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666 Trouser Snakes On A Plane

“Enough is enough! I ’ave ’ad it with these motherfuckin’ trouser snakes on this motherfuckin’ plane!” Chas—only her mum called her Charlotte—spat the words out in a spray of cum the moment the tenth cock in as many minutes slid from her mouth. Its owner slumped, as limp as their spent member, legs splayed to bare the dribbling cunt beneath.

“That’s cultural appropriation!” Dave called from the other aisle once his mouth was also cock-free. “I’m the hot black man—I should get to say that!” The slap, slap, slap of the blonde taking the transman from behind punctuated every other syllable.

“But you didn’t, and we’ve only got fifteen minutes left! Anyway, I’ve ’ad three kids, so it’s literally true in my case.”

Just then, the plane pitched forward. With an aggressive slam of her hips backwards, Chas clenched her sphincter and vaginal muscles. Occupants of both orifices released their loads, and she kicked herself off them into a dive through the legs of several more sex-crazed passengers. The open door to the cockpit was only metres away when a hand caught her arm.

A pregnant redhead dragged her onto her lap. As with all those who had succumbed to this curse, her clitoris had transformed into an obscene, wriggling phallus that had possessed her mind, giving her one purpose—to fuck. Earlier, that weird nun, Sister Britney, had called the affected women “futas”, explaining that anyone they fucked changed within thirty minutes. Rather than resist, however, Chas guided her to her cunt, for their only chance lay in the infected passing out from their orgasms.

Another writhing dick slid over her buttocks. Thick, tattooed hands groping her tits and the beard above her told her this was no futa, but then those born with cocks were not immune. In fact, they took less time to change, since their penises controlled half their brains already. Hence the problem—once the pilot had opened the cockpit for their scheduled mid-flight fuck, the passengers were doomed. So Chas and Dave had volunteered to fuck their way to the front and—if they could make it before they grew their own demonic dicks—hope her experience hang gliding was transferrable to a 747.

That hope made her eagerly press the hairy biker to her arsehole. With both cocks twisting inside her, she began sucking hard on the redhead’s nipples to bring about orgasm faster. Futas would shoot off very quickly—rather like her ex, if his cock had been as big as her forearm and moved like a novelty vibrator.

A guttural moan to her left drew her eyes to Dave, gaining on her. An improbably well-endowed Korean Air stewardess gripped his waist and rammed her cock into his “mancunt”—his delightfully name for his vagina—while he arched his back to deepthroat the sari-clad futa blocking his route. With every thrust of the stewardess, he kicked against the seatbacks, pushing his fuck along. As they drew level, the futa in front collapsed, spraying his beard with cum. Not missing a beat, he grabbed the armrests for support, flexed his internal muscles to milk the other futa’s cock, before releasing and doing a backflip onto his feet.

Chas came too—hard—her two lovers emptying inside her simultaneously, then she rolled off and scrambled between the end toilets. The pilot joining a four-futa fucktrain blocked her destination. If only the cursed could cum with each other, this would be easy.

“Thank fuck!” Dave exclaimed, turning the corner. “Six minutes left. What are you staring at?”

“Tell you after.” Pointing out that his clit was already bigger than her ex’s dick might accelerate the takeover of his mind. “Get down ’ere and—”

Oversized cock stuffing her mouth cut her off. She sucked hungrily at it, tasting futa cunt and looking up at the pilot. Dave knelt beside her and slurped noisily on one cock whilst his hands serviced the others, moving from sopping pussies, up their shafts, around their heads and down again.

“Do you always love cock this much?” Chas asked, taking a break for air.

“Oh, yes!” He gave a different dick a few hard sucks then continued, “Cock, cunt, it’s all good. You?”

“More of a cunt girl meself these days, though I don’t mind a cock now and then. ’Ad about fifty times more today than the rest of me life! Amazin’ I’m not sore, really. Oh, this ain’t fast enough!”

“True.” He pulled one futa down, mounting her, while Chas bent over and braced herself against the doorway in time for the pilot to squelch into her hole.

Dave moaned into futa dick, held tight to another and bounced furiously on the cock beneath him. It squirmed inside, massaging his g-spot even as another plunged into his arse. His clit, now longer than a finger, slapped his belly, and he climaxed. The prospect of gaining a cock via airborne clusterfuck certainly had its appeal, but he also didn’t want to die, so he pushed through. Shoving a fist up the cunt of each of the futas he was fellating, they came. The two inside him weren’t far behind when the pilot keeled over to leave Chas stumbling into the cockpit, cum pouring from her pussy. Dave joined her, slammed the door and locked it, sighing in relief.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Dave, but you ’ave to fuck me now!”

He looked down and then wordlessly sat in the pilot’s seat. Chas jumped on him reverse cowgirl and seized the joystick, Dave’s fuck-stick swelling as she rode him. Just as the wheels touched the tarmac, it started that bizarre but oh so delicious wriggling. She bounced harder, feeling her own developing phallus jiggle whilst doing her best to follow the guidance from the control tower and reach the allocated bay.

“Do you require a security escort?” the voice crackled over the radio.

“No.” The reborn futa-MILF stroked her veiny snake-cock and purred into the microphone. “Just connect the air bridge. Everyone is desperate to get off.”


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