Becoming Monsters

“How about Monster Musume?”

“So hot you watch that anime,” Honoka replied, checking the app on her phone connected to the FDR database, “but the name is taken by a group in LA.”

Banda scratched her head, sagging in defeat. “Naming our guild is hard.”

Honoka nodded, deciding to change the subject as she pulled up her Status. “We’re at 79% harmonization,” Honoka recited, smiling up at her bovine wife. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but if it doesn’t cost too many points, you might be fixed by the end of today.”

Banda sighed, gripping the steering wheel tightly as her face turned into a fierce and radiant smile.

The truck was an old blue Ford with custom work done to hold large people in the cab and let hooves work the pedals. Probably some major suspension work because it didn’t sag under Banda’s weight when she stepped in, though the ride was a jarring one, every bump rattling Honoka’s teeth. The seats were so big, and the truck expanded so much, the afro-asian woman felt like a child when she put her seatbelt on, her head only barely able to see out the window. Honoka wore a black and white striped skirt with a peach blouse up top and a pair of sensible sneakers at the suggestion of Banda for walking around a farm. The holstaur hadn’t brought any other clothing, so she still sported black gym shorts and black sports bra.

They made good time, both Norwood and Norwell south of Boston proper, so they avoided metro traffic. It transitioned into farmland slowly and though they spent most of the trip silent, Honoka needed to know what she was getting into the middle of.

“Um…” Honoka wasn’t really good at make small talk. Or talking. “What can you tell me about your…Nation?”

Banda wasn’t much better at talking, but she knew this was her problem. “When the Change happened, the distribution of Race appeared mostly random, but there are exceptions. One of them is that over eighty percent of holstaurs in North America are apart of First Nations.” Honoka looked confused, so Banda clarified. “Native Americans. The Lenape Nation, or tribe, actually used to live around here before spreading out further south and then relocating to Oklahoma. My Great Aunt Cholena took advantage of the opportunity the Change brought and gathered over two thousand of us back here at a small farm she owned. When the coffee industry collapsed and raw milk was on the rise, Aunt Cholena kept buying land and now owns over five hundred acres. Three bands and almost ten thousand Lenape are living here. Each band - clan, extended family - runs their own holstaur farm, but ours is the largest.”

“I’ve always wanted to try holstaur milk, but I’m too stingy and your milk is so expensive.”

“It's worth it,” Banda said, her face growing excited. “It is so much richer than cow milk. And smooth, like drinking a hot milkshake. More nutrients, too. With some Classes involved, there are even special brands that offer healing, energy or other effects.”

“I’ll need to try some. Nevertheless, about your family…?”

“Right.” Banda turned off the road and headed towards a large set of square, squat gray buildings. “I’m the middle child of five sisters and one brother. All us girls are holstaurs and my brother is a minotaur. My parents both stayed human but I’ve got over fifty Taurine first cousins. Aunt Cholena is also a holstaur and is a bit controlling of the entire Nation here in Norwell. She wants to get us federally recognized and her success is making it look like it will happen. In her mind being Taurine is an honor and a duty and that includes increasing the holstaur population.” Banda grimaced. “She sees Racial purity as the best way to make that happen.”

“I take it she didn’t care about your wedding announcement?” Honoka said as tactfully as she could.

“She tore the engine block out of the tractor I was driving.”

Honoka’s eyes widened, hoping that was an exaggeration. Seeing the size of Banda’s arms, though, Honoka conceded it was probably literal.

“I’m a disappointment to her, so she planned on making the best of it by marrying me off to a fifth cousin. Her plans might have influenced my decision to be with you.”

“Do you regret it?”

Banda drove next to some other trucks in a gravel lot and parked the vehicle. “No, I’m delighted with you and the girls. But…” Leaning back, she rubbed the area around her horns while looking upward. “This is going to become messy.”

“Weren’t you there with me last night?” Honoka asked with a sly smile as she unbuckled. “I can do messy.”

They laughed and shared a quick kiss before exiting and walking across the gravel to the central building. It was a massive warehouse, like the kind that contains arks of the covenant stashed somewhere inside. Multiple loading docks took up one wall. It appeared empty, but the echoes coming from inside said there were people within. Banda pulled her massive phone out of her black gym shorts and sent off a text before walking in.

NO ONE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT. The sign over the main entrance was large and daunting. Underneath it, scribbled with a black felt pen someone wrote this means you, Luke! For a moment, Honoka was confused until she remembered what Banda said about what goes on in here. It must be like a daily orgy involving hundreds each day. Not now, only a few farmhands walking around cleaning up or preparing for the next rounds of milking. It wasn’t what she expected it to be, though, because each stall provided some privacy and so the giant dairy farm was structured like an office building and cubicles more than a traditional farm. Banda led them quickly through the maze without any hesitation and Honoka wondered if there was any enchanted yarn lying around.

“Banda!” someone hissed from one of the stalls ten feet away.

Banda rolled her eyes and guided Honoka into a stall with another holstaur standing nervously there. The other Taurine sported similar colorings to Banda, white and light brown, but was shorter and less muscled. The girl also carried about fifty more pounds of tits on her chest, looking about to pop out of the scarlet halter top they were squeezed into. Paired with a scarlet miniskirt and…Honoka was unable to describe it with any form of tact, this girl’s hooves were glossy with red nail polish. The stall appeared roomy, but with two large holstaur women, a chair and pumping equipment, Honoka felt claustrophobic.

“Hello DeeDee,” Banda said, her tone of voice laced with the suffering exhaustion only siblings can inflict. The taller holstaur held up a jangling set of keys. “Did you bring my things?”

“Where have you been? Auntie has been throwing a fit since you waltzed in here and suddenly said you were married.” DeeDee thrust her arms in the air, but she kept her volume hushed as if worried someone will catch them. “Then, you burst into my room late last night and ask to borrow my truck again and don’t even show back up until after morning milkings.” Running out of steam, the smaller holstaur grabbed the keys and kicked a duffel bag from behind her. “You are lucky I have class now, but you owe me.” Turning to leave, she almost bowled over Honoka before stopping short.

“DeeDee, this is my wife, Honoka Jefferson.” Banda said it casually, but her arm was placed possessively on the smaller woman’s shoulder. “Honoka, this is my younger sister, DeeDee.”

“Hi,” Honoka said, putting out an arm that DeeDee hesitantly shook. The black woman, for her part, tried to politely not stare at the looming globes thrust directly into her face. “It's a pleasure to join your family.”

“Yeeeah,” DeeDee stretched out, looking at the tiny woman up and down before giving Banda a pitying look. “Auntie is going to eat her alive.” She walked out quickly then, her hooves clopping on the concrete. “Still owe me.”

“I owe you,” Banda replied, shrugging to Honoka as she reached down and opened the large duffel on the ground. Out came a pair of jeans that went to the holstaur’s knees, the sides of the legs sporting buttons to get them on her hoofed legs. The shirt was a white and red checkered tent to Honoka, but it looked like it would fit Banda well. Lastly were a pair of black boy shorts far stretchier than they appeared. Arriving to the meeting on time was more important than sexy dress-up, so Honoka quickly helped Banda look appropriate. The large shirt got buttoned all the way up except for the top two, long sleeves rolled to mid-bicep and the bottom tucked into the jeans with a black leather belt produced from one of the duffel’s pockets. The gym shorts went into the bag with the dirty underwear, though she kept the sports bra on for support.

“Ready to face the firing squad?” Banda asked, leading her wife out of the stalls.

Honoka was scared, but she was more worried about Banda, so she tried for a brave front. “Just call me Custer.”

Banda grimaced, looking back at Honoka. “You know Custer lost, right?”

“Crap. It’d probably be in bad form to call me Jackson, then.”

“Yck, no. No love for Andrew Jackson around here.”

Their banter continued as they left the building and made their way to a large house at the other end of the complex.

********************

Honoka and Banda sat in a sizeably proportioned parlor, tastefully done in a combination of modern and Native American design, large windows around the entire room showing the impressive sights of the dairy and farmland. All of the seating was obviously built to the scale and massive needs of Taurine people, making Honoka look like a child when her feet couldn’t reach the floor on the gigantic yellow couch she sat on. Across from the couple, with only a large oak coffee table that looked more chabudai to Honoka because of its round shape, sat the matron of the Lenni Lenape, Cholena “Brown Horns” Longhat.

The matriarch was dressed in a white sundress, complimenting her black and white fur. The older woman was also, if Honoka believed it, almost a foot taller than Banda and probably weighed nearly three hundred pounds more in muscle and breasts. Unsure of her age, the young woman believed this woman possessed the strength and vitality to run a family of thousands and control her business with sheer presence. At the moment, she studied both women before her silently and remained speechless for ten minutes. Behind her, looming impressively in tailored suits were two minotaurs standing by the double doors. Guards or footmen, Honoka wasn’t sure.

“Can I get you anything, Ms. Jefferson?” Cholena asked suddenly, her voice crisp and sounding like hard iron. “Some coffee, perhaps?”

Honoka frowned before she stopped herself, not liking the tone this conversation had taken: passive-aggressive was never something Honoka performed well. When the Change happened, most Races found caffeine useless or outright poisonous. Along with a shift in diets and even taste or preference, coffee shops and sports drinks companies went out of business almost overnight. The industry recovered eventually, yet only around half the world drank the stuff today, the other half turning to whole foods for a replacement. Raw milk boomed, filling a gap, and many newly Raced people found they experienced the same pick-me-up from a glass of cold milk instead of a cup of joe. So while it wasn’t precisely Racist to offer coffee, it was a test and to the Southern sensibilities of yesteryear, it might be construed like a prejudiced white man offering a black man some watermelon and fried chicken.

“Milk, please,” Honoka replied in a measured tone, “I’m told you stock the best around. And I prefer Mrs. Jefferson now.”

“Of course.” The older woman nodded her head slightly to the side and one of the minotaurs left the room, coming back quickly with three large glasses of cold milk on a metal tray he set on the table before backing away. “I heard you and another of your wives were in the news this morning, something about multiple murders at a whorehouse?”

“The case is ongoing, and I have been advised by a friend to not go into details. It was self-defense.” Honoka may sound calm, but she sweated under the interrogation. Banda, unfortunately, looked like a little girl who was about to get a paddlin’, so Honoka tried to remain strong for her. The black woman attempted to hide her nerves by reaching over and picking up one of the glasses of milk, taking a sip.

Oh, my word, Honoka thought. This was the best-tasting anything Honoka ever put into her mouth. This single sip ruined the girl forever for any other kind of milk. With an indelicate lack of decorum, Honoka chugged the rest of the buttery smooth goodness and tipped the glass back, trying to slurp as much of the frothy bubbles lingering inside the glass.

“That is good!” Honoka said, smiling and licking her lips.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, I milked that batch myself this morning.”

Honoka looked up at the juggs on the older woman and blushed a little as she thought of drinking her milk. However, in the end, knowing she’d be doing that to Banda soon, she shrugged and set the glass down, eying the other two untouched glasses with gluttonous greed.

“You can have mine,” Banda said quietly, smiling shyly as Honoka ran her tongue across her upper lip and took slower sips from her second cup to enjoy the flavor. This, more than anything, forced a reaction out of Cholena as she glared daggers with intense brown eyes into her niece.

“Can I ask how you plan on supporting your three wives now that you’ve quit your job, Ms. Jefferson?” the matron asked, still looking with disapproval at Banda.

This woman knows too much for only learning about me sometime yesterday. Honoka finished her glass to give herself time to think - 美味しい ! - and set it down next to the first one with some regret. “I am married to three capable women whom I have every confidence will be able to provide for themselves. Nevertheless, I decided a career in dungeon delving will be the best move for myself. I believe it will provide sufficient income for us all.”

“And you, Banda?” the older holstaur asked, brushing off Honoka’s response. “Are you going to go into that hole and give up on your family and your people for a woman you’ve known for a single day?”

“You don’t need me.” Banda sat up straight and heated her tone and mien. “You barely tolerate me.”

“I will not be spoken to like that, young lady. I am trying to help you avoid making a huge mistake.” Likewise, the older woman furrowed her brow and glared towards the younger holstaur.

“How is wanting to marry someone I love instead of an idiot I hate a mistake?!”

“David is a fine man! He would be able to provide for you and provide for the rest of the family!” The older woman stood up and pointed at Banda. “Your selfish actions—”

“Selfish?!” Banda stood up as well and threw her hands in the air. “Look, you old cow—”

“QUIET!!”

Honoka didn't care anymore, she hopped off the large couch and walked around the table, grabbing the third glass before going back to her seat. She then took a satisfying sip before silently looking at the two shocked women staring at her and gesturing them to sit. When they did, Honoka began speaking.

“Mrs. Longhat, you seem to know a great deal about myself, but I want to tell you about my mother, Uzume Honda. She comes from a wealthy and influential family in Nagasaki. I say wealthy, but that doesn't give much scope. My grandparents live in a four-hundred-year-old castle and run fortune five hundred companies, plural. When she turned fifteen, her parents told her she needed to marry someone from an equally impressive family. My mother hopped on a plane the next day and flew to America.

“I won't go into the details of how she met my father or went to school and earned her Ph.D. Eventually, her love of her family led her to return with her husband and children to her parent’s home and ask forgiveness. Her parents desired the same. The unyielding pride of the Japanese shogun crumbled underneath pure love. Growing up, I have many fond memories of playing with my Japanese cousins in the halls of that castle. I still visit every few years.

“So understand me when I say I know how important family is.” Honoka turned her cobalt eyes on the older matron, and it was Cholena who turned away. “Banda and I are married, which means she is apart of my family. I hope you can accept me into yours.”

No one said anything as Banda and her aunt sat back down. Both remained angry and maybe too prideful to break the silence. Knowing when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em, Honoka finished her glass with smacking lips and pulled out her phone, writing a short message in an app and sliding the phone across the table to Cholena, not wanting to say anything with the Brute Squad hanging out in the back.

“One last thing,” the black woman said as she set her glass down. “I won't explain how, and I am trusting you to keep my secret, but there are other reasons at play here.”

Curious, the older woman picked up the phone and read the small sentences, her eyes widening before quickly setting it back on the table.

I can cure your niece. Maybe today.

“Is this true?” Cholena asked Banda, all anger gone now.

“If it's about what I think it is, then yes, it probably is.” Banda, for her part, remained angry, yet she expressed wary optimism. “I've even experienced some of it firsthand and saw other proof.”

Silence entered back to the room, but now the Lenape leader turned thoughtful and looking between the two women. “I…I may have acted…harshly.” Looking at Banda, she lowered her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

No one was more surprised than Banda, yet just as impulsive as she had been the day before, the young woman stood up and rushed over, tripping on the table and hugged her aunt. Both women held each other and cried, no longer needing words. After a moment, the older holstaur looked over and opened an arm, motioning Honoka to join, which she did with her own happy tears.

*phhrtt!*

Everyone turned around, startled to see one of the minotaur footmen using a handkerchief to blow his nose and mop up his own tears while the other lackey retained the decency to look embarrassed as he rolled his eyes. Everyone broke out laughing at the absurd sight and settled back down to enjoy a second round of milk to toast the newlywed couple.

********************

Honoka was with Banda in her room at the big house, and it was…cute. Pink was the predominant color, frilly lace covering most things. The bed - while being appropriately sized for the holstaur’s mass - included at least a dozen pillows and was draped in pink satin canopy curtains. An entire wall of stuffed animals, mostly pastel colored ponies and unicorns, took up a place of honor like a shrine to all things girly. Even the carpet was dusty pink and overly plush.

“Don’t say it,” Banda warned, setting her stack of empty boxes down and folding one open.

“Say what?” Honoka asked innocently, moving closer to look at the stuffed animals.

“Just…don’t.” The holstaur opened drawers and pulled out clothing, stacking the neatly folded garments efficiently.

Honoka decided to explore, opening the closet and found a space half the size of her apartment. Some clothing hung here, only a few dresses, the majority of the space acting as catchall storage with lots of labeled boxes on shelves. But when the black woman went farther back and looked behind the massive double-bladed ax, she hit pay dirt.

“Oh, Baaaanda!”

When the holstaur poked her head into the closet, her eyes bulged and she backed away, shaking her head. Honoka held up a bra and panty set hanging on the same plastic hanger it probably occupied in the store. The tags were even still on them, the price giving the frugal black woman a bit of a heart attack, but these looked too delicious to pass up. The bra was in two parts, underneath a sheer black that would hide nothing, the underwire highlighted with a dark red. Over the top of that was a strap corset, a red leather number with black laces to tighten it down. The panties were black with red strings in a swimsuit thong style. The pieces were so large Honoka barely held it off the ground, but she grinned like a maniac while she approached the panicking Banda.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your collection of sexy outfits?” Honoka said in a sing-song voice, ripping off the tags with her teeth.

“My sisters are perverts. They buy me that stuff all the time, I just throw them into the back and try to ignore it. And don’t even, I am not wearing any of them, ever.” Her arms crossed, shaking her head, the red blush to her skin told another story.

“Poo!” Honoka said, pouting and looking down at the outfit. “And here I thought your bed is so big and it might only take one more sexy time to harmonize and you not eating any lunch yet…”

Honoka trailed off at the end, letting the tension build in the air. Then she looked up with puppy eyes and shook the lingerie in front of her like a treat. Banda tried to resist, but this was what she wanted. Snatching the hanger out of Honoka’s hands, she locked the door then stepped into the closet, closing that door as well. “The smell is never going to get out of the carpet,” she declared inside, other sounds of her disrobing going on.

“Trust me, I have a plan.” The black hermaphrodite already took off her skirt and undoing the straps to her harness. The Beast came alive and sprung to attention, causing a sigh of relief to edge out of Honoka’s mouth as she pulled her panties off next. “How are you at the Gallon Challenge?”

Banda paused, then a cringy groan ensued before she continued to change.

It took a long time for Banda to get ready, the garments proving more complicated than they appeared. A few times, Honoka heard some crashing as a box fell off a shelf or some muffled grumbles. Honoka sat on the bed, impatiently waiting. She checked her texts and realized she forgot to call her mom, so she shot off a quick message saying she was fine and now happily married and the thing on the news wasn’t as bad as…ok, it was as bad, but Honoka downplayed it to counter motherly nosiness. When the closet door opened, she quickly tossed the phone and prepared for the show.

The moe is strong with this one, Honoka thought, a thumb’s worth of premen dribbling from her tip which Honoka made sure to slather on her shaft to keep drippage to a minimum. Banda wore the outfit, but either it sat in the closet for a long time and Banda grew, or the most considerable difficulty of wearing lingerie bought by someone else reared its ugly head: it was too small. Admittedly, that made it ten times hotter to Honoka’s growth fetish, her penis shooting another spurt of clear cockslime as she held back contracting her abdomen. The holstaur walked out hesitantly, her posture clearly embarrassed if it wasn’t already evident by the red shade of her exposed skin. She also looked uncomfortable in the too-tight clothing. Not just because of the straining fit, but she kept trying to adjust it all. The panties were absolutely devoured by the thick folds of Banda’s labia, her engorged clit tenting the black fabric slightly. One hand tried to pick them out of her cunt but they kept slipping back in, the battle already lost. The double-layered bra ensemble worked very well together, kind of a kinky punk vibe with the sheer black pushup underneath making Banda’s gazangas go from hooters to boobilicious queen-sized knockers. And while the black pushup was tight enough to cause them to spill out the top like cooked muffins, the strappy red sorta-corset made it difficult for Banda to see past her own ripe melons they pushed upwards so high. Still adjusting, it was difficult to keep her nipples under the red leather, Banda’s areola clearly outlined under the translucent black of the pushup.

“I gotta say, you are the most erotic person I know, and we’re also married to a succubus. There is nothing to be ashamed of here.” Honoka took it in and panted a little, but she gulped and decided to take pity on the suffering woman. “However, you should probably take it off otherwise I’d be scared of you passing out!”

Banda didn’t waste any time, her massive muscles grabbing behind her back. With veins actually popping into existence on her arms, she grunted and tore the entire thing in half with some snappings and rippings loudly filling the room. Shrugging it off to let her muguppies breathe, Banda likewise sighed, massaging the parts of her breasts with angry red lines on them. The panties were simpler, pulling the knots free on the sides letting it fall to the floor.

Honoka almost came, the power and strength a visual stimulus that went straight into her throbbing shlong. “You might…want to hurry.” Honoka’s voice cracked as she resisted the monumental urge to rub one out.

“What should I do?” Banda knelt in front of the bed. Honoka felt the hot breath on her dick, pushing the futa-girl close enough that she experienced the tell-tale twitch on her tip and some building pressure at her base.

“About to blow!” Honoka yelled, flexing her kegels to hold it back for a few seconds as she grabbed Banda by the horns and forced her head up. “Wrap your mouth around it - don’t bite! - put the head in the back of your throat, then swallow it all if you want to keep your room clean!”

To Banda’s credit, she displayed a very determined look over her face when she slurped her bovine jaw around and relaxed her throat as if she was about to drink from a spigot. The advantage of the holstaur race over an actual cow became evident as she possessed full control of her lips around her jaw, sealing everything moments before the gates opened and Honoka’s cum flood sluiced into Banda.

“AAAAHH!!” Honoka pulled down on those horns hard, feeling her glans push past uvula as she shot her love mayo directly into the holstaur’s stomach. Banda’s greatest advantage, while not trained in drinking the excessive cum of her futa wife, was playing a popular game at the dairy farm suckling holstaur teats and seeing which challenger would gag first. Another advantage was the size difference, as a human-sized person would have no chance at guzzling the volume needed down their throat quickly enough to swallow, but Banda seemed capable.

Or tried to be. Cum is thicker than milk and around the eighth spurt, feeling more full than ever before, Banda’s throat gagged and she pulled up a little. The spunk wouldn’t stop, though. In desperation, she felt her mouth filling and filling, losing some of the white cream down the shaft before she recovered and tried to gulp it as quickly as she could. However, it was too late. Feeling desperation to minimize the damage, Banda grabbed the black meat as she plopped it out with about half a mouthful of cum dribbling onto her breasts and aimed the last four shots onto her chest, cupping her breasts to let the hot semen pool instead of spill everywhere.

Honoka collapsed on her back, spent, as Banda hastily swallowed in large gulps the last of the jizz soup, pushing her boobs up to lick the rest before using a hand to squeegee the last of it off Honoka’s deflating pole.

“Wouldn’t have…taken you…for a neat freak.” Honoka slowly recovered, but a little blue box excited her.

Banda was busy licking her fingers clean when Honoka spoke, a pleased expression on her face. “For most of my life, I felt like I lacked emotional control. Then I became a holstaur and now I am constantly assaulted by uncontrollable instincts. Living in a clean room gives me a sense of order and peace.” She smacked her lips and looked down at her clean chest in disappointment. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you taste like bread and honey.”

“With my Race, I think it's supposedly mead, but don’t quote me.” Honoka stumbled off the bed with rubbery legs, her dick a little wet with saliva and spunk but otherwise clean. The only damage done to the room was a small damp spot where her girl juices drooled out of her pussy onto the bed but it would dry on its own. And while Honoka felt she needed her coochie filled with Thor back at the Fortress of Debauchery, there were more pressing matters.

“So,” Honoka segued as she put on her panties, harness and skirt, “how does it feel to be harmonized?”

Banda paused, halfway to the closet to retrieve her clothing, when she turned, her face opening up in the brightest of smiles. Hooting in joy, she jumped and picked Honoka up in a bear hug, slathering her in kisses as they celebrated the milestone.