The World’s First Futa 07 – Futa’s Naughty Hitchhiking Chapter 1: Futa’s First Innocent Delight by mypenname3000
Discover 'Futa's Naughty Hitchhiking Chapter 1: Futa's First Innocent Delight' by mypename3000, the exhilarating start to the world's first Futa 07 erotic tale. Join Futa on a thrilling journey filled with passion, adventure, and unexpected encounters. Indulge in this captivating sex story that explores desire and innocence!<br/>
While hitchhiking, Becky, the world’s first futa, discovers virgin delight amid a Christian family.
The World’s First Futa – Futa’s Naughty Hitchhiking
Chapter One: Futa’s First Innocent Delight
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2018
April 17th, 2047
My futa-cock erupted.
My girl-jizz fired into Adelia’s hungry mouth. My hand dug into her black hair, mussing her perfectly coiffed do as she swallowed my spunk. Every blast sent jolts of rapture zapping into my mind while winds of ecstasy howled out of my pussy. Her fingers plunged into my convulsing cunt, teasing me as my pleasure surged through me.
“BECKY!” cheered the studio audience. “BECKY!”
“We love you, Becky!” another woman screamed.
“Let me drink your cum!”
“Breed me!”
“No, no, breed me!”
“Go, Mom!” cried out one of my many, many futa-daughters.
“Oh, god,” I groaned, my head lolling back on the interview couch on the sound stage of Adelia’s talk show. It was streamed out on the internet on one of the biggest content networks. My feet drummed on the floor, my breasts heaved beneath my blouse. “Yes!”
“Thirty seconds,” the male producer called, standing by one of the three cameras filming us.
“Uh-huh,” I whimpered. We were on a commercial break. I think the fifth since I started talking about my life, the world looking back on the last thirty years since I became the first futa.
My dick spurted a final time into Adelia’s mouth. The biracial woman purred in delight as she popped her lips off my dick. Her tongue fluttered out, gathering some of the spunk leaking out of the corners of her lips.
“Mmm, yum,” she groaned.
“You missed some,” I purred, my body buzzing on euphoria.
The studio audience let out loud “oooooooohhhhhhssssss” as I kissed Adelia, my tongue flicking out to gather my salty jizz. I savored the taste of my own girl-spunk. I whimpered as she pulled her fingers out of my pussy and brought them up to our lips.
My sweet musk coated her digits, seasoning our kiss with something delicious.
“And we’re live in five,” the producer said, “four.”
We broke the kiss.
“Three.”
I shoved my skirt down over my softening futa-dick, thrusting from the folds of my pussy where my clit used to be. I shivered as the cloth rasped about the sensitive tip. I shifted, crossing my legs as the producer mouthed, “One.”
The camera’s red lights came on.
I put on a smile, feeling the world, and my wife standing just off-stage, watching me.
“We’re back with President Becky Woodward,” Adelia said, her voice smooth. You couldn’t tell at all that she had just been sucking my dick. “She’s joined us to take a retrospective look back on her life on her forty-eighty birthday.”
“Glad to be here,” I said, my legs crossed, my body almost floating off the couch from my orgasmic high. “It’s always such a pleasure. I always feel so welcomed here.”
A laugh rippled through the studio audience while Adelia licked her lips. “Mmm, I wonder why that is,” she said with a mysterious tone. “Now, before our break, we had covered your college career, and you were going to regale us with some of your adventures during your hobo phase.”
“Hobo…” I giggled. “Well, I didn’t have stick over my shoulder with the handkerchief bundle tied to it, but… Yeah, I spent a while hitchhiking. I graduated from the University of Washington in early June of 2021 and headed south down Old Highway 99, the scenic route to California. I wasn’t in a hurry, just bumbling along.”
“Breeding women?” Adelia arched an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes, I left a string of happy, pregnant women in my wake,” I said. “Eventually, I reached San Diego and struck out east, crossing Arizona and New Mexico. I was in Western Texas on Highway 84 when I met Jackson Pelley.”
I could still remember the heat of the day, the dust in the air. I closed my eyes and drifted back to that day.
“He was kind enough to offer me a ride.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
July 23rd, 2021
I broiled in the Texan sun. It was afternoon and I was regretting not staying with that trio of girls I met at the Best Western. I left all three of them with buns in the ovens and each eager to try out for Ms. Bred 2022. Thinking I’d find a ride, soon, I headed southeast from the motel down the highway in my jean skirt and cowboy boots, my t-shirt tied just below my round tits, leaving my tanned stomach exposed. I had my Stetson hat perched on my head.
I was adapting to Texas.
But as the day wore on, I hardly saw a car, and none of them pulled over to give me a ride. If it wasn’t for the oppressive heat and the fact I was quickly running out of bottle water, I wouldn’t have been worried. After walking every day for over a month, I was in the best shape of my life. Not even as a cheerleader were my legs so toned, my body so slender.
“Come on,” I muttered as I heard the approach of the vehicle. I turned around, my thumb stuck out as I walked backwards down the gravel shoulder. On either side of me were sere fields of golden grass dotted with lethargic cattle. “Please, stop.”
The road was straight, the land flat. I could see the car coming for miles, sun reflecting off the glass. It felt like an eternity for it to reach me. An eternity broiling in the sun. Sweat soaked my shirt, molding to my round breasts. More trickles ran down my spine and poured off my forehead.
A faded-blue, beat-up truck pulled up. One of those big Ford ones that in the city I’d say the guy was overcompensating but out here… This truck looked like it worked every day since the driver bought it. Jubilation surged through me as it slowed.
I didn’t even care that it had a big sticker on the passenger door that read, “Ask me about my Lord and Savior” nor the bible verses plastered on the bumper. Right now, I could listen to all manner of lectures about my soul if it meant getting in an air conditioned cab.
The pickup truck stopped. The passenger window rolled down. An older man with wings of gray streaking through his short hair peered at me. He had a ruddy face, tanned to leather by working in the sun. He wore a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, his arms hairy and tan. He peered at me past a bold nose.
“Need a ride, little lady?” he asked in that polite, Texas droll.
“Hell yeah,” I said.
He grinned. “Then get your keister on in.”
I wrenched open the door and hauled in, dropping my denim backpack on my feet as I settled into the seat. I slammed the door closed and groaned as the arctic air blasting out of the vents spilled across my tits and bare stomach.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I groaned, leaning forward to savor the cool air.
“Naw, just bein’ a good Christian,” he said and pulled back into the highway. He drove relaxed, one hand on the steering wheel. “Names Jackson. Jackson Pelley.”
“Becky Woodward.”
He gave me a smile. “Please to meet ya, Becky. Ya bound for anywhere in particular?”
“Just drifting,” I said and leaned back against the seat. The sweat was starting to dry on my face, making me feel in desperate need of a shower.