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ARIA
A Short Story by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)
This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. Everything in this story is imaginary and is not meant to represent any real-life people, events, or medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that’s not your thing, or if reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don’t read it. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright the author©2012.
~~~
The Restaurant had a three-star Michelin rating and looked it. It was a baroque symphony of gilded archways and sumptuous red velvet. A cello quartet played a muted minuet over the clink and mutter of well-heeled diners. Aria Staynor sat in her discreet corner alcove table and grimaced prettily.
This sucks shit she thought.
The last time she dined here the wait staff hadn’t been half so attractive, and she had enjoyed an excellent meal in peace. Since then, it seemed the hiring had been taken over by a sex maniac. One with a thing for large breasts.
Her waitress in particular had become a problem. She wore a snug black mid-thigh sheath dress that hugged some very distracting curvature. If the girl taped out to anything less than 36-24-38 with a double-D cup, Aria would have been very surprised. Her dress clung tightly enough to define the split of her ass, which she demonstrated when she bent over to pick up a spoon that had fallen to the floor. From the seamless way the fabric stretched over her rump, the girl was either wearing an ultra-skimpy thong or bare-ass nothing under it. Aria squirmed in agony; the thought was insanely provoking.
She couldn’t help wondering if the girl shaved her pubes, or maintained a Brazilian-style landing strip, or just let it grow wild. Aria wasn’t picky; she liked pussy any way she could get it. The urge to reach over and yank the dress up to see for herself made her fingers prickle. She yearned to feast her eyes on her waitress’s privates.
Aria’s own dress fit her just as snugly, and therein lay the problem. Her waitress, and all the other gorgeous young things striding about the dining area had given Aria a raging blue-steel erection that wasn’t going down anytime soon.
Aria’s penis–the sole exception to her otherwise perfectly female body–was easily concealable when de-tumescent. In its soft state, it was a floppy, smallish limb. When she grew excited, however, it lengthened and thickened to a startling size (while still retaining its distinctive feminine silkiness). She could lay the spines of two paperback novels along its shaft without reaching the head. Hard, it was impossible to conceal in a nun’s habit, never mind the expensive nothing of a dress Aria currently wore.
Her thighs, crossed demurely for cover, squashed her testicles uncomfortably. They were growing more tender by the minute. Her penis was a rigid, throbbing ache between her silk-stockinged legs and it was driving her to distraction.
Her waitress slinked up and laid down her soup course with an inviting smile. When she bent, an avalanche of cleavage surged forward.
Jesus. Aria blinked the perspiration out of her eyes and hoped her eyeliner didn’t start running. She gritted her teeth. The girl probably made a fortune in tips in that outfit.
The waitress straightened, smiled again, and strode away with an unconscious swing to her hips that sent painful throbs through Aria’s penis.
Sexy ass bitch, she thought with resentful lust.
She sat there, staring at her delicious soup course, and felt like throwing it across the restaurant.
Alright girl, she thought, get it together. We can handle this.
Discreetly, she shuffled her chair forward, until her lap lay hidden under white tablecloth. She uncrossed her legs with a sigh of relief. Okay. Now what?
She glanced around. Her table’s alcove was fairly deep and afforded her some privacy. There were also many empty tables between her and the other diners. All they would see was Aria Staynor, stylish young socialite and poster girl for Sandoval’s Exoplasia shifting in her seat. She wore her brassy-brown hair long and straight tonight, and it caught auburn embers in the restaurant’s intimate lighting.
She took a breath, and felt a silly rush of excitement. Being risqué in public always thrilled her.
Alright, she thought, let’s do it.
Concealed by the tablecloth, Aria hiked up her skirt, pulled aside her silk thong panties, and let the defining characteristic of her condition leap up into freedom. It thumped the underside of the table.
~~~
Aria had been the bemused istanbul rus escort owner of a fully-functioning set of male equipment for exactly three years and two months. It still astounded her sometimes.
The onset of Sandoval’s was always sudden, and usually struck girls between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. With Aria, it had come two days after her eighteenth birthday.
Before that weekend, she was a normal teenage girl, albeit a rich one; she was the daughter of a pair of 1980’s movie icons whose drunken antics often provided tabloid fodder. By Sunday morning, however, she was a teenage girl with a pair of balls the size of guavas and an unruly foot-long member with a lusty mind of its own.
Aria was not the type to run and hide. When she learned of the thousands of other girls in her position who were too scared to seek treatment or who even injured themselves to get rid of their new appendages, she promptly lent her voice, her visibility, and her not-insubstantial funds to raise public consciousness about this emerging affliction of the new millennium.
Her work with the Sandoval Foundation created opportunities for those girls that wanted treatment and support for those that didn’t.
Aria was fortunate in that she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. Corrective surgery never crossed her mind. Privately, Aria considered her ‘affliction’ the most wonderful thing that ever happened to her. The size, shape, and potency of her penis enthralled her. From her first erection, she was in love. And from her first ejaculatory orgasm, she was addicted for life. To her, it was a gift from God. Her boyfriends would just have to learn to live with it or fuck off.
Many of them did fuck off. But a few didn’t, and she never regretted her choice to hold onto her penis. Even during moments like this, when the damn thing stiffened up in public.
Carefully, Aria began masturbating under the table. She pulled her foreskin back and forth, and the pleasure made her neglected penis pulse with approval. Her balls expanded and drew up tight in their sac. She cast discreet glances around the restaurant as she played with herself, making sure no one noticed what she was doing. They hadn’t.
A hot flush spread over her face and neck. The thought of what she was doing (and getting away with) while unsuspecting people ate their meals nearby made her terribly excited. It didn’t take long before she was ready to come.
That was when Aria suddenly realized she had no way of dealing with the resulting mess. Oh…shit.
She was always good for at least six high-volume spurts when she ejaculated, and she shot with such force that it wasn’t unusual for her to put sperm on the ceiling of her bedroom. She was wearing a dark burgundy dress and the white splatter would show up like neon if she got any on herself. If she just let it shoot out onto the floor, the waitress would be bound to slip on it. In an uncharacteristic attack of shyness, Aria found herself unwilling to shoot into the tablecloth; the evidence would be too blatant when the staff cleaned up later.
Her orgasm had nearly risen to the bursting point when inspiration struck. With a last look around, Aria seized her bowl of soup and thrust it under the table.
She aimed her cock downward, stroked furiously, and came. She closed her eyes and grunted as her cream fired into the soup bowl. It splashed a little, but food spills wouldn’t raise any eyebrows here. A soft groan escaped her generous, pouty lips as she pumped out every delicious jolt of her thick, sweet paste. With a sigh, she wiped her glans on the rim of the bowl to break the last thick, dangling spermy string, and tucked her softened dong back into her panties.
She placed the bowl back on the table and adjusted her dress. She glanced around again; no one had noticed. With a faint smile she picked up her spoon and began eating her soup. It was a thin Consommé, and her sperm thickened it somewhat. It actually tasted quite nice, she reflected. Mixed and diluted with the soup, there was almost no euphoric buzz. By the time her sexy waitress arrived with the entrée, she had swallowed all the evidence.
She smacked her lips, pleased with herself. She returned the waitress’s sultry smile with a relaxed and sensual one of her own.
As the girl bent to clear away the soup bowl, Aria saw her nostrils flare, and an almost imperceptible flush colored her cheeks.
Whoops, thought Aria. The one thing she hadn’t thought of was the scent. Aria’s whole table smelled like…sex. The unmistakable alkaline-fresh twang of semen and pussy. Plus, that indiscernible arousing izmir escort something that was the hallmark of Aria’s condition. The waitress gaped at her, all of her professional demeanor gone. Her mouth fell open and her pupils dilated.
Aria returned her gaze with a raised eyebrow. Well? Her smile grew impish.
The girl gathered herself, gave Aria a perfunctory, somewhat nervous smile, and left. She knew Aria had a penis, of course. The whole world did. Aria wondered idly if she’d seen that sex tape of her that was circulating the net. She probably had; it would explain why she was acting so coquettish.
~~~
Since its emergence in 2003, Sandoval’s Exoplasia had attracted its share of controversy and scandal. It had also attracted its own peculiar class of groupie. These groupies–sandies–were female for the most part and quickly formed their own unique message-board culture. They actively sought out women with Sandoval’s for sex. They shared graphic photos and videos of these experiences online, along with steamy reportage and gossip. These message boards had names like The Sandy Beach and Sandies’ Hideaway.
Some of the growing minority of American women suffering–if that was the word–from Sandoval’s did not appreciate this kind of attention, but Aria did. She liked sex and she liked girls who wanted to have sex with her. The various fan forums all had hook-up boards and for Aria, it was one big harem. Instead of being impeded by her penis, her sex life had never been better. She could get laid literally any time she wanted, morning, noon or night.
Aria’s own sex tape scandal happened the previous year. She had been attending a major speaking engagement at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. Her work with the Foundation often had her going around the globe to do big-screen PowerPoint presentations. She’d created it herself; it was a mixture of medical exposé and raunchy personal observations. Her mission was to present the facts, answer questions and put a human face to her condition. When Sandoval’s Exoplasia first appeared, the girls it struck were subject to ridicule as freaks. Aria was out to change all that.
Also–and this was a big part of her presentation–medical science was no closer to treating Sandoval’s now than in 2003. Wherever she went, Aria also organized fundraisers for research.
After the Q Aria only overheard the word dickgirl twice from the other diners, and only in mutters.
Aria gave her waitress a more-than-friendly smile as she signed the check and left a staggeringly generous cash tip. On impulse, she also scribbled a cell number on one of the twenties, a number she used solely for hookups.
Aria stood by the valet stand waiting for her Porsche when her cell phone began chirping. Her heart gave a little thump; she recognized that special ring tone. Someone was calling on the Sex Line.
“Hello?”
“Hi.” Aria didn’t recognize the voice at first. There was none of the professional smoothness and courtesy the girl demonstrated while she served her. Now, her waitress just sounded like a nervous young woman. Aria smiled.
“Hey you. My name’s Aria, what’s yours?”
“I’m…Kathleen.”
“So, Kathleen. When do you get off work?”
“Ummm…” Aria heard her swallow nervously. “I just did. You were my last customer.”
“Just one moment.”
The valet roared up in her 911 Turbo. Aria tipped him and slid behind the wheel.
“Where are you, Kathleen?”
“In the alleyway by the kitchen doors. Having a smoke.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Wondering what the hell I’m doing.”
“I’ll swing ’round and pick you up.” In more ways than one.
“No! Um, no, please…uh…can you park down the street?”
“Fair enough.” Aria didn’t bother keeping the amusement out of her voice. You really mean: can I please not pick you up in front of all of your co-workers. “You know that newsstand about half a block down?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be in front of it. Just walk over if you want to.”
Aria snapped her phone shut without waiting for a response. She wheeled her car around with a squeal of tires and laid a black strip in the restaurant’s parking lot. She screeched to a halt at the newsstand and killed the ignition.
Her waitress walked up five minutes later, wearing an overlarge T-shirt that fell to mid-thigh over a pair of tight black leggings. It did wonders to hide her ample figure. She had a knapsack flung over one shoulder. To Aria’s amusement, she glanced around before she got in the passenger side.
“Hey Kathleen,” Aria greeted her enthusiastically. “Wanna go for a ride?” she raised her eyebrows mock-suggestively.
The izmir otele gelen escort girl gave a nervous laugh. “Okay.”
Aria loved picking up girls. There was something about hearing the car door shut with a pretty girl inside that gave her a delicious, predatory tingle. Boys and men were fine, but seducing them was as easy as asking them. There was something about landing a woman…it required more finesse. It made the success more rewarding.
Aria roared into traffic. She let her passenger feel the power of the engine. She heard her sharp intake of breath, and could almost hear her pulse accelerate along with the beast under the Porsche’s hood. Aria had a GPS that revealed every police speed trap in the city. She could speed with impunity. She glanced over and saw Kathleen’s nipples were hard.
“So Kathleen,” she asked with a smile, “did you like my movie?”
“Your…?” the girl looked back at her, and her cheeks flooded with color as she realized Aria meant her sex tape. “Um. Yes. I mean, yes, I saw it.”
“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”
Kathleen was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt?”
“When it first…appeared.”
“Oh. Well, sort of.” Aria shifted gears, and took her car through a long circuit of a deserted industrial area. She felt herself click into lecture mode, like when she addressed audiences at her engagements.
“The doctors call it ‘full emergent expression’. Fortunately, it only seems to happen during REM sleep for some reason. I remember I dreamt I was giving birth, although I don’t remember it hurting.
“When I woke up though, I ached all over. It was like I’d done a twenty-mile run in my sleep, on hard concrete. I felt…exhausted, even though I’d just slept eight hours. All my muscles were sore, especially in my pelvis. And my new friend-for-life was there.”
Aria dropped a hand into her lap and squeezed herself. She threw Kathleen a smile. The girl blushed an even deeper rosy red, but Aria noted she didn’t look away.
“It kind of looked like a newborn baby. It was all bloody and purple and covered with sticky white stuff. My vagina was a little dilated more than normally, but otherwise…no clue how it got out of me or where it came from. Scientists still don’t know how it happens.”
Aria glanced at her companion. “There are no warnings, you see. One day you’re normal and then wham! You’re not. No one’s ever been able to record the process. No one’s ever seen it happen in the flesh. They don’t even know who it’s going to happen to. They’re still trying to find the genetic markers that tag possible candidates.”
Aria changed gears again with well-trained efficiency. Factories and warehouses flew by the Porsche’s angular windows.
“Did it…change you? As a person?”
“There’s some debate over that, too.” Aria flashed her a grin. “Sandoval’s does some weird things to your hormonal structure. Your whole endocrine system remains essentially female, and there’s no interruptions to your menstrual cycle. But. There’s a lot of brand-new chemistry that appears. Not male hormones, exactly, but female-compatible analogs that don’t promote male characteristics. They ensure that we don’t grow moustaches, but at the same time, we remain very potent, and very fertile.”
“You mean…”
“Yup. We get it up if we’re touched by an idle thought.”
Aria chuckled. “Very short refractory period between ejaculations, too. And, very high sperm count and motility. But the good thing about that is, I’m on the pill.” She smiled at her passenger again. “The two types of fertility are connected. If I’m not ovulating because of the pill, my sperm output drops to zero. No change in erectile or ejaculatory function, though.” She shrugged. “Again, no one knows why.”
Kathleen reddened slightly.
Aria smiled inside. She knew the girl was thinking about having intercourse with her, and now knew she could do it without fear of pregnancy.
Aria didn’t put her on the spot. Instead, she took another turn, and cruised down an abandoned strip of the old waterfront. Container ships and longshoremen used to swarm this area in more prosperous times.
“So, as far as behavior goes, hormonally, I’m no different than other women. Same moods, same everything. But the physical aspect of Sandoval’s does change you.”
“In what way?”
Aria laughed. “The fact of having a penis. It’s wonderful, weird and scary all at once. Having a dick will really change your life.”
Aria paused, gathered her thoughts.
“Your whole approach to sex…evolves. A lot. When your penis gets hard–and it does get hard often–you really want to use it. There’s this driving motivation to go out and get laid. A lot of us undergo something called ‘Sandoval’s Satyriasis’ once we get to know our penises. Basically, we go a little wild. It’s like what boys go through in puberty, only we’re older and have greater ability to actualize our desires.”
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