Back in the Saddle; or Compartments (futa/futa, futa solo)

Back in the Saddle

-or-

Compartments

A short story by jokermon (sasquatch_9@hotmail.com)

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction. It features 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. The people  and events in this story are completely fictitious and are not meant to  represent any real-life people or medical conditions. This story is copyright the author©2014. Please enjoy this story responsibly and please do not repost without permission

The extraction kiosks always reminded Janey Yorke of old-time peepshow booths, where people would feed in coins to watch porno movies or live nude performers. She imagined these were a little more spacious. They had shelves to put one's folded clothes on, and little institutional wash-up basins. In larger cities, she knew there were extraction centers that were almost like day spas, with swimming pools, hot tubs, even massage tables for relaxing before a session. There, the kiosks were like mansion bathrooms. In this small southwestern corner of nowhere, they were five-by-eight plywood boxes. The Saddle took up much of the space.

When Janey was a little girl this building had been a small boxing gym. A dozen or so kiosks now sat in the main space where the ring used to be, with locker rooms and showers adjoining. She knew they were lucky to have that much. She cast a whimsical eye at the plywood siding of the kiosk—no glory holes.

The Saddle itself grew out of the wall like an odd piece of plushly-padded exercise equipment. You stepped into the stirrups and then leaned forward into the strategically-placed support cushions held up on adjustable arms. The ergonomics of it evenly distributed one's body weight. It was as comfortable as lying on a pillow-top mattress. A standard twenty-four-inch micro-plasma monitor faced you at eye level and a rudimentary control keypad offered itself on another flexible arm. Behind and slightly below the parallel hip pads, yet another mechanical arm angled a U-shaped metal instrument upwards like the poised, forked stinger of a mutant scorpion. Closer to the front and below the resting pads, a gleaming steel cylinder about the size of a large coffee thermos tilted inward toward the center.

Janey disrobed and carefully folded her clothes on the shelf. Her bra felt tight, and unsnapping it was a relief. She glanced at the label: 34F. She decided she'd do an extra-long session today. It would burn off more calories. Whenever she gained weight it went straight to her boobs before loading down her butt and thighs. She didn't want to have to buy a whole new set of custom-fit brassieres.

Her penis swung heavily as she pulled off her plain white cotton panties. It had satiny-smooth skin like polished, blue-veined marble. She'd seen bigger ones, but not many. She was circumcised, but by choice, not religion. Her foreskin had been long and floppy and always in the way. She'd never regretted having it foreshortened. It still covered her head when she was detumescent, but quickly and efficiently retracted once she grew erect. She had balls like ripe garden tomatoes, and they jostled about in a pretty pink sac as smooth and hairless as nectarine skin.

Once the world had adjusted to the fact that a substantial percentage of the female population was now growing large penises at the onset of puberty, and that it was not, in fact, a harbinger of some oncoming apocalypse, certain social adjustments had to be made. They were hastened by the discovery that the seminal fluid produced by these women had remarkable curative and life-extending properties. Janey and the millions of other women like her discovered they had gold mines swinging between their legs. Existing pharmaceutical empires had crumbled. Others sprang up to embrace what some cheekily called the White Rush. Numerous cottage industries sprang up overnight to cash in on it. By 2005, extraction centers were commonplace. Even this tumbleweed town had one, such as it was.

Janey mounted the Saddle like a girl's bicycle. She stood upright in the stirrups while she tied her long brunette hair back with a scrunchie and then leaned forward. The Saddle easily and comfortably took her weight. Her thick peni

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