The Cuckoo's Nest (futa/female, female/male, impreg, breastfeeding)

The Cuckoo's Nest

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 illegal where you reside, don't read it. All characters and events are fictional and are not intended to represent real life people or medical conditions. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright the author©2015.

She was beautiful in the way plain women can be when they experience joy. You see it in brides sometimes, or in new mothers. Ohio State Police Detective Richard Somersby was reminded of Ingrid Bergman’s numinous portrayal of a nun in The Bells of St. Mary’s. Except this woman was a mental patient. And very, very pregnant.

Her hair, lost somewhere between copper and iron, fell long and straight into curling, unbarbered tips.  Her features would be considered harsh were not her expression – indeed, her entire manner – softened by a profound inner peace and happiness. Her breasts were as full and taut as footballs and they nestled atop her gravid belly like a missile battery. Her papery gown made no secret of her pregnancy or the startling protrusion of her nipples. She had it rucked up to her fleshy mid-thighs and sat unselfconsciously with her legs crossed in a wicker chair overlooking the facility’s arbor. Somersby guessed she was at least seven months along.

  “I told the other policemen everything,” she said calmly. “There’s really nothing else.”

  “Perhaps you could recap it for me, then,” Somersby suggested. His greatest asset as a cop, he’d been told over and over, was his disarming nature. He didn’t project the kind of alpha threat the other bulls did. This made him absolutely lethal in the interrogation room. He was the perfect Good Cop. The problem was, his usual Bad Cop foil, Larry Wilkes, was off having an appendectomy. Lucky bastard.

  “Who did this to you, Margaret?”

  “She was an angel,” the woman said.

  “I’m sorry?” asked Somersby. “She?”

  “Yes.”

  Somersby paused. There were so many confusing elements here he didn’t know which one to tackle first. The cops who’d taken her statement months ago were incompetent and left a wake of incomplete paperwork behind them. To cap it off, the victim, who was also the only witness, was a mental patient. He wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he’d stepped in here.

  “So...she was an angel, as in, she was a kind, nice person?” Hoping against hope.

  “I meant she was an angel. A heavenly being. Not of this earth. And she chose me to be the vessel of her seed.”

  Her face tilted up toward the angled sunlight of the late afternoon, and Somersby was even more strongly reminded of Ingrid Bergman. The calm of those blue eyes unnerved him. They were nothing like the eyes in her DUI arrest photo from two years ago. Those eyes, Somersby remembered, had been hatchet-like with rage and alcohol. It hadn’t been an easy arrest; in the photo, her swollen lips twisted in a snarl below a bruised cheekbone. He found it hard to believe the vicious bar-slut in the mug shot was the same woman before him.

  “You keep saying she did this,” said Somersby. “That this…female angel assaulted you.”

  “It was not an assault,” she said. “She had no need to force me. I was willing. I was honored.”

  There was something implacable about her serenity. Somersby managed not to sigh. “So this…lady angel impregnated you.”

  “Yes.” She nodded. That seemingly ever-ready joy rose to the surface of her eyes again. She laid reverent palms on her belly. “And made my life wonderful.”

“But...if she was female...” Framing the question appropriately strained even Somersby’s tactful best.

  The case had been a hot potato he’d been unlucky enough to catch. An unsolved sexual assault in a rural county with no unsolved crimes. And Somersby had pissed off his chief by busting his nephew for vandalism. It was a righteous collar, too; he’d caught the little shit in the act.

  “If she was female,” Margaret finished his sentence with a smile, “then how could she have given me a baby?” Those eyes carried a glint of humor now.

  Thank God. “Yes, more or less.”

  “It’s no great mystery. She had a penis, of course.” Margaret said it in such an offhand way that Somersby almost nodded yes, of course. Then he caught himself.

  “A penis.”

  “It was beautiful. So big. But then, she was beautiful all over...like a vision. More perfect than those women you see in Cosmo. She had an inner light. She glowed.”

  Somersby eyed the woman. She was glowi

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