Futa Fertility Cuckold Collection Read online

  Futa Fertility Cuckold Collection

  (Three Stories from The World of Futas Universe)

  by

  Reed James

  Copyright © 2016 by Reed James

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published in the United States of America, 2016

  All characters depicted in this work of fiction are over the age of eighteen (18).

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  Table of Contents

  Futa Fertility Cuckold Collection

  Naughty Excerpt from “Futa Fertility Cuckold Collection”

  Other Futa Stories

  Futa Fertility Treatment

  Futa Fertility Treatment

  Futa Fertility Date

  Futa Fertility Date

  Futa Fertility Menage

  Futa Fertility Menage

  Naughty Excerpt from “Futa Fertility Cuckold Collection”

  The doorbell rang.

  I flinched.

  “She's here,” my wife moaned. “Go answer the door, Catherine. We can't be rude to our guest.”

  “Okay, honey,” I said, unable to stand up to my wife. I couldn't deny her this.

  I moved to the door and opened it. Dr. Belinda stood there in a tight, crimson dress. It was short, her breasts almost spilling out the top, her long, dark legs looking perfect. Her hair fell in thick, tight braids about her smiling face.

  “Catherine, I'm just so glad I could be apart of this magical part of you and your wife's lives,” she said as I stepped aside.

  “Me, too,” I said, swallowing.

  She thrust a bottle of wine into my hand. “Why don't you pour us all a glass,” She said, walking by, her curvy ass swaying in the tight skirt. “It'll help your wife relax. And you, too.”

  “Okay,” I said as my wife rose, her breasts heaving beneath her half-open robe.

  “Mmm, you look ravenous tonight, Maria,” Dr. Belinda said as I hurried by. “Just scrumptious. Your futa-wife is lucky to have you.”

  “And I'm so lucky to have her,” my wife purred as I headed into the kitchen. “She's so willing to be cuckolded.”

  The word made my dick throb and my pussy clenched.

  I pushed through the swinging door into our kitchen, I hurried to the cabinet and pulled out three wine glasses. Then I ripped open drawers, searching for the corkscrew. I kept glancing at the door to the living room, wondering what was going on in there.

  I imagined nervous small talk. My wife, despite how she dressed, would need the wine to relax. There was no way she could truly be comfortable with this. It was such a strange situation to be in.

  “Finally,” I groaned when I found the corkscrew hidden in the back of a drawer. I pulled it out and popped the wine.

  It was a White Zinfandel. I poured the three glasses and put them on a small tray before bustling out of the kitchen. My left hand pushed the swinging door open and—

  I froze.

  My wife did not need the wine to relax after all. She and Dr. Belinda were kissing madly, their lips pressed together, my wife's eyes closed. She moaned into the kiss. The doctor's dark hand stroked my wife's ivory thigh while my wife's hands squeezed the doctor's large breasts through her crimson dress.

  “I...the wine,” I said, frozen in the doorway.

  “Oh, just set it down,” my wife moaned, tilting her head while the doctor kept nuzzling and nibbling on her neck. “Right there on the end table.”

  “Mmm, yes,” purred the doctor, her hand sliding higher up my wife's thigh, pushing aside the silk robe.

  “Is the kissing...necessary?” I asked, moving into the room and setting the tray on the coffee table. I took my glass, swirling the wine.

  “Yes,” Dr. Belinda moaned, her lush lips nibbling on my wife's neck. “Your wife needs to be in the mood to increase the fertility chances.”

  “Uh-huh,” my wife moaned.

  I downed my wine in a single, long gulp as I watched my wife kiss the doctor. Their tongues battled each other. My dick ached so hard in my panties. I set my glass down, the wine already warming my belly, and watched my wife moan and writhe.

  Her hand clenched on the doctor's breasts while the futa's ebony hand pressed beneath my wife's teddy for a moment before sliding back down my wife's sleek thigh. My wife moaned again, her eyes fluttering.

  To find out what happens next, read on!

  Other Futa Stories

  Futa Wife's Discipline Collection

  Futa Submissive Training Collection

  Futa Honeymoon Cuckold Collection

  Cuckold by the Black Futa Collection

  Futas & the HuCow MILFs Collection

  Futa College Exhibitionism Collection 2

  Futa College Exhibitionism Collection 1

  Taboo Futa Desires Collection 2

  Taboo Futa Desires Collection 1

  Futa Bacchanal Collection 2

  Futa Bacchanal Collection 1

  Futa Fertility Treatment

  Futa Fertility Cuckold 1

  (A Story from The World of Futas Universe)

  by

  Reed James

  Futa Fertility Treatment

  I sat nervously with my wife of five years, Maria, in Dr. Belinda Glover's office. The futa-doctor was supposed to be one of the leading experts in fertility issues in Seattle. I hoped so. My wife and I had been trying eagerly for our first child for a year, tracking her menstrual cycle, having sex when her basal body temperature was at its peak.

  Nothing.

  At first we didn't worry. “This happens, Catherine,” my wife would say to me as we lay in bed, her head pillowed on my small breasts, her hand idly playing with my half-hard cock before sliding down to brush the wet lips of my pussy. “We just have to keep trying. And it's not like trying is such a chore.”

  She gave a wicked giggle.

  My wife always loved sex. And I enjoyed her big, beautiful breasts and curvy body. She had that olivine, Mediterranean skin that was so beautiful to look out and dusky nipples topping her perfect tits. Sleek legs, curvy hips, and a gorgeous ass I love to squeeze as we made love.

  The sex was great. We “practiced” all the time. But after a year, we had to admit that it wasn't working. There was something wrong with one of us. Maria feared it was her while I feared it was me. My cock wasn't that big and I never quite felt like the embodiment of futahood—big breasts, big cock, virile lover, gorgeous body.

  I felt so plain and average.

  But my wife insisted we test her first. That was when we met Dr. Belinda Glover. She was great. The African-American futa ran all the test while keeping my wife at ease. They slipped into a very friendly, close relationship, my wife always talking about how wonderful Dr. Belinda was.

  “She's so wonderful,” she gushed just last night as we were in bed. “I know she'll figure out our problem. She's already told me one solution, but it's just so...so
...unorthodox. I don't think you'd go for it.”

  “I would,” I had promised her between kisses. I found her pussy dripping wet that night. “Wow, what has you excited?”

  “Just eager to make a baby,” she gushed as I stroked the wet folds of her pussy.

  She closed her eyes as we made love, me atop her, and she came so fast, so hard. She squeezed my ass as I pumped my small cock in and out of her. I came a few moments later, so stunned by her ardor as she trembled beneath me.

  When I rolled off, she moaned, “I can't wait for tomorrow. I know Dr. Belinda will have all the answers.”

  I was afraid of the answers. My wife had come back with a clean bill of fertility health. Everything about her body was ripe to be impregnated. So the problem had to be me. As my wife fell asleep, I stared at the ceiling, worried.

  And the worry never diminished. It only increased. And now, sitting in the office beside my wife waiting for Dr. Belinda to enter and tell us the bad news, I squirmed. My stomach twisted. I wanted to throw up.

  I looked for anything to distract me. I tried to read a book on my smart phone or browse Facebook. But I couldn't focus. My eyes darted about the doctor's office. In one corner was a diagram of a pregnant woman's anatomy. In another was a futa's body, showing all the inner parts. I stared at it, wondering what part of me was broken. My dick? My ovaries? Were my sperm malformed?

  I glanced at my wife and blinked. I hadn't paid attention to what she put on this morning. It was a low-cut blouse showing off her expansive cleavage with the garnet pendant I bought her for our Anniversary last year nestled between her creamy mounds. Her skirt was short and her legs, freshly shaved, were crossed. They looked so beautiful.

  “A little overdressed, honey?” I asked, staring at my wife.

  “Hmm?” she asked, looking up. “What are you—”

  The door opened and Dr. Belinda walked in. My wife instantly straightened, a huge smile crossing her lips as she stared at the beautiful futa-doctor strolling in. The doctor wore a white coat over her tight miniskirt, the short skirt revealing long, coffee-brown thighs and calves. Her large breasts bounced in her gray blouse, half the buttons undone to show off an equal amount of cleavage.

  Dr. Belinda fit futahood to a tee.

  Her heels clicked as she walked around her desk, my wife following, her thighs squeezing tight while color darkened her lips. I squirmed, feeling more than a little ashamed that I was so average that my wife openly looked at another futa with such lust in her eyes.

  But I knew she loved me. She even put her hand over mine, giving me a squeeze. “You'll see,” she whispered as Dr. Belinda settled behind her desk, her chair creaking. “She'll solve our problem and give me a baby.”

  “Us.”

  “Yes, us.” My wife leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “Our baby.”

  “How are you doing today, Maria?”

  “Fine,” my wife answered, and I couldn't help but think Dr. Belinda's smile grew a little hungry as she stared at my wife.

  “And you, Catherine?” The doctor's gaze slid to mine. “Nervous?”

  “My futa-wife tossed and turned all night, the poor thing.” My wife squeezed my hand again. “It doesn't matter to me if you're infertile. I still love you.”

  It mattered to me. A true futa wouldn't be infertile.

  “I have the results of your test,” Dr. Belinda said, flipping pages on a chart she brought in. “And I'm sorry to say, but your sperm have almost no mobility.”

  I swallowed. “That means...”

  “You're shooting blanks, I'm afraid. It is impossible for you to impregnate your wife or any other woman.”

  I knew it was coming, but hearing it still made me feel like the entire weight of the world crushed down at me. I sank deeper into the chair, squirming. I was a failure as a futa. I couldn't get my own wife pregnant and give her the children she desired. That we desired.

  Tears burned at my eyes, but I fought them off. I took a few deep breaths. “I-is there...a treatment...or something that can...help?”

  “Not at this time,” sighed Dr. Belinda. “I am sorry. I know how much you were looking forward to impregnating your wife.”

  My wife gave my hand a comforting squeeze.

  “But that doesn't mean you two can't have children.”

  I perked up. “So there's someway for you to, like, make a test tube baby with my sperm and her egg.”

  “In vitro fertilization is an option,” nodded Dr. Belinda. “I've already spoken to your wife and told her my views. I'm against it. Children should be conceived naturally.”

  “Naturally? But you just said my sperm weren't mobile.”

  “Well, you're sperm also aren't capable of fertilizing her egg through in vitro fertilization either,” she continued. The doctor leaned forward. “You'll need a sperm donor.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, as I said, I believe in natural conception leads to the healthiest child. In vitro fertilization has a number of potential downfalls besides its expense. It's no guarantee that the egg will attached to the uterine wall, so they often fertilize multiple eggs. But that often leads to pregnancies of three or more children, and that's quite a stress to place on the mother.”

  “And by natural, you mean someone else would have sex with my wife?”

  The doctor nodded.

  I swallowed again. “But that's...I mean.” I looked at my wife. “Honey?”

  “It wouldn't be cheating,” she said quickly. “Dr. Belinda broached this with me a few days ago. And I've been thinking about it. A lot.” A smile flashed across her lips and she squirmed in her seat. “And, well, I can see the advantages. You're always espousing how natural remedies are better than pharmaceutical.”

  “Well...”

  “And in vitro fertilization is so unnatural. So against nature. And you don't want to do that if there's another way.”

  “But...”

  “And we'll need a sperm donor anyways.”

  “We could adopt.”

  “But I want to carry our child.” She smiled at me. “It'll still be our child even if you're not technically the futa-mother.”

  I tried to picture another futa with my wife, their breasts pressed together, both moaning as the futa's thick cock rammed into my wife.

  My pussy itched. That horny itch that quickly spread to the tip of my cock. I hardened in my panties even as my cheeks warmed with shame. How could I possibly think another futa with my wife was something sexy? She was my wife.

  “It'll be strictly procreational,” my wife continued. “Okay. It won't change anything between us because we love each other.” She paused. “And you do love me, right?”

  “Of course, honey,” I said.

  “And you want me to be happy?”

  “More than anything.”

  She smiled and gave me another kiss. The hot itch in my pussy increased. I squirmed, my dick swelling in my panties and tenting the front of my skirt. I moved my purse to cover it, growing embarrassed that I was getting aroused.

  My wife smiled when she broke the kiss. “Thank you, honey.”

  I nodded, dazed. “But...I mean, who's going to do it?”

  “Why, Dr. Belinda,” my wife said, glancing at our doctor. “She assures me her sperm have very high motility.”

  I glanced at the doctor and her half-exposed, coffee-cream breasts. “But, she's Black.”

  “And?” my wife asked.

  “Don't tell me you're a racist?” Dr. Belinda said.

  I flushed. “Of course not. I mean, we're both White, and...”

  “You would love our child less if she wasn't?” gasped my wife.

  “Of course not.” I squirmed, my stomach sinking. “I just...I thought...people will know...that I'm not...”

  “Oh, honey, you will be our child's futa-mother.” She squeezed my hand. “So don't worry about it. Just do this and we'll be so happy.”

  “I...”

  She stared at me with her da
rk eyes, her wavy-brown hair framing her beautiful face. My heart beat so fast. I did love her so much. I would do anything to make her happy. But could I do this? Could I let our Black futa-doctor impregnate my wife?

  But those eyes. They wanted this so badly. Our child. And this was the twenty-first century. We were both progressive. It would be racist of me not to allow a Black futa to be our sperm donor. I really had no choice. I couldn't offend the doctor or let my wife down.

  “Okay, honey,” I sighed, feeling so weak but then thrilled at her excited squeal.

  She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. Her breasts pressed into my mine, my hard nipples aching in my bra. My dick was so hard. I wanted to have sex with her right now, but then she broke away.

  “I'm at my most fertile tonight,” my wife told Dr. Belinda. “You should come by the house. You remember where it is?”

  I blinked. “She's been to the house?”

  “Yes, when she told me about the plan,” my wife grinned. “You were at work. Didn't I tell you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I do remember,” Dr. Belinda said. “I'll be there, say, seven.”

  “Perfect,” my wife nodded. Then she squealed again.

  The day past in a blur. We both had taken off from work for the meeting and I didn't feel up to returning. And neither did my wife. We went home and I was so horny, but my wife wasn't in the mood. So I jerked off in the bathroom thinking about the doctor and my wife together, their sleek bodies pressed tight, my wife's large, ivory breasts pressed into the futa's big, ebony tits as they fucked.

  I came so fast.

  And felt so ashamed for it. But I had to do this.

  My wife bustled about the house. She cleaned everything and changed the sheets on our bed. Last, she set up a small chair in the bedroom, “For you to sit on and watch,” she smiled. “I want you totally involved in every step of making our baby.”

  My wife showered after we had a light dinner at five. Then I heard her spending so much time in the bathroom. It was like she was getting ready for a date. And when she did come down, her hair was stylized into a curly mass, her face made-up, and she wore the lilac teddy I bought her for her birthday with its matching, silk robe. She had it closed, the sheer fabric making her lush body seem even more arousing.