The World’s First Futa 11 – Futa’s Wild Presidency Chapter 6: Futa’s First Naughty Soulmate

The World’s First Futa – Futa’s Wild Presidency

Chapter Six: Futa’s First Naughty Soulmate

By mypenname3000

Copyright 2018

April 17th, 2047

“As we bring our retrospective look on the life of President Becky Woodward to a close,” Adelia said, staring into the central of three cameras filming us for the stream of her talk show, “I think we should end it on what, and I think Becky would agree, was the most pivotal moment in her life. We’ve all gotten glimpses of it these last few years, but let’s hear it in her own words.”

“Thanks,” I said, emotion suddenly staining my eyes. I could feel the audience shifting beyond the blinding stage-lights. They were peering at me, all eager to hear about that moment. I swallowed, cleared my throat, and then said, “It was like any other day. I was in the middle of my second term, dealing with another crisis…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

February 9th, 2043

“Mom, there’s a problem in the UAE,” Rebecca, my futa-daughter with Mrs. Albertson, said as she burst into the Oval Office. Her red hair, a gift from her mother, swayed about her face. Her blue eyes were so similar to her Uncle Kurt’s eyes, that same shade.

I groaned. “Really?” I asked. “Now?”

“Sorry, Mom,” Rebecca said.

I was just about to wrap up my day. I was in the middle of a teleconference with Phillipa Lockwood, the former Prime Minister of the United Kingdoms, and President Konstantin Markov, leader of the Russian Federation. I glanced at them on my ultra-wide computer screen. “Sorry, I think I have to end our conversation.”

“We can pick it up next time,” Phillipa said. “But it’s good news. I think we have the constitution all ironed out and ready for ratification.”

“Good,” I said, smiling.

“It is good,” Konstantin said. I kept my word. He was helping me craft the united world government, ensuring Russia had a prominent place in its organization. “Do you need me to call President Saab?” Saab governed the UAE.

“No, no, I will call King Njam and see what the Saudis can do,” I said. “He has better ins than any of us.”

Konstantin nodded. “Good evening to you, Becky.”

“Morning to you,” I said, smiling. Time zones could be a bitch. I turned off my monitor. I glanced over at Bethany. “You better tell that virgin waiting in my bedroom she can go home if she wants. I’ll enjoy her tomorrow.”

“Really?” Bethany asked, her golden-blonde hair pulled back in a bun that made the twenty-four-year-old futanari look even older. “She’s really looking forward to it. It’s her eighteenth birthday today.”

“I know. Sorry.” Bethany procured me the virgin a day I like to deflower, selecting them from the girls turning eighteen across America who all were eager to lose their virginity, and to be bred, by me. “She can wait if she wants, but I don’t know what time I’ll be finished. It could be very late.”

“I’ll let her know,” Bethany said, shaking her head.

Rebecca frowned and Lola sighed. She and Rebecca had a weird relationship. They were half-sisters through me, but step-aunt and niece through their mothers. Mrs. Albertson was Rebecca’s mother and Janice, Mrs. Albertson’s step-daughter, was Lola’s.

“Leah,” I shouted across the room to where my press secretary sat on a couch, her strawberry-blonde hair framing a tired face, “get me King Njam.”

“I’ll have the coffee brewed,” Bethany said on her way to the door.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling at her. Bethany made sure I was taken care of. My futa-daughter was sometimes like my mother.

“Hey, yes, President Woodward is holding for King Njam,” Leah said into her phone. All our phones were synced up with the computers. She could put the video conference through to my screen with a tap of a button.

“What’s the problem in the UAE?” I asked as I waited.

Rebecca sat down on the edge of my desk. “What else? Fundamentalist have grabbed a pair of our sisters who went over there as brides.”

My stomach clenched. So far, none of the fundamentalists had harmed my futa-daughters. In the last few years, groups of futanari had been streaming into the Middle East to “marry” men and be their futa-wives. They would make him more attractive to marry multiple women. King Njam and the Wahhabiist clerics of Saudi Arabia had been putting it out that futas were sent by Allah to change mankind and bring about a new world peace, implying that a united world government would let Islam spread across the whole world.

I didn’t mind. It meant my futa-daughters were having children over there. They were all volunteers, finding men they felt would make good partners, and then sharing the man’s wives as their lovers.

However, the fundamentalist hated it.

“Ah, Becky,” King Njam said when he appeared on my screen. “How good it is to see you.”

“And you, Your Majesty,” I said, smiling.

The affable king waved a hand before his face. “Please, please, Njam. We are friend, no?”

“Always friends,” I said. “How are your daughters?” They were actually my daughters, but he’d adopted them. I’d breed his original two wives, plus he ended up keeping Ayishah as a third wife despite her being a glorified prostitute.

“They are growing fast and are the terror of the palace,” he said, a proud grin spreading across his face. “They will make good wives when they come of age. All of the Kingdom loves them.”

“Good, good,” I said.

“And your daughters?”

I smiled. “I am going to be a grandmother. Again. Jen is pregnant.”

“That is her fourth child?” asked the king.

“Yes.” I couldn’t help smiling. I used to think I was too young to be a grandmother, but I loved all of Lola’s daughters. And she wasn’t the only one having daughters. The third generation of futanari were being born across America and the world.

His smile faded. “I have heard of the… incident in the UAE. Fundamentalist.”

I nodded. “What do we have to do to resolve this matter?”

“The UAE is using this for concessions,” he said. “They want better trade deals and…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mind was melted hours later when I escaped the Oval Office. Instructions were given to Ambassador Stevens in the UAE, and I had a flurry of exchanges with King Njam. It looked like the UAE would intervene and rescue my futa-daughters. There was nothing more that could be done.

I trudged through the West Wing to my bedroom. It was an ornate affair that had come to feel like home these last six years. I’d lived here longer than anywhere else since I moved out of my parents home to start college. Another two years, and I’d have to move again.

I nodded to the two secret service agents guarding my door, then opened it, and the slipped inside my dark bedroom. My feet throbbed. I had taken off my shoes hours ago but my ankles still felt swollen. I sighed as I unbuttoned my blouse. I moved through my room, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Moonlight bled through the closed curtains.

I could never have my bedroom curtains open. Even with the bullet resistant glass and the legion of snipers and guards on all the roofs that could see into my bedroom, it was too much of a security risk for me to open them. I took off my skirt and panties, my cock swaying soft between my thighs.

I stumbled to my bed, my eyes blurry. I just wanted to pour myself into bed and get a few hours of sleep before I had to be up for the morning briefing. Tomorrow was going to suck. I had to go to meet with Senator Olson and the delegation from Congress to brief them on the new world constitution. I pulled back my covers, about to slip in and…

There was someone sleeping in my bed.

A girl, naked, her hair’s hue hard to tell in the dark. Maybe brown. It spilled across her face as she slept on her side. She stirred and wiggled her shoulders. It took me a moment to realize who this must be.

The virgin.

I sighed, my dick stirring at the sight of her. I could just see her small breasts through the gaps of her arms folded up before her. Her breathing was soft. I pushed back her hair from her cheeks, staring at her.

She was so young. I was nearly forty-four, more than twice her age. But she was eighteen. A woman now. Part of me wondered if I should wake her up. Another part of me just wanted to go to sleep. If she did wake up, she would be too horny not to fuck, consumed by hyper-ovulation, driven to have sex with me like every woman in the world was when they first met me.

She mewled and shifted. Her eyes opened. “Madam… president…?”

I sighed. Guess I had to be up a little longer. “Yeah, you can call me Becky, sweetie. Didn’t Bethany say you could go home?”

“She did,” she said, sitting up. Moonlight fell across her face, her blue eyes almost glowing in it. Her hair had a reddish quality to it, maybe a shade similar to Leah’s strawberry-blonde locks. “She said you had a long night. I bet you must be so tired.”

“I am,” I said, sinking down on the bed beside her. “But I can get it up for you.”

She moved behind me, her legs sliding around my waist. Her hands grabbed my shoulders. “My dad taught me how to give a great neck massage. My mother loves them. Would you like one, Becky?”

“Sure,” I said then groaned as her fingers dug into my sore muscles.

I closed my eyes and let her work her magic. My body relaxed as she kneaded me. Her fingers dug into my muscles. I found myself smiling. I shifted on the bed, her touch just wonderful. She worked at my sore muscles, digging her thumbs and fingers into the tension.

She melted away the strain sitting in a chair for hours and hours had given me. I shifted in her touch, closed my eyes, and just let her work her magic. My head dropped as she caressed me, her fingers sliding with a gentle silk over my skin.

I don’t know how long she massaged me. I drifted into a light doze, almost a full sleep as she worked. It was just so incredible to feel. She was a life send after the evening I had. She shifted behind me, sometimes her small breast grazing my back as she worked.

“Okay,” she said, her voice gentle. She leaned me over. “Come on, Becky, you look exhausted. Let’s get you beneath the covers.”

“Mmm, you don’t want to fuck?” I muttered, my voice slurred.