogames, movies, theme parks, school field trips. All leading up to now. There's not much left of you physically, nothing but the swirling back and forth of your soul and hers. A dance of emotions and desires to the music of squeaking bed frame. The brief moments you tune back into the material world, you are rewarded with the sight of her undulating breasts, the feeling of her warm thighs wrapping themselves jealously around your hips, and her eyes, squinted in ecstasy, staring back up at you. You can't help but bring your lips to hers as you climax. The heat of your cum sends tremors up her back, causing her to raise her torso and press against yours.

The pair of you relax as feeling returns to your limbs. You dismount and roll over beside her.

"J-jesus," she gasps. "I wasn't expecting to…the first time. I'm a lucky girl."

"Y-yeah," you nod. "Me too."

She lolls her head over to look at you sardonically.

"I mean, wait," you laugh spasmodically. "I'm a boy."

"You're a man," she corrects. "And next time, I want top."

"Not tonight, right? I'm spent."

"Hey, being on bottom's not hard work at all. Just enjoy the ride."

"You can't possibly still have energy left," you raise your eyebrows.

"I'm a super-soldier. I've carried almost a thousand pounds of equipment three miles through a desert," she informs you.

"But still. You can't…"

She pounces on you, her breasts dangling over your sweaty face. She wears a wide grin. "C'mon now, you started this! Just enjoy the ride!"

The End

Hope you enjoyed it. Writing is kinda what I do and it was nice writing something comfy for once. I needed a break from the stress of writing conflict-driven plot.

Thanks for the positive reinforcement, it kept me on track. If anyone has any constructive comments about it, I appreciate the feedback.

>>305137

I like to leave the epilogue to the readers. If you want to believe that, by some miracle, her eggs are still viable, you go ahead. But by way of offering alternatives, please consider these points:

-The world might change and insurance companies could start to cover reversal therapy.

-Anon and Marcia could save their money and buy the therapy up front (or get a loan to do so)

-Any number of technologies could allow her to carry a child again, without necessarily restoring her humanity (if you like her design)

-They could adopt or have a surrogate mother.

I'm just happy to write something that you could be invested enough to care.

>>305186

Thanks for writing.

>>302654

Does this mean she has three wombs?

>>304855

If you're going to say that, then you'd also have to dismiss any kind of insect girl on the basis of their exoskeletons collapsing at a humanoid sized weight. But you don't, because insect girl exoskeletons are just somehow strong enough because of reasons, just like the extra limbs just somehow don't need anything else.

>>305834

I'd assume a humanoid buggo exoskeleton would resemble more a crustacean's than that of a terrestrial arthropod