Her sixteenth birthday had come and gone a week ago and Jenny Cane was feeling The Itch. It was possibly the most momentous time of any teen girl’s life and it was also dreaded by all who found themselves around a girl who was feeling it because they knew it meant that someone they knew and possibly even loved would no longer be with them soon. That is, if they knew they were feeling The Itch anyway, there was a very obvious cultural stigma about it even if it was an accepted biological necessity.
The Itch was called that because thats what it felt like at first: a kind of itchy pleasurable discomfort in a young futa’s groin. Masturbation would calm it for a while, but eventually it would satisfy them for less and less time and their thoughts would naturally go to where they might be able to find higher pleasures. And so they would push for sex with dates more and more, even going so far as to force the issue sometimes in their primal lust.
Girls or fellow futa who thought the nightmare was over when a girl with The Itch had spurted her creamy burden inside them were soon proven wrong as they found themselves sealed together by the futa’s sperm, which had acted instantly upon hitting the membranes inside their pussies.
Over the next few hours, the hapless victim would experience numerous ecstatic orgasms as their bodies morphed and slimmed and developed new contours while simultaneously shedding so many others. Some cursed their rapists, others embraced it, others fainted and never woke up, but each and every one of them ended up the same: as the futa’s handsome new horsecock and balls, their body mass (and, some say, souls) used as so much fuel in the fire of transformation. Anything left of them was surely ejaculated with the futa’s next orgasm, which often happened via masturbation very soon after the transformation had completed.
Sadly, no amount of struggling could stop the process once it began and futa feeling The Itch had little regard for a person’s status, so transformation could strike almost anyone. And it had throughout history, ending many promising people’s lives in thick equine hardness through which the next generation passed into the world.
Jenny had hidden her Itch from the world knowing that she’d be shunned by everyone for it, maybe even shipped off for a controlled transformation using a death row inmate or terminally ill hospital patient. But she didnt want that. She knew from research that her future cock could be customized a bit if she chose right. A girl of, say, latin descent would turn into a beautifully browned member. A blonde would turn into a shaft that looked like sculpted marble. There were other rumors about additional options too.