The rain had stopped by the time I left Tommie's place that night, but the weight in my chest lingered. I drove home replaying every moment—her moans, the heat of her cock in my hand, the way she pulled back.
It stung, but I understood. Her breakup had shattered her confidence, especially with her futanari body that her ex had mocked. I wouldn't rush her. Still, as days slipped by, my worry grew.
At first, it was small things. Texts from Tommie came slower, laced with more typos, like she was typing from a haze. Our usual hangouts fizzled; she'd cancel with vague excuses about feeling tired. I spotted her at the coffee shop once, her hair unbrushed, clothes rumpled, dark circles under her eyes.
She waved weakly but avoided deep talk, steering us to small talk about work. The awkwardness from that couch encounter hung between us like a fog—I didn't push, giving her space, but it gnawed at me. My feelings for her simmered, unrequited but patient, urging me to check in more.
By the end of the week, I couldn't ignore it. Her living habits were deteriorating, and mine as her best friend meant stepping up. I grabbed takeout from her favorite Thai place—pad see ew and spring rolls—and headed to her apartment unannounced. The building's hallway smelled stale, but as I knocked on her door, a faint, musky scent seeped through.
My stomach twisted. When she finally opened it, shirtless in baggy sweatpants that did little to hide the outline of her cock, the smell hit me full force: thick, salty, the unmistakable tang of dried cum lingering heavily in the air. Her place looked wrecked—clothes piled on the floor, takeout containers crusting on the coffee table, the couch cushions stained and rumpled.
Tommie blinked at me, her soft curves visible under the dim light, breasts full and untouched, nipples hardening slightly in the cool air. Her hair was greasy, tied back messily, and her skin looked dull, like she hadn't showered in days.
The futanari bulge in her pants twitched faintly as she shifted, but she crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself. 'Hey... what are you doing here?' Her voice was flat, lacking its usual warmth.
I held up the bag, forcing a smile. 'Brought food. Figured you could use some company.' I stepped inside without waiting, the cum scent wrapping around me like a confession she hadn't voiced. It was everywhere—on the fabrics, in the stale air—evidence of her neglecting everything, including release that didn't leave her emptier.
My heart ached seeing her like this, my dominant side itching to take charge, to pull her back from the edge.
She shuffled to the kitchenette, avoiding my eyes, and I set the food down, glancing around. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink, her bedsheets visible through the open bedroom door, tangled and spotted.
'Tommie, talk to me,' I said gently, keeping my tone steady, not accusatory. 'This isn't you. The mess, the way you're not taking care of yourself... it's getting worse. I noticed at the coffee shop, and now here. You smell like you've been... well, you know. But it's not just that. You're slipping, and I hate seeing it.'
She busied herself with plates, her back to me, shoulders tense. Her sweatpants sagged a bit, revealing the curve of her ass, and I caught a whiff of her unwashed skin mixed with that pervasive cum aroma.
It stirred something in me—concern laced with desire, my cock twitching at the thought of her touching herself alone, lost in pain. But I focused on her, stepping closer without crowding. 'Come on, sit with me. Eat something real. You've got to start caring again—for you.'
Tommie turned, plate in hand, but her gaze dropped to the floor, cheeks flushing. 'I'm fine,' she muttered, voice small and defensive. 'Just... busy. Work's been shit, and I don't see the problem. It's my place, my life.' She avoided eye contact, fiddling with the food, but I saw the lie in her fidgeting hands, the way her body curled inward, submissive even in denial.
Deeper struggle simmered there—the breakup's echo, her futanari secret making her feel broken, unworthy. The cum smell told me she'd been jerking off relentlessly, chasing relief that never came, her hygiene forgotten in the spiral.
I sat on the couch, patting the spot beside me. 'It's not just your place, Tommie. It's you. And I care—more than you know.' She hesitated, then joined me, the cushions dipping under her weight. Up close, her scent was intoxicating, a mix of sweat, cum, and her natural musk that made my pulse quicken.
I wanted to pull her into my lap, stroke her cock until she begged, show her dominance wrapped in love. But not yet. 'Look, that day on your couch... it was intense, and maybe it spooked you. But I'm not backing off as your friend. Or more, when you're ready.'
She poked at her noodles, still not meeting my eyes, but her thigh brushed mine, sending a spark through us both. 'I said I'm fine,' she repeated, softer now, the denial cracking. I sensed the turmoil—the unrequited pull she felt too, buried under depression, her submissive heart craving my support but fearing the leap.
I reached over, squeezing her knee gently, my thumb tracing her skin. 'You're not. But you will be. I vow it—I'm here to help you regain control, step by step. Starting with a shower after we eat, maybe? Let me stick around, make sure you don't drown in this.'
My voice held that subtle dominance, reassuring yet firm, my unrequited love fueling the promise. She finally glanced up, eyes watery, the air thick with unspoken need. The cum scent lingered, a reminder of her isolation, but as she leaned slightly into my touch, I planned ahead—nights of emotional support turning physical, guiding her submission until she shone again. For now, though, we ate in quiet, the tension building like a slow burn.
We finished the takeout in that heavy silence, the flavors of pad see ew doing little to cut through the tension. Tommie picked at her food, her fork scraping the plate, while I watched her, my mind racing with ways to pull her out of this.
The cum scent clung to everything, a stark reminder of how far she'd fallen, but it also stirred the heat in me—the raw need to care for her, to dominate gently until she felt whole. I couldn't let her spiral more.
'Tommie,' I said softly, setting my plate aside and turning to face her on the couch. My hand found her knee again, squeezing with that steady pressure she responded to, even now. 'You don't have to pretend with me. I know the breakup's eating you alive. That ex of yours... he didn't deserve you, especially not with how he treated your body. Your futanari side? It's beautiful, powerful. But you're letting it—and his words—define you. Talk to me. Share the pain.'
Her eyes flicked up, wide and vulnerable, then dropped again. She shifted, the outline of her cock pressing against her sweatpants, thicker now from the proximity. I could see the ache in her posture, the way her soft curves trembled under the baggy fabric.
Slowly, I reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it with care. 'Let me help. Start with getting this off. You've been in it too long.'
She didn't stop me, her breath hitching as I peeled the shirt up and over her head, revealing her full breasts, nipples pebbling in the air. Her skin was warm, slightly sticky from neglect, but I traced my fingers along her collarbone, down to the swell of her chest, blending tenderness with the erotic pull I felt.
'See? You're still you. Still gorgeous.' My hand ventured lower, hooking into the waistband of her sweatpants. 'These too. You need to feel clean, cared for.'
Tommie shivered as I tugged them down, her futanari cock springing free, half-hard and aching, veins pulsing along its length. It was thicker than I remembered from that couch night, the head flushed and leaking a bead of precum from days of pent-up frustration. I traced my fingers over it lightly, not gripping yet, just enough to feel its heat, its twitch under my touch.
'This part of you... it's not a curse. Let me show you.' My voice was low, dominant but wrapped in love, my unrequited feelings making every stroke a promise.
'Oh god,' she whispered, her voice soft and breaking, body arching into my hand. Her cheeks flushed deeper, eyes locking on mine for a moment before darting down to my lap. There, my own hardness strained against my jeans, impossible to hide after undressing her like this. The friendship dynamic we'd built was cracking open, desire sparking amid the emotional support.
She bit her lip, submissive tendencies shining through as she reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing my thigh. 'You're... you're hard. Because of me?'
I nodded, my thumb circling the tip of her cock, smearing that precum gently. 'Always have been, Tommie. For you.' The admission hung there, my heart pounding with the weight of it—years of consoling her, hiding my love, now blending into this intimate care. She moaned quietly, her hand pressing firmer against my bulge, feeling me throb.
Then, with a shy spark in her eyes, she pulled back slightly, standing on shaky legs. Her cock bobbed, fully erect now, curving upward with need. 'I... I should shower. But maybe... you could join me? Help me get clean?' It was tentative, eager, her voice laced with that craving for more than just words. The offer broke through her walls, a gesture of trust amid the depression.
My pulse raced at the thought, dominance urging me to lead. 'Yeah. Let's do that.' I stood, stripping off my shirt and jeans quickly, my cock springing free—hard, average length but thick at the base, nothing compared to her impressive futanari girth.
She glanced down, eyes widening, a mix of curiosity and desire flushing her face as we moved to the bathroom.
The shower was small, steam filling the air as hot water cascaded over us. I guided her under the spray first, my hands soaping her shoulders, working down her back with tender strokes. She leaned into me, her body relaxing for the first time in days, the water washing away the grime and that lingering cum scent.
'Feels good,' she murmured, turning to face me, her breasts pressing against my chest.
I lathered my hands, sliding them over her curves, then lower to her cock. It stood rigid under the water, longer than mine by a few inches, the shaft broader, veins standing out as I washed it slowly, my grip firm but caring. 'Look at us,' I said, my voice husky, stepping closer so our bodies aligned.
My cock brushed hers, the difference stark—hers towering, pulsing with futanari power, mine solid but shorter, nestling against her thigh. The contact sent sparks through me, raw desire mixing with the emotional pull of supporting her like this.
Tommie gasped, her hand wrapping around my length tentatively, comparing as water streamed between us. Hers dwarfed mine in the stroke, her fingers barely meeting around her own girth when she mirrored the motion on herself.
'You're... so hard for me,' she breathed, cheeks pink, the unrequited tension shifting into something mutual. Her submissive side yielded as I took her wrist, guiding her hand slower, teaching her the rhythm while I pumped hers, blending care with the building heat.
The steam wrapped around us, her moans echoing softly off the tiles, my dominance gentle as I whispered reassurances—'I've got you, let it out.' Our cocks rubbed together under the suds, the size difference heightening the intimacy, her length sliding along mine, precum mixing with soap.
Friendship was evolving, love unspoken but felt in every touch, her pain easing under my steady hold. But as her hips bucked instinctively, seeking more, I knew this was just the start—the shower's warmth promising deeper release ahead.
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