Breakfast …

Having tossed and turned all night, I can barely pry my eyes open as the morning sunlight filters through my … white lace curtains? I could swear I used to have blackout, dark blue curtains that never let any light in … but then of course … I must be mistaken, because that would never match the lovely pink and white decor of my room!

The smell of breakfast cooking is wafting through the house, drawing my body in zombie-like fashion down the steps and into the kitchen. There, hovering over the stove, with her back to me, stands my mother, dutifully preparing something delicious. Her plump ass is stretching her sweats, panty lines clearly visible.

My mind suddenly fills with images of that ass being squashed against the bed as Dad drilled his long, thick, impressive cock into her. My mouth salivates as my heart begins to race. I am deafened by the cries of sexual hunger as they echo through the caverns of my head. Only the sound of the chair scraping across the tiled floor, as I fall into it, breaks me from my reverie and my mother from her routine.

She turns and looks at me with eyes as wide as saucers and sparkling with glee and happiness. “CRYSTAL!” She drops her cooking spatula and rushes to me, embracing my entire being as she squeezes tight, her buoyant breasts are smashed against my … breasts? … as she titters like a schoolgirl. “Ooohhh! Welcome home, hunny! I didn’t hear you come in last night, but I saw your car in the driveway this morning, so I thought I’d cook up a welcome home meal for you.” She turned back to the stove and was tending to the sizzling bacon and sausage links in the frying pan. I could see the flapjacks piled high, already set aside, along with hash browns being kept warm. She had several eggs placed to the side, ready to be broken. “It’s been soooo long! We’ve got sooo much to talk about! It’s so nice to have another girl around!” Her giddiness is a little too much for me right now, having barely slept, my mind is still trying to catch up to itself. Her continued rambling barely registers. I hold my head in my hands, elbows propping it up, nodding every so often to give the indication I’m actually listening.

It isn’t until a large, strong, calloused hand grips my shoulder, the strong scent of a musk cologne causes my nostrils to flare, and a soft kiss to my scalp wakes me from the drudgery. “Good morning Sunshine. Welcome home!” The thunderous booming voice resonates through the kitchen as an indescribable warmth floods my body. I can feel the heat rising along my flesh. My heart catches in my throat, unable to respond as he breezes on past to give Mom a similar, but more affectionate greeting. Again, images from the previous evening flood my brain, his massive mallet hammering away with determined effort, repeatedly pinning her to the bed. As he turns to join me at the table, my eyes are instinctively drawn to the origin of my dreams. GOD! Even soft, the bulge in his suit trousers is clearly evident. It’s the only thing in my field of vision that is in focus, everything else is a blur.

I’m so consumed with Dad’s presence that I don’t notice mom placing three plates, loaded with a breakfast fit for a king, on the table. Dad thanks her and begins chowing down on his meal as if there’s no tomorrow. Mom does her best to keep pace, having served herself a smaller portion. Meanwhile, I merely pick small bites from my bacon, as I continue to absentmindedly dream. Grabbing a fork I stab a sausage link and bring it to my mouth. Puckering my lips I bring the tip forward and kiss it, syrup from the pancakes mix with the grease, and paint my lips. I dart my tongue out and gather a taste of the unique nectar and draw it in, savoring it as a smile grows upon my face. My lips part slightly granting it entry into my watering mouth, cradling it and bathing it with my tongue. My cheeks hollow as it slides effortlessly towards the back of my throat. It slides back out, my lips clinging tightly to its shaft, suckling every bit of delicious juice I can capture, waiting for its return voyage …

“Are you okay hunny? You’ve barely touched your food!” Mom’s interjection brings me back.

The confusion is overwhelming, as well as the sexual tension building within. “Umm, yeah …”. The appeal of the food in front of me is lost and seems somewhat foreign. “Do we have any yogurt or cottage cheese?” YOGURT? … COTTAGE CHEESE? What the fuck? What am I saying?

Mom’s face turns bright red, embarrassed and ashamed, she begins profusely apologizing. “I’m so sorry Crystal. I’m just so used to cooking for the men around here … I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve stocked the fridge with your usual goodies. Take my car and head to the grocery store. Get your yogurt and cottage cheese, as well as your salad and fixings. I’ll give you my card. I’m so sorry hunny.” Mom continues to apologize while dad cracks a quirky smile in my direction before dragging my plate in front of himself.

First it’s yogurt and cottage cheese. Now it’s salads? I hate that stuff … I’ve never … I may have … I have … I have to … keep this girlish figure! Yogurt, cottage cheese, salads! Eat healthy, stay fit, exercise! Gotta keep this figure to lure the men! “It’s okay Mom. I’ll go later. I just wanna shower first.” I push myself away from the table and turn to leave. Before I do, I squeeze Dad tightly, unable to reach around his broad, muscled chest. “Have a good day at work.”

I ramble up the steps and plop into my comfy bed. I spot my phone on the nearby table and absentmindedly open it up. Last night’s text to Roland is still up. It’s hard to read, the letters are soft and fuzzy. I reach for the bedside table and retrieve my … glasses? Since when did I start wearing … maybe … I … yes .. I’ve always worn glasses! I put them on and the text comes back into clearer focus. Roland! The game! Suck a cock! All those questions from the previous evening flood back to the forefront. I need answers. He hasn’t called back. I’ll call him, he should be up by now!

Thank goodness Roland picked up the phone … I don’t think I could go any longer without some answers. “Hiya Roland! … Yeah, I’m fine … Yeah, I made it home okay … Yeah, it was kinda late when I texted ya … That’s okay, I kinda figured you were asleep … No, that’s fine, I just have a busy day ahead of me today, so I thought I’d try to call you this morning before I get going … Questions? … Ummm, questions? …” Of course I have questions. The game! Cocks! Different cocks, or the same cock multiple times? When’s the end of the day? Does his cock count? For some unknown reason, I couldn’t get my mouth to utter a single question even though they were lingering on the tip of my tongue, like a dollop of fresh cum … What am I thinking? “No. I’m still here. I, um, can’t seem … um, can’t …”. It’s no use! No matter how hard I try to talk to Roland about his little game, I just can’t bring myself to find the right words without sounding like a babbling idiot. Frustratingly, I give up! “Never mind. It must not have been too important.” We agree to talk again some time in the future and say our mutual goodbyes.

I throw the phone onto the mattress in utter frustration, pissed off that I couldn’t bring myself to ask Roland some simple questions about the rules of the game. And to make matters worse, I sounded like a crazed baboon, stuttering and babbling while trying to get the words out. He must think I’ve gone mad.

My anger is quickly replaced by the alarming realization that I have to go on a ‘cock hunt’ today and find a cock to suck. The mere notion of sucking a cock, immediately conjures up images of the most glorious cock I’ve seen to date. A, now familiar tingle and warmth begins to spread throughout my body, settling in my crotch. I feel destined to be sucking that wonderful wielding saber of his, tossing aside any taboo ideas regarding ****. I will be Daddy’s Little Cocksucker!

But he’s off to work right now, so I clean up and make the bed, before heading towards the bathroom to take a shower. Clean? Make the bed? Since when? Mom always cleaned up … after the boys … We girls are always neat and clean!

Stepping into the bathroom, I turn on the shower and give it time to heat up. Meanwhile, I shed off the shorts and tee shirt I’ve been wearing and toss them in the hamper. The … panties?… follow behind. For the first time since arriving home, I can take full stock of my naked body, in its entirety. I wouldn’t call it a killer body. A quick glance I can tell there’s not much fat, a slim waist, with hips not much wider. My breasts are just right for my size, firm yet supple, just filling my palms as I lift and push them together for just a bit of cleavage. My nipples feel like diamond hardened erasers, protruding from small, tight, pink areolae. A small nest of dark curls rests below my hips. My skin is blemish free, with only a hint of sun tanned color.

Rising steam from the shower fills the room and fogs my glasses. I take them off, place them on the sink and step under the warm spray. A calming sensation washes through me as the droplets of water rain down upon my skin. I take a moment to watch in awe as each droplet cascades along the smooth flesh, no hairs to capture and retain the water forcing it to cling precariously before falling to the tub. Water droplets connect, forming tiny rivers as it flows along my chest, down towards my nipples, which are still achingly hard. My hands gravitate to the aching flesh and gently massage the tightness, which only makes my nipples harder, while filling my body with a sense of need. My hands slide along the silken expanse of my abdomen, down to the sodden patch of hairs. My fingers travers through the rainforest of curls in a search for relief. A shudder erupts as a finger traces along the floral petals as the forest gives way, granting access to the hidden cavern of pleasure. I press my palm against the opening and immediately feel the heat emanating from its core. I silently gasp as my middle finger drags along the length, pressing against a hardened nub at the upper tip. My finger dances over and around the tiny pea as tremors and mini-earthquakes ripple down my thighs as well as throughout my quivering belly.

I **** myself to stop, feeling myself drowning in the unfamiliar … maybe not so unfamiliar … maybe very familiar … sensations ready to explode like a volcanic eruption. I step further into the raining spray and dip my head into the warm water, hoping to clear my mind, while wetting my hair. Instinctively I reach for the nearby bottle and squeeze a dollop of shampoo into my palm and begin scrubbing my scalp, creating a thick lather in the process. My nostrils are immediately assaulted by a fragrant bouquet of … lilacs and lavender? … Why was I expecting the smell of an Irish Spring? As I continue, a bit of confusion wafts through my mind, not used to having so much hair for my fingers to run through. I silently contemplate the thought, continuing to absentmindedly wash my hair. It’s impossible to not notice the thick suds fall from my tresses over my breasts and trail enticingly along my body and legs before reaching the drain. It takes seemingly forever to rinse the soap from my hair.

I now reach for the body wash and pour a rather generous amount into my … loofah? … since when do I use a loofah? A thick lather of suds fills my hands as I begin to scrub along my shoulders, arms and torso, admiring once again as the suds erotically drip along my naked body. While I mimic many of the porn videos I have watched, my movements seem rather natural and practiced. Each breast is tended to thoroughly, cleansing and rinsing, all while fondling and teasing the nipples that feel as if they’re permanently rock solid. I reach between my legs and focus my attention on my overheated sex, rubbing insistently until I reach a trembling pinnacle that makes me weak in the knees.

The loofah drops to the floor of the tub as I struggle to catch my breath in the thick steam enveloping me. While the little masturbatory effort brought some relief, the orgasm was not as intense as when I had sucked Roland’s cock to completion. The game! It all comes flooding back to me! Roland’s rule … ‘Orgasm and love the taste of cum.’ Does that mean that I can only orgasm while tasting cum? Maybe I should ask Roland next time I talk to him?

I finish the rest of my shower hastily. What follows can only be described as what feels like a well-practiced routine of drying off, wrapping a towel around my head, and donning a terry robe, followed by spray-in conditioner and detangler. Oral hygiene out of the way, it’s time to blow dry the brunette locks into a presentable wave that dangles just past my shoulders. Remove the robe and rub an abundant amount of matching fragrant lotion into every accessible pore of my skin, ensuring it’s well hydrated, leaving it silky smooth. Finally it’s back to the room and shuffle through the drawers and closet for something appropriate to wear.

While my mind continues to grapple with the notion that I am now a girl, it seems as if muscle memory has taken over handling some of the routine aspects of a girl’s daily activities.