Another Phil Phantom tribute. This one was started a year or two ago but, like many such stories, I lost steam halfway through. Suddenly picked it up again while writing the latest iCity story and finished it up quick (and also used it to try out one or two things before I put it in the other story). As usual, I realize most people don't like these as much as my other work, and I don't care, I'm posting it anyway.
Muckrakers, Slutmakers, and Fucktakers - a Phil Phantom Tribute (mf, mg, Mg, beast, ws, Fg, Fb, bond, inc)

An irresponsible online news story turned our town upside down, inside out, head over heels, and ass over teakettle. That last expression never made much sense to me, but if we changed it to 'ass over windowsil' it would become startlingly accurate to something that happened in the first weeks of aftermath of that Muckraker's story.

That was his name, The Bayport Muckraker, the only name we ever knew, although I've heard a few people jokingly refer to him as Saint Muckraker. He was an online blogger, unaccountable and anonymous, who thought he was speaking truth to power and exposing the seedy underbelly of Bayport, posting about such yawn-worthy scandals like a city-councilman expensing home renovations to the city, or the mayor awarding an important contract to his brother-in-law's business. As you might expect, his blog probably didn't get more than a dozen hits on any one story, until he came out with an impossible-seeming story that caught the public imagination and went viral. "Bayport Pedophile Ring Conditions Middle School Girls Into Sex Toys" the headline went, which just showed he wasn't a real journalist. It was lurid, sure, attention-grabbing, absolutely, but a real journalist would be punchier. "Brainwashed Baby Bimbos of Bayport," maybe, or "Junior High Neighborhood Sluts," or maybe "One Weird Trick That Makes Pedos Dreams Come True." But I guess when you're telling a story that insane and outrageous, you can get away with a long, awkward headline.

The news of the story blew through the whole town in hours... it's a small town, gossip moved fast, and even if the Internet hadn't helped I'm sure by the end of that day everyone would have heard the details: There was, supposedly, an organized effort by a pedophile ring in the Bayport area, one that had been going on for years, with a tried and tested method to condition young girls into sex toys, perfect obedient little fuckdolls. The article referred to this ring as the Slutmakers, and the girls they targeted as Fucktakers, because afterwards, that's all they were destined for, taking a good hard fucking or a load of gooey fuck in one of their holes.

That was the story, anyway... that these girls, when properly approached, would do anything sexual, with any sex or type... men, women, c Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

So, like many late-twenty-somethings in this economy, I find myself living with a roommate, and there are times when I legitimately loathe the man. We are actually fairly close friends, and we have a lot in common, as well as a lot of shared experience. We live in the same shitty apartment, we worked the same shitty job for years, which is how we met, and since we requested going on opposite shifts to get some time away from one another, our relationship has improved significantly. I don't truly hate the guy, but I don't spend more time than I have to with him. Fortunately, he seems to feel the same way, so we mostly just shoot the shit about wrestling, watch the pay-per-views together, and retreat to our respective rooms to get the fuck away from one another.

He's not such a bad guy in small doses, and there aren't many people who understand my love for the WWE like Paul does. He actually worked the indy circuit for a while, so we can connect on that level at least. He's still a paranoid motherfucker about money, but I pay well in advance, and we no longer split any bills except rent, electricity and internet. I may order out or he may order out, we may both even order out on the same night, but we no longer order out together. I have accepted that he will never do the dishes, he has accepted that I will never allow his drunken, virus-downloading, morbidly obese ass on my expensive office chair so he can destroy my operating system by visiting sketchy porn sites, or allow him to bum off my weed. If he wants to hit from my bowl, he needs to pitch in for the cost. On the flip side, I have accepted that I can only smoke up in my room since his daughter is over pretty much all the time. Her mother fucked off shortly after Kelly turned two. Last I'd heard, she'd gotten picked up for solicitation along with various drug charges. She wasn't up for parole for another seven years yet.

Paul was oddly clever for one so clearly controlled so exclusively by his hindbrain, but he had to take his time chewing each thought over before it was ready to be shared the way he meant it. He never forgot a thing, and he would hold on to thoughts to worry at them for hours, days, or even weeks. A grudge, he usually nursed no less than a week, and every time we argued I could count on Paul to bring up all sorts of old shit, but his ability to focus on a thought and fully break it down was impressive, and he would remember fun conversations too. He had great taste in movies, old blues and jazz and funk, and he could throw together a shockingly tasty meal with just about anything we had lying around the house. When he was sober, he could hold his own on topics close to his heart, and he made some connections that truly impressed me. Every now and then, often days or sometimes weeks after a conversation, he'd say something truly profound. He could also be really funny. Paul usually got two brilliant j Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

Been wanting to write something worthy of here for a long time. So here I go....

Being a Transgendered person wasn't quite like I expected at all. All my life I had been told I was useless. That I would never amount to anything. I never fit in with the guys at school and sucked at sports majorly. I seemed to be able to gt along with most of the girls though. They would talk to me and we would carry on a conversation with no real problems at all. I grew up being depressed all the time having no clear idea why. I was in and out of work not really fitting in and being angry all the time. I started to get really bad thinking suicide was an option. Then I stumbled across a story that changed my life. I mean literally changed me. I was scared of being trans at first. But the more I thought about it the more I thought 'What if?' So I took a trial run of Female hormones and holy hell. I was hooked.

I met Mia in the parking lot of a liquor store.

My buddy and I were planning to get pretty hammered later that night, and I was just making a quick trip to get a few bottles of the hard stuff. But opportunity knocked; or in this case, shouted. I stopped and looked in the direction of the shout. It had come from a girl who had been loitering near the alleyway behind the liquor store. She was a latina girl with light brown skin and long, dark brown hair that fell well past her shoulders. She was short, but her face was attractive and her body especially so; not too skinny, with just enough curves to be tantalizing, and a fairly decent pair of tits that her tight t-shirt showed off quite well. I also noted that she wore a little necklace with a golden cross that hung down between her breasts. Overall, the girl was one hot little package.

"Hey mister, you wanna get me a 12 pack of beer?" she asked.

It could have been a police sting. I asked her how old she was.

"I'm 18," she said. "I just don't got my ID on me and the cholo behind the counter won't sell me nothing. Come on, help a girl out? I'll make it worth your while..."

She was definitely lying about her age, never mind that fact that 18 wasn't old enough to buy beer anyway, but she wasn't lying about making it worth my while. When I took her back into the alleyway and she'd dropped to her knees and unzipped my pants, I knew this probably wasn't a police sting. As she wrapped her hand around my cock and licked her puffy lips, I asked her how old she really was.

"Why's it matter?" she asked. "I'm 15 almost, you got a problem with that?"

She gave pretty good head for a 14 year old. It wasn't the best I'd ever gotten, but the girl clearly had a little experience. She swallowed half my cock without gagging and began to bob her head back and forth vigorously while she stroked me. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and she seemed to respond to my aggressiveness by sucking me harder. When I blew my load, she swallowed it all down without complaint.
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Story codes: Fgg, lesbian, pedo, scat, incest, watersports

Author's Warning: The following story is for adults only. It is only a fantasy; don't try anything like any of this with real children. With other adults, go for it; aspire to go beyond the perversity of this story.

Oh, and this story, if i have done my job right, is best read while naked. If you are a male, you might want to get out your favorite butt-plug and put it somewhere nice and hot and tight (if you like kinky stuff enough to have found this story, i know you have one) and lube up your free hand. If you are of the female variety, you might want to have your favorite vibrator ready...your pussy is gonna need it.

Lastly, if this story does make you cum buckets (or squirt buckets) or inspires you to try some bedroom* activities you had not contemplated before, please write and tell me! It was a story like this that encouraged me to actually take the plunge into same-sex fun and then into the delicious depravity that is scat!
*or elsewhere... getting nasty is even more fun in public!

Last chance to back out before things get dirty....



The air in the kitchen was thick with the smell of piss, shit, sweat, perfume, and the estrogen tang of aroused pussy.
Priscilla inhaled deeply, then returned to sucking on her daughter’s asshole. Above her, Megan sighed, tossing her long blond hair, then relaxed her sphincter, her young and hairless cunt drizzling juice onto her mother’s chin. With one hand she played with her clit, with her other, she was fondling the pink nubbins of her breasts. It would be another two years before she really needed a bra, but her nipples were already incredibly sensitive. Between Priscilla’s wide-spread thighs, Megan’s identical twin sister Molly was busily licking their mother’s pussy with an enthusiasm that bordered on the manic.
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Writing's become slow and chore-like again, so I've decided that my latest effort to get myself inspired will be to clear my backlist... over the next few weeks, I'll be editing and posting the stories that I have completed but not released. This does not include MPC4 which is still slow-going.

First up, another of my 'Sci-Fi Serials'. This one deserves a bit of a warning because it's a bit different than my usual stuff, focusing on men who transform into little girls. (I realize there's another 'guy turns into sexualized girl' story that just started, and apologize if it seems like more of the same).

The Lolly Anne Conspiracies (tg, magic, ped*)
Installment 1: "The New Lolly Anne" (additional codes: Mg*, MMg*, g*g*, 1st*)
(* indicates that the code applies due to the bodies of the people involved... since the story involves magical transgenderism, the minds involved will be different)

The first time it happened, I had no idea what was going on. In that respect, I’m like many others. Even those who chose this life, who knew it was coming, have told me that when it first happened they were surprised and wondered if it was a dream that first time.

In my case, that it was a dream was a natural conclusion, since the night before I’d had my share of those. Unsettling dreams about being held down by somebody laughing while I screamed. That’s common too.

When I first woke up that morning, just for a few moments, I felt strange, like my eyes weren’t quite right. For one thing, colors seemed to be more vivid, and subtly different shades of the same color stood out. If I didn't know better, I might have suspected I'd been shaking off the effect of some kind of psychotropic drug, but I didn't feel high, so I assumed I was caught in that place in-between dreams and reality, where they mixed a little too freely. Whenever I get like that I can usually choose whether to wake up fully or descend once again into slumber. I was still drowsy, and knew I didn’t have to go to work that day, so I decided to sleep in.

I must have spent an hour or so in that state, drifting in and out of consciousness, the comfort of my bed and dreams which were growing more and more erotic, when a noise jarred me. Somebody was coming through the front door.
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The book was old. It was bound in a now faded leather that hinted at the color black. It had several tears that had been stitched shut, some with professional precession and some were rough and untrained. The wear and tear the tomb exhibited could not even begin to tell the tale that lay inside it's pages. If it were to be opened one would find the paper musty,stiff, and yellowed with age. Some of the pages seem to have been torn out leaving only short ragged stubs to testify for their existence. Inside the worn cover of the old book was a short paragraph of small tightly written script pinned in black ink that had long since faded to blue, it read.

“ To my Robin, my daughter, my wife, my lover. You are what kept me going all these years. Yours forever Edward.”

May 19, 1954
I have not been this excited since I was a child on Christmas morning. My name is Edward Blanton, I am twenty nine years old, and I am a ornithologist. That is a bird scientist. I follow birds, watch birds, I love birds, birds are my passion. I will record all of my findings in this journal for posterity, but first I need to explain the adventure I am currently on.

You see there is a little known rare species of bird called the Blue Pope. It is a small bird close cousin to the finch but has a interesting blue coloration that makes it unique. It nests in southern Mexico during the winter months, but no one knows where they go for the summer. The Blue Pope has one other strange quality about it that makes it special. In the small southern town where the birds nest for half the year, it is the only place in Mexico where you can find Pope Berries. The berries are not native to the area and they seem to only begin sprouting when the birds appear every season. This has lead me to believe that the two are tied together somehow.

So no one knows where these strange little birds go for the summer, no one except me. I found out where they have been hiding, on my grandfathers land in Montana. I found this out several months ago when I was going through some of my grandfathers old books and found a sprig of Pope Berries pressed between the pages of one large tomb. When I asked my mother about it she told me it was from the cabin her father owned in the mountains, and that these plants grew wild there. It is a chunk of land closed off in a hidden valley that you had to have a plane to get to. Unless you were willing to hike the two days it took to get to the old cabin and that was a long trip over rough ground.

So here I am on a train to Montanan with my last seventy five bucks in my pocket. I hope that my guess is correct and I find my little birds there.

May 21, 1954
I have walked for the last two days and have finally reached the edge of the valley. I am sitting on the rim of what I can only assume is a old volcano bowl. There is a sizable lake at the very bottom of the crater that I was t Message too long. Click here to view the full text.

About this story and me:

This story will probably take a while to get to the naughty parts. I want to make sure you care about the characters and world I create before I just have them fuck each other. I write my stories as realistically as I possibly can, too, so you probably shouldn’t expect anything too out there from this one. That being said, if at any point you feel that my story features something that you find unbelievable please do not mention it. As much as I love feedback (and believe me, I love feedback) I don’t think comments like that will contribute anything. I’m writing about an already rare and taboo occurrence (incest) from a perspective I don’t have (I’m an upper middle class male) in a 1-in-a-million scenario. Of course some things are going to seem unusual.

I’m not sure what to tag this because I write my stories as I go along and include whatever I feel like. This story mainly features incest and consensual sex between persons under 18 years old. If that bothers you, obviously don’t read it.

Because I write as I go, I may contradict something established earlier. It’s unlikely, but I’m human. If this happens just let me know and I’ll find a way to explain it or (if it’s really bad) plot device it. If I fuck up so badly that even the mightiest of plot devices can’t save me, then I’ll rewrite the story until it makes sense and post it again in a new thread. Again, that is very unlikely.

I really like feedback. If you want to see updates to this story, write a quick comment or suggestion or criticism. The sense of people caring about my stories is the only thing that motivates me to write.

Anyway, Enjoy!
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~Prologue~


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Primary Tags: futadom, futa on female, sci-fi. Tags are subject to rampant change. Could get extreme later (beast, noncon, piss, asphyx), but no scat, ped, or hard guro.

This is my first attempt at elit (fingers crossed on the formatting). Constructive criticism is welcome. I'll tease you a bit in chapter one, drop the first sex scene in chapter two, and we'll ramp up the freakiness from there, possibly based on you guys' comments. No promises though. I reserve the right to ignore input I don't like.



Vengeance Diplomatic Station, low Earth orbit, 2088

I ducked into the men's bathroom and entered one of the "stalls," though it was really more of a suite than a stall. It was a fully enclosed room the size of a bedroom. It smelled of lavender for fuck's sake, but that's diplomatic stations for you. I wouldn't be surprised if they gilded the toilet paper. Pulling my succubus kit from my pocket, I thumbed a few buttons on its screen. Red text showed records of the hormone and pheromone levels of every being I'd gotten within five meters of throughout the evening. Changes in hormone levels that occurred after looking at or talking to me were highlighted in green. Basically, I could see who wanted to bang me. I scanned the highlighted rows, checking their species. Human, human, human... Damn. None of my targets were responding. Time to change my face and try again.

I tapped another button, and holograms of my preset bodies appeared around me. I allowed myself a grin. Every one of the bodies was a custom design by yours truly, and they were all goddamn masterpieces. Unfortunately, two of these masterpieces had already failed to get a response tonight, not including the body I was currently wearing. I batted away the voluptuous redhead and the androgynous athlete, who both vanished, leaving half a dozen options.

I picked Lail. I always picked Lail when the others fell short. Her hologram looked up at me through her lashes, running her tongue along her bottom lip. Her eyes were black. Deep. I'd spent ten weeks perfecting them, so that you could look down into them for miles and miles and find a secret meaning every step of the way. I reached out to hold her hand. I couldn't touch a hologram, of course, but she responded as though I had, and kept her hand in mine. Her fingers were fragile, with hollow bones. All her bones were like that, to keep her under thirty kilos - light enough to make a lover feel like a god of strength when they lifted her in their arms or pinned
her down one handed. Sure, her body was too lithe to carry the raw sexual appeal of the redhead or the blonde, but I made up the difference with skill. I liked to think of her like a faction in a game. In Starcraft VII: Arbiter of Deception, I'd mess around with the Zerg or the Protoss-Terran Remnant, but when things got competitiv Message too long. Click here to view the full text.