Lustful Encounters: Becoming the Goddess' Futanari Vessel

life, I've been a smear on the wall or a bug on t

that little Indian bitch! How's

rown th

iddle of having my face h

parents want to call it. Me? I call it just a

ssed and beat up by this group of girls. St

s. As a matter of fact, their great great-grandfathers' pictures could be found hanging up in the entranceway as

ng to them. They knew it. I knew it. So right now, just

u'd have to

ool. So, since my parents dragged me from the reservation and plunked me down in the middle of God-

I am fully aware that I have no power over things. Honestly, most days I just prayed that they'd just k

ey nev

t! Her legs are shaking. Thi

an see how many flashlights we ca

t medicine woman? Want to get that c

g on. I let myself descend into the darkness only to be pulled from

anking my head out of the toilet, Kristi kicked the

, my cold wet hair falling over my face a

s kick land in my face, mobster number 2, Crystal, planted her foot in m

e and toilet water, I heard them call out to mobster nu

that kicking me wasn't good enough and

ssed

r was crunchy and the vomit had made my body stick to the floor. Like always

ife. Today was no different than any other day. To them, I was just this strange Indian in the middle of their White Ch

Hopi (a small southwestern tribe in the United States). My mother was half Greek and half Irish. My dad is a carpenter while my mom is an anthropologist. They met

n a few y

t was hard to fit in but at least they were more welcoming than here. By the time I left, I had made a few real friends.

of the tribe. My features were too irregular: thick lips, small nose, sharp cheekbones, strong chin, and dainty ears. The worst were my eyes. They were hazel, like my mom's. No self-respecting Hopi would ev

ng, but my dad eventually agreed to uproot our lives and move us to the middle of fucking nowhere.

arpenter, he went with her. To (I think the term they used was "simplify") my life, they didn't want me moving across the globe since they

I'm talking about break your ribs, shove a fist in your back kind of mean. The first day I was

f my

rst concussion when Kristi, or mayb

en, I'm 18 now. Soon, I would be graduating…t

ipped, dropping my uniform in the laundry basket. The shower was long

back, however, I'd gotten used to the shaved look, so I had half of my he

ted my school career off without the colored contacts. Yeah, that didn't go over so well but it was too

m. My breasts had grown but they weren't large or sexy or anything, just your standard jumble of B-cupped breasts. My hips had grown wider and at 5-foot 5-inches, I had sort of an hourglass figure. A tuft of dark pubi

e scars on my thighs and wrists

use?" After trying to buff my spirits, I reached for the rusted razor blade on the top of the sink, before I

all you want,

ng before me was a new teacher that started this year. Her name was Professor Calypso Andromeda. Her tall figure smirked at m

re you do

e of the rare one-bedrooms in the dorm. Most girls didn't like it because the one-bedrooms were so s

y door. It was

looked like the very depiction of the

ness fall away. That last thought that I had

ll wen