Misty F Fiction

221 – It Began With a Conversation

The text presented here is a rough draft which was never posted to Tumblr. If you have feedback about this story, send me an ask. This story is rated NSFW for Altersex, Explicit Sex and Intimate Nudity

 “My Goddess, yes! Don’t stop!”

Spurred on by the worship from their priestess, the still actualizing Deus tightened their grip on the begging woman’s hips and began to fuck her hard enough that each thrust moved the both of them across the bed and towards the wall. Their testicles, embiggened to dramatic size in the process of their awakening, were wedged between their parishioner's thick thighs. Fat and sack alike jiggled with each forceful motion, feeding even more stimulation into a thirst for pleasure that was beyond divine.

Their acolyte might have been face down on the mattress, their hair a damp curtain around their face, but that did nothing to stifle the escalating demand of her moans. Desperate, breathless cries of pleasure filled the room and the increased intensity of that ever more fanatical devotion was seeping into the reborn deity’s still developing form. With each passing moment, it felt like they got just a tiny bit bigger, stronger, and more powerful—but there was more. The aching in their muscles lessened, their exhaustion waned, their libido swelled. Despite nearing an hour spent plowing their needy servant, the enthusiastic praise made them feel fresh once more.

Which begged the question, how was an otherwise baseline human woman still going when her sex goddess had been approaching the frayed ends of their stamina? The steady transformation had given them a body that was damn near sex incarnate, for fuck's sake! The height, muscles, and bassy voice of a hunk had been somehow combined with the corseted waist, heaving bust, and fashion sense of a Ren Faire enthusiast. It was, ultimately, as if their androgyny had been inverted to cause all of this. Instead of being a one out of ten in terms of gender expression, they were now a twenty out of one instead.

And yet, after nearly an hour of getting fucked by the dick her prayers had shaped to always overfill her, their high priestess was still begging for more. It was as if she thrived on her Goddess’ cum or something. Perhaps she, too, had been reshaped by the past weeks’ furious exchanges of devotion—or, had she ever been what she appeared to be? The Goddess knew that their lover was why all this had happened, and if she still had more power to wield, who knew where things would go from here? Just entertaining the notion made the sexually charged pseudo-deity shudder with anticipation and dread in equal measure. What had they gotten themselves wrapped up in?

Well, like most things, this had all began with a conversation…

Two Weeks Ago

Barton pulled the metal lid off their soup and replaced the cap before putting the cup into the break room microwave. They looked at their phone as they waited for the hum to end. To the side, two feminine voices were talking.

“... like I said,” said one voice. Barton could not help but notice its tone was dark and kind of hard. “She told me, this morning, that she was moving home at the end of the semester. Our lease is up in two weeks and I have no idea what to do.”

“Maybe you should post that you are looking for, like, a new place or something?” replied the other. That one was much brighter, the tone approaching ‘bubbly’.

“Right…” the darker voice drawled. “As if that would happen.”

“You could try it, y’know?” their companion said, dispersing the shutdown with an uncanny optimism.

“Sure, I’ll put up a flyer or two,” the first voice conceded. “But it’s not like someone who is a great match with me and is looking for a roommate is going to just... appear because I put my hands together and ask for it.”

"Oh, come on, we both know you can make miracles happen."

Something about the conversation’s turn made Barton look up from their feed. They recognized the pair as part of the release management team. Both of them had crisp suntans that spoke of a recent spring break vacation. One had shoulder-length hair with a blonde—or even pink—dye job which faded to a darker color two or so inches from the top of their head. The other had a very short style that was a red much too saturated to be natural.

The half of the pair closest to Barton, the one with the fire-engine pixie cut, was wearing a floral-print top that hugged their upper arms, a pair of dark slacks, and off-white flats. The pale echoes of a swimsuit’s straps crisscrossed their shoulder blades and were a striking contrast to the sun-kissed skin on either side of the thin white lines. They seemed to be about the same height as Barton, not that it was hard to match five-feet six-inches.

The other was wearing a fitted, black polo with blue accents that had to be some kind of ‘executive’ athleisure wear. The shirt clung to them in such a way that the hints of a sports bra and toned stomach were just visible beneath the shiny fabric but not so much that it was unprofessional. Pale pink lipstick and eyeshadow, skinny jeans, and a pair of chunky black leather boots finished out their ensemble. Their overall tight-fitting aesthetic made it seem like they had a very athletic build and the boots put them a head taller than their companion.

Barton had probably exchanged an e-mail with one or both of them at some point but had never spoken with either before. If they had, it had been for a brief moment at some all-hands meeting. Even so, the words one of them had been looking for escaped Barton’s mouth nonetheless. “Y’know, I’m looking for a roommate…”

The pair glanced over at Barton, the closer one turning around to do so. A red eyebrow was already quirked over the translucent orange plastic frame of their glasses. Their green eyes flashed in the light. “Are you now?”

“Yeah,” Barton replied, even though they knew that was not actually the case. Sure, they had a spare room and a little help with the bills would relieve some of the pressure on their paychecks, but they also liked living alone. It meant that, as much as it could, the world stopped at their doorway. Still, what would be the harm in letting someone crash for a few weeks while they got life sorted out?

“Hey! You’re one of the devs Greg’s team.” It seemed the blonde was the one with the bright, bubbly voice and Barton was kind of disappointed at how… typical that was. “You’re the one who has 'they/them' in their signature, right?”

“Y-yeah... that’s me. Barton,” they added, raising their arm out of reflex.

“Missy,” they replied, stepping forward to take Barton’s hand. “Use ‘she’ and ‘her’ for me. Same for Arielle here.”

Missy’s grip was firm. Really firm. Even with an appearance curated to make herself look like an Amazon, the strength in her hand was a surprise. Then Barton glanced at her forearm and-

“Wow,” Barton said, at a loss for words. “You, uh, you work out, huh?”

“It’s my way of life,” Missy said with a smile before letting go of Barton’s hand to flex. Her raised bicep and deltoid distressed the seam of her sleeve to the point that Barton could have sworn a stitch had popped in the cuff. So no, it was not just that Missy was wearing tight clothes to appear to buff, she was buff--hella buff at that.

“Always have loved working out and what comes with it. The burn at the end of the day. The way stuff fits me. The rush of being stronger than the guy on the other side of the ball.”

“Oh? What do you play?” Barton had not intended on getting pulled into small talk with strangers, but they wanted to know more about who needed a room.

“Football,” she replied, beaming. “I was left tackle in high school and college.”

“Which college?”

“Oh, um,” Missy glanced at Arielle before answering, her golden eyes flicking over and back between blinks. “Penn. I went to Penn State.”

“You started at Penn State?! Wow!” Barton gasped glancing between them. “Sorry... of all people, I shouldn’t be surprised by something like that.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay,” Missy said, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. Her polo pulled tight around her chest, highlighting how broad their obliques were. “I get that all the time.”

“Sure…” The microwave began to beep at that moment, giving Barton’s mind a moment to dance with everything they had just learned. They had never seen someone so… so ripped in person, regardless of gender. No wonder she had played football. At the same time, the idea that Missy had been a starter in college nagged at Barton for some reason. Something... just out of reach.

Thanks to years of their father’s well-meaning attempts to “make a man” out of them, Barton knew almost everything there was to know about college and professional football. Barton was not an active fan, per se, but they liked crunching the numbers, so they kept an eye on the stats and had been for the better part of fifteen years.

Ah, that was it. They could not recall anyone close to matching Missy’s appearance ever playing at any school, much less Penn. If she had always been big, surely Barton would have remembered someone so... outstanding.

“You said you played at Penn State?” Barton asked, trying to gather their thoughts.

“She did,” Arielle confirmed from behind crossed arms. Her dark voice gave the two words a weight that made it feel like she had spoken a universal truth. “Missy was in the starting line up for her Junior and Senior years at Penn State.”

Taking a mental inventory of previous rosters for Penn State, Barton felt… weird all of a sudden, disoriented, as if they had spun around too fast. Quick as it had come, though, the sensation passed and Barton managed to recall that Melissa Heartwood had played left tackle in two thousand six and seven.

How could Barton have forgotten? They had been at some of those games!

“I had no idea you were that Missy,” they said, genuine awe in their voice.

“Yup, I’m that Missy,” she gushed, blushing under her tan. “Anyway, not sure if you heard everything but Mi-Arielle is looking for a new place to live and doesn’t believe me that she’ll, like, find the perfect person.”

“Because I won’t,” Arielle asserted.

Barton sipped their soup. “Well, what are you looking for?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Someone I can stand being mad at, but who is also someone I could enjoy being friends with.”

“That’s too vague, Arielle...”

“Well, they can’t like fish too much because of my allergies. Like, I wouldn’t mind it if they ordered Salmon while we were out together, but--”

“What d’ya mean by that, hmm?” Missy asked in a voice that was dripping with playful teasing. “Why would you want to go out somewhere with just your roommate?”

“I didn’t—That’s not—It’s not like it would be just the two of us alone!” Arielle snapped, punctuating her exclamation with an unimpressive stomp. “We would be out with friends, obviously.”

Barton felt like this was an opportunity to interject. “Either way, your point was that they would be mindful of your limits and respect them—I imagine you would do the same, right?”

“Of course I would,” Arielle replied, her cheeks just a little pink. “Boundaries are really important to me.”

“Well,” Barton began, “I have a spare room which you could use while you got life straightened out. That way you can move out of your old place and find somewhere new.” Or, maybe you could stay, Barton added to themselves.

“Sure, that… That sounds like a plan.”

“Great!” Missy cheered clapping them both on the back and pulling them into a loose huddle. “Send me the address and I’ll help you move this weekend.”

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