Chapter 1: Nova's Cuckolding Wedding Night

December 23rd, 2038 – Nova Alfarsi

“What was it like to be the first futa to enroll in King Njam bin Mohammad program to introduce futas to the Arab world?”

“Terrifying,” I answered, shifting in the seat, my hijab wrapped about my face. It was a colorful affair, chosen by Wahida. “But also eager. I wanted to help my futa-mother out. She had this dream of futas being accepted everywhere.”

“Yes, President Woodward is very eager for it,” said Adelia. The talk show host shifted as she sat beside me. She was a beautiful woman with caramel skin, her black hair swaying about her face. I was being interviewed on her afternoon show. Our talk was being streamed across the world. “Do you have a close relationship with your mother.”

“No,” I said. “Not my futa-mother. But, well, she has so many daughters, she can’t know us all.”

“Is that hard?”

I shook my head. “I understand. And I had a great life growing up. My mother told me stories of her time with my futa-mother on the cheer squad.”

Adelia smiled. “I think we all remember those games.” She shifted as I heard the audience giggle. “So, Nova, did you convert to Islam as well?”

“Of course,” I said, smiling. “It was partly what motivated me to accept the offer to go to the Middle East and marry into Talib Alfarsi’s family. It’s been a wonderful experience.”

“Even with what happened to you?” she asked, her eyes pouring into mine.

I raised my chin and answered with confidence, “Yes.”

July 23rd, 2038

I trembled as I cleared customs at King Khalid International Airport. I slipped my passport into my dress, my heart pounding in my head. I was here. In the Kingdom. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I must be insane to be here, but...

I couldn’t help but admire the Arab women moving through the airport. They all had this air of mystique. Graceful and lovely as they were covered up in long dresses, hijabs wrapped around their heads if they weren’t in the full burqa covering every bit of them but their hands and the small slit in their veil showing their eyes. Unlike the West, women here didn’t show off their attributes. No tits spilling out of low-cut blouses, no asses clad in shorts so tight they might as well be painted on, and no wanton eagerness to be noticed.

These women were all mysteries. What were their breasts like? Their asses? Legs? I had no idea. It was a thrill to find out. My clit-dick throbbed in my panties, my pussy itching with excitement as I gripped my luggage, wheeling it out through the airport.

This was my new home. I was so far away. My mother thought I was crazy, but my futa-mother wanted this. The King of Saudi Arabia had promised to protect any futa who “married” a Muslim man who had at least one wife. Talib sounded excited to have a futa for a wife.

“The miracle from Allah,” a man said.

My head turned around to a young, tall man with a goatee. He wore the white headdress with the red pattern on it that you saw on Saudi men, a band holding it tight to his head. He wore a suit besides that, a blend of Western culture and his own. He smiled at me.

“Oh, Nova, what a treat to see your radiance in person,” he said as he reached me. He grabbed my shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks, his goatee rubbing on my flesh.

“Talib?” I asked.

“You sound unsure,” he said, taking my luggage from me. “Don’t I look as handsome in person as I do when we video chatted?”

“Yes, yes,” I said. “It’s just been a long flight. This is all overwhelming.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, hooking my arm with his. He led me through the airport. “I am glad you are here. My cousin is eager to make this whole plan work. He’s excited that I am marrying you.”

“King Njam is really your cousin?” I asked.

“Third cousin,” he said, nodding his head. “It’s hard to get a job in the oil ministry if you’re not connected to the royal family. So have no fear, your safety is guaranteed.”

“There’s ... a danger to my safety?” I asked.

“Some are not ... as enthusiastic of futas entering the Kingdom,” said Talib. “They do not accept the miracle of your mother, or think she’s from Shaitan.”

“Ah,” I said, swallowing. I lifted my head. Well, I had made my choice. I was here to support my futa-mother’s ideas for a world of peace and tranquility. I would be an ambassador, leading the way. I hoped more and more of my futa-sisters followed.

“Now, I know you must be tired, but my cousin wishes to get the formalities out of the way,” he said as we exited the airport. “I’m afraid we must have our wedding today before anything can ... get in the way.”

“Of course,” I said.

I almost wilted at the heat that washed over me. I gasped as we left the air-conditioned airport into the blistering sunlight of the desert. I had never felt the temperature so hot. The sun almost pounded on my head through my hijab. I swayed for a moment, held upright by my husband-to-be. Before us was a dark town car. He opened the rear door for me.

I climbed into blessed cool. I groaned in delight as he closed the door. I shifted in my sight as he stowed my luggage in the trunk. I blinked my eyes and looked around. We were in a Mercedes. The interior was leather, smooth. My hand touched it, feeling the rich texture as he slipped into the driver seat.

“Karimi Mosque,” he said to the car and then he turned around. “I was one of the first to adopt Mercedes’s self-driving car. Many men in the Kingdom don’t want to give up control, but they’re popular with our women.”

The car pulled from the airport curve. “Because they aren’t technically driving? I thought women could drive in the Kingdom.”

“Technically,” he said. “But, again, some are not nearly as enlightened as me. Allah willing, your presence and those of your futa-sisters will change that.”

I nodded, glad I was doing my part for the world. I rubbed my hands together.

“Nova,” he said. “That is an exploding star, yes?”

“Yes,” I said. “My mother thought I would be more radiant than her, and since her name is Starr...”

“It’s a beautiful name,” he said.

I smiled and nodded, my eyes going to the tinted windows. I gazed outside at the passing streets. More women in veils and burqas and hijabs. It was so exciting. My clit-dick tingled again as I glanced at them, my heart beating faster and faster. I couldn’t wait to make love to an Arab woman.

To Wahida.

Despite my tiredness from the flight, I was young. Eighteen. An eagerness shot through me. This was my wedding day, and it was so unlike anything I had imagined. I rubbed my hands on my long skirt, a brown fabric dotted with white flowers. My breasts rose and fell in my bodice, my nipples tingling in my bra.

The car parked itself in the narrow street before the mosque. It stood out from the surrounding buildings, the exterior almost a pristine white. The roof was domed and had a tower thrusting above it topped by minarets. It had a special feeling about it.

I licked my lips. It was different from the Mosque back in Tacoma. This place felt ancient. Like it had been here since the start of Islam. A thousand or more years. I trembled as Talib moved around the limousine. He opened my door and offered his arm.

“Thank you,” I said, my heart beating faster and faster.

He led me inside, and I gasped to see that there were cameras here. It looked like reporters, including a few women, had waited at the mosques antechamber. The cameras flashed around me. I smiled, trembling. I was the ambassador of futas. I had to be perfect.

It was all such a blur for the next hour. I just kept smiling and nodding. My Arabic was rudimentary. Talib spoke English, but many others didn’t seem to. I met Imam Hoosam Karimi, the man who had written the fatwa finding that futas were the divine product of Allah sent to transform the world. Then Wahida appeared, wearing a maroon hijab and blue dress, her delicate face smiling.

My heart beat fast as I stared at my future sister-wife. She was Talib’s wife, the woman whom I would unite with. My clit-dick swelled to its full girth as she gave me a chaste hug. I felt the warmth of her body through her dress. She felt petite. I couldn’t wait to unwrap her.

To find out how beautiful she was beneath her dress. It would be such a treat to explore.

I wanted to kiss her lips. They were so delicious looking. I wanted to just claim her, to thrust my tongue into her mouth. But we weren’t alone here. There were the reporters. The imam and his wife. It would be a mistake for us to do anything.

Before I knew it, I was kneeling down and marrying my husband. He held my hands while vows were declared. I promised to be his wife, to love and honor him, while he promised to take care of me. It made my heart pound to say these words.

I wasn’t thrilled to seal our marriage with a kiss, I wasn’t into men. I was into women. Into Wahida. I wanted to do wicked things with her. I wanted to just enjoy her. It would be amazing. My heart pounded with the excitement, eager to leave the Mosque and arrive at my new home.

Of doing naughty things to my husband’s wife.

“Isn’t she just perfect?” Talib said when we were married. He had his arm around my waist, holding me tight while the cameras rolled. “King Njam has seen the future. Futas are part of Allah’s plan. They are here to revitalize the world. Only fools would not accept it.”

“And it doesn’t bother you bringing a hermaphrodite into your house?” asked a reporter. “With your wife.”

“With our wife,” said Talib, smiling. “That is the point. Our own King shared his queens with President Woodward. Futas are not bound by the same laws as us humans. They are divine beings. This is Allah’s will.”

“To be cuckolded?” asked the reporter.

“It is not cuckolding,” said the imam. He moved forward, breaking away from one of his two wives. I couldn’t help but notice the smooth cheeks of the mature woman. She looked so graceful in her dress. She stared at me, this look flashing across her face, her dusky cheeks darkening.

A tingle raced through me as Talib led me out of the mosque, leaving the imam to deal with the reporters. I shuddered as we slipped outside, my heart racing in my chest. This was all so much. The heat was so intense it almost overwhelmed me. I felt dazed by the attention.

In moments, I was in the backseat of the car with Wahida. She hadn’t said a word to me yet. She glanced at me, licking her lips. She had her hands folded before her. They rubbed together. She swallowed, her hips shifting from side to side.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I told her, taking her hand.

She swallowed again.

“Wahida knows that,” said Talib from the front seat.

“I do,” said Wahida. “I just...” She glanced forward, biting her lower lip. She looked so beautiful. Her lips were just so perfect. I wanted to lean over and kiss her.

I scooted closer to her. I brushed my fingers over her forehead, pushing back an errant strand of her silky, black hair that had escaped her hijab. Her cheeks darkened red. She had this pale, dusky skin. It contrasted with my pale skin.

“I’m going to be such a good futa-wife to you,” I purred. “I’m going to love you. Show you things that you’ve never imagined.”

Her blush deepened.

I know how to love other women,” I kept purring. “I have done things with them. Trust me, you’ll love every minute of it.”

“She will,” groaned Talib. “We both will.”

“He’s going to watch as I do all these naughty things to you,” I purred, my finger stroking down her cheek. I turned her head as the streets of Riyadh passed us by. “Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

Wahida swallowed. “If our husband wants to ... to watch us ... I...”

“You can say it.” I leaned closer and closer to her. My finger caressed her jawline. I loved the feel of her. It was such a treat to be able to touch her. “That you want to do naughty things with a futa. I have a cock, but I also have a pussy. We’re going to have so much fun.”

“Nova,” she whimpered. She glanced at her husband. Talib was watching us, letting his car drive us. “I ... I ... have been thinking of nothing else since Talib told me his intentions of marrying a futa. I have watched videos of your mother’s ... antics.”

“Her fucking every delicious woman she can?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.

She nodded her head.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I had to kiss her. My lips planted on hers. I kissed her with all my passion. I thrust my tongue into her mouth. She moaned as her mouth melted against mine. She whimpered as my tongue caressed her. I stroked her, my tongue circling hers.

She tasted so sweet. This was my wife. I might have married Talib, but it was Wahida I would love. He brought me here so he could watch me fuck his wife. To breed her and put a futa-daughter in her womb.

My dick throbbed harder and harder. My panties drank in the juices flooding out of me. They were trapping in my excitement. My tongue darted around hers, caressing hers as I pictured that joy. The wicked things I would do to her while our husband watched.

It would be just amazing.

My hand slid up her dress, feeling the warmth of her body. She whimpered into the kiss as I came closer and closer to her breasts. I cupped her, felt the delight of her. It would be amazing. I savored the feel of her tit, squeezing her small mound.

A small, little breast.

She broke the kiss, gasping, “Nova.”

I rubbed my nose against her. “Mmm, we’re going to have so much fun, my sister-wife.”

Her eyes blinked. Then she glanced up front. Talib watched us with hungry eyes. She swallowed. Her head turned and then she kissed me again. She thrust her tongue into my mouth. Deep. Hers played with mine. It felt incredible to enjoy. Her passion. Her wild heat.

I couldn’t wait for the delights to come.

The car pulled up to a parking garage. Talib broke away while I stopped kissing our wife. He opened his window and swiped the gate, then he drove his car inside. We were in the parking garage of some sort of apartment complex. It felt so modern.

My excitement soared. In moments, we were parked and heading upstairs in the elevator. We rode it to the penthouse. I groaned as we stepped out into the apartment. I hardly noticed, clinging to Wahida. Her cheeks were bright red. They glowed with her excitement. I had awakened something inside of her. A wild passion.

Silk sheets adorned the bed, dark and luxurious. The curtains were drawn. There was such intimacy to the room. I grabbed my hijab, pulling it off, exposing my blonde hair. Wahida looked at me, her eyes wide. She licked her lips as she watched me began unbuttoning my dress.

“You have gold hair,” she moaned. She stroked my hair as I worked my dress open.

Talib watched us, leaning against the wall. His eyes were hard as his wife quivered with excitement beside me. She wanted me. She ached for me. I would do such hot things to her, give her pleasures our husband never had.

Her eyes widened as I slipped out of my dress, exposing my round breasts cupped by my flowery bra. Matching panties, cut in futa-fashion to hold my throbbing girl-dick, cupped my cock. Her breath quickened as she stared at me. Her tongue flicked across her lips.

She was eager to see her first futa-cock.

“Take off my bra,” I purred. “My panties.”

“Yes,” Talib groaned, squeezing his swelling cock through his pants.

Wahida came closer and closer to me. She almost pressed against me. She reached behind me and unhooked my bra. I shuddered as her lips hovered right before mine. I darted in and captured her lips. I kissed her with passion as she undid my bra. She slipped the straps off my shoulder while our tongues danced together.

Her hands slid down my chest. She cupped my breasts with her trembling hands. Her fingers dug into my flesh. It was incredible to feel her fingers digging into me. Her digits caressed me, teased me. It was the best.

I broke the kiss. “Now my panties.”

“This...” she stepped back from me and glanced down. Her eyes locked on my bulge. “You really have both?”

“Find out,” I said.

I groaned as, to my delight, she fell to her knees before me. I didn’t expect that. It was so hot. She hooked her fingers into my panties and yanked them down. My girl-cock sprang out, thrusting out from my blonde bush. My pussy dripped with excitement as she drew down my panties lower and lower. My clit-dick throbbed with my heartbeat.

“Allah be praised,” groaned Talib. “What a sight. A true miracle. Isn’t she, Wahida?”

“Yes,” moaned my sister-wife, her eyes locked on my cock throbbing before her. She grabbed my dick, stroking me. Her fingers felt amazing wrapped around my shaft. “This is ... a living miracle. She has both, my husband.”

“She is,” Talib groaned.

“So are you,” I purred, grabbing Wahida’s shoulders. I drew her up to her feet and pulled off her hijab, exposing the glory of her black hair. Her strands fell like silk around her dusky, flushed face. Her black eyes were glossy with excitement as my hands shot to the buttons of her blue dress.

The young woman trembled as I worked. She licked her lips, pink and glossy. I opened the front of her dress, her small breasts cupped in a white bra. Her dusky flesh looked so inviting. I pressed the dress off her shoulders, the cloth falling down her body. Her panties were pristine, cut high, her excitement soaking through, forming a dark spot.

I pressed her back on the bed. She sank down as I followed, my futa-dick throbbing before me. Her hand grabbed my cock. She stroked me. Her hand pumped up and down my shaft as she licked her lips. My hands slid up her body to her breasts.

I unhooked her bra as pleasure rippled down my cock to my juicy cunt. My cream leaked out, dribbling hot down my thigh as I drew off her bra. Her hand released my dick as I threw her bra to the side. Her breasts were small and cute.

They were just so perfect. Little breasts that were topped by brown nipples. She had a brown birthmark over her left nipple. “That’s cute.”

“She’s my heart,” said Talib from the corner.

Wahida trembled and licked her lips.

My hands cupped both her breasts as she grabbed my dick again. She pumped her hand up and down my girl-dick, sending such delight rushing down my body. My cunt clenched, juices spilling down my thighs.

“Our wife has such delicious breasts, doesn’t she?” I asked, my fingers kneading those small breasts, hearing her whimper. I loved the birthmark.

“Yes, she does,” Talib said. He’d removed his headscarf, his hair short beneath. He undid his tie as he watched. The dark cloth whisked against his suit as he took it off. I smiled at him as I leaned down and sucked on his wife’s nipple.

Wahida gasped in delight as I sucked on her nipple. I swirled around her nub. Then I nibbled on her. She whimpered as her nipple throbbed in my mouth. My hands stroked her body as she whimpered. Talib stripped naked, watching me. I could feel his excitement.

He was getting off by being cuckolded by a futa.

My right hand slid down Wahida’s hips to her panties. I slid into them. I was shocked to find her shaved. My fingers caressed her warm skin, reaching lower and lower. I cupped her twat. I rubbed her cunt. I caressed her, stroked her. My fingers slid up and down her shaved pussy lips.

“Nova!” gasped Wahida. “Talib, she’s ... she’s...”

“Fingering your twat?” our husband asked, his voice throaty. “Is she making your pussy feel good?”

“She is,” Wahida moaned. “I ... I ... She’s got her fingers in me and she’s sucking on my nipples. This ... I ... Yes, I love this!”

Her passion was so intoxicating. Her pussy squeezed around my digits. Her hot flesh gripped my fingers. She felt so incredible. I pumped in and out of her, making her whimper. As she squirmed, her panties squeezed tight around my hand.