The perfect body (Futa)

Lila lounged naked on the bed, the journal sprawled beside her like a co-conspirator. Morning light spilled across her skin, newly sculpted, flawless—tall, athletic, every curve honed to perfection. She had rewritten her body like a sculptor refining marble: the arch of her hips, the firm weight of her breasts, the taut strength in her thighs. Every muscle moved with elegance and ****.

She knew calculus now. Quantum physics. Medieval poetry. Every subject bent beneath her intellect like steel under fire. She was brilliant, beautiful, unstoppable.

Then came the thought—ridiculous, spontaneous, thrilling. What if she wasn’t just a perfect woman?

What if she added something else?

She scrawled it down with a smirk, breath catching. A strange warmth pulsed low in her body—deeper, unfamiliar. She gasped, biting her lip, as something new stirred under her skin, growing, hardening, claiming space that had never existed before. The sensation was raw, electric. She moaned, half in shock, half in awe, her fingers trembling as they reached down to explore—

Her fingers wrapped around the shaft—thick, warm, impossibly real. It twitched at her touch, pulsing with her heartbeat, as if eager to be known. The skin was smooth, hypersensitive, every brush of her hand sparking a jolt straight through her spine. She breathed in sharply, then exhaled a shuddering moan, hips shifting against the sheets as she slowly stroked herself.

Her mind raced, drunk on the novelty, the power. She had made this—willed it into existence with ink and desire. It responded to her thoughts, stiffening under her grip, a perfect instrument of pleasure now part of her.

She bit her lip harder, eyes fluttering shut as her palm slid up and down, slick with her own growing arousal. Her other hand drifted, fingers teasing between her thighs, exploring both sets of sensations at once—double the need, double the pleasure. Her breath quickened, moans escaping more freely now, echoing in the quiet room.

She thought about writing more. Thought about who she might invite into her new reality. But for now, her body was all she needed—and it was just getting started

Lila’s back arched as she found a rhythm, one hand stroking the length of her new cock while the other circled her soaked clit in slow, deliberate spirals. Every nerve seemed awake, crackling. The sensations overlapped, doubled, folded in on each other until her moans became breathless gasps, then broken cries. Her thighs trembled, slick with heat, her sheets twisted beneath her writhing hips.

She'd never felt anything like this. Not even close.

The pleasure coiled inside her, building fast, hard, relentless. Her fist tightened around her shaft, each stroke sloppier now, faster, guided by instinct more than thought. Her fingers were drenched, both from her own arousal and the precum now beading at her tip, smearing across her abs as her hips bucked up into her hand.

Her cries grew louder—raw, unrestrained. The edge loomed close, sharp and impossible to resist.

She came with a choked scream, legs locking, body convulsing in waves. Cum spurted across her belly in hot, thick ropes, and she kept stroking, milking every last throb while her other hand worked her clit through the aftershocks, prolonging it, deepening it, drawing a second climax from the depths of her overstimulated body.

She collapsed back, trembling, skin flushed, her breath ragged.

And she laughed.

Because the journal was still open.

And there were so many pages left to fill.