Linda, an Afterthought

Story by Bishiebunny

This particular story might not be the best fap material you have ever come across. There is certainly some naughtiness about and if you find something worth your while, by all means, go nuts. Still, the focus is on a scenario many of us are very familiar with. Only, instead of dealing with the build-up, climaxing into a grand orgy of happy-fun-times, this is more about what comes later.

Think of this as the futanari equivalent to "the morning after," an incredibly-hung-hang-over, if you will.

Let us consider a young woman named Linda, and that extra bit of anatomy which has come to dominate her life. Is she happy? Or is she merely an....

Linda, An Afterthought

by Bishiebunny

There is a philosophy, held most prominently by hammers. It states that the highest nail gets pounded hardest. Unlike squeaky wheels and the grease that loves them, this has nothing to do with the order in which problems are solved. Instead, it points out how those that tower, high and proud, will inevitably find themselves the target of the low and blunt. Zeus hates nothing more than a presumptuous cypress. It is less hubris and more practicality; nobody ever challenges the second fastest gun in the west. Some nails, merely by nature of their superior length and bite into the wood, can not help but attract more hammers blows than they could possibly handle.

Such a nail was Linda; more accurately, such a nail was Linda's cock.

Then again, maybe it was the hammer, and it was the world that had become nothing so much as an endless collection of worrisome nails. A boy could not wish for a larger, more talented tool. Perhaps that is the reason that this particular cock was bestowed upon a young woman. Over the years, the soon-to-be-worst-kept-secret-in-town had inspired fear, envy and finally lust, and almost always in that exact order. Linda's schoolmates, with eyes bigger than their wombs, would seek it out as sort of a test run. Young men would challenge its very existence, always to end up on their knees in varying degrees of surprise and submission. Adults had long since given up on trying to rein in the beast and its effects on the sleepy suburban town.

Husbands could not help but clutch their wives possessively, while wives clutched at... other things.

At first, it had been great fun, weaving a spell of seduction about the town with a wiggle of a wand that not even a half-giant could possibly wield. Eventually, however, the weight of responsibility had robbed both swish and flick of all of their eldritch charm. The high that came from such constant attention dwindled as the she began to understand just where all of that attention was focused. Her new "friends" had eyes for just the one bit of her anatomy, which was a shame, given that other bits of her had filled out of late. How sad that she would have been almost as thrilled to see someone stare at her chest, as she might have been if they would just talk to her about, something, anything that did not revolve around the exchange of sticky fluids. She had gone so far as to infiltrate the local nerd herd, desperate for some sort of interaction where nobody would need to spread anything other than the pages of a graphic novel.

No such luck.

There was a blissful week filled with Klingons, robotic death machines, and dragon slaying vikings, before her mere presence pierced their awkward social bubble. It had all gone wrong when her Dungeon Master had suggested they dress like their characters for a special game. That night, dice, Cheetos and manuals were all discarded as five young men bowed to a dark elf's wicked whims. Maybe the fishnet were a bad idea, Linda had thought, but once they were on their knees, it seemed like a shame to waste all of those eager mouths. It would not have been so bad if the young men had much experience beyond that one night. As it was, they thought of her as their goddess, someone they would all happily make their virginal sacrifice too.

The strangest part of it all? She missed the game. Pretending to be someone else, having a painted, miniature version of her ideal self, laughing at jokes that often flew over (or under) her head; it had all been great fun. But once they turned it into her personal harem, it pretty much became like everything else, only with a few costumes thrown in. Linda saw no reason to turn her day-to-day life into a sex LARP.

Worst of all were the relationships she seemed to sink. There had to be something more to it, something beyond just a big shaft that pumped copious amounts of breeding fluid. Surely, people's concept of intimacy and love were not so shallow. It could not possibly be that a night with her would sever every tie that was supposed to bind. Whatever thrill she might get from being chosen over the high school quarterback, or a five year marriage, eventually subsided into a dull ache. If the world was so fickle, what was the point? Hard

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