Aria (futa/female, futa/futa)

Aria

A Short Story by jokermon (sasquatch_9@hotmail.com)

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction. 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. This story is copyright©2012 the author. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission.

The 5-star Restaurant was a baroque symphony of gilded arches 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 tenderer 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, get it together. We can handle this.

Discreetly, she pulled the small circular table closer, 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 was against a wall in a large alcove. There were 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, 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 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 c

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