Laundry Day (futa/female, futa/futa, coercion, blackmail)

Laundry Day

Because it's All so Dirty.

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, don't read it.lf reading adult material is unlawful where you reside due to your age or whatever, don't read it. None of the characters are real and nothing in this story is meant to reflect actual events or real-life medical conditions. This story is copyright the author©2016.

I. Soak

Sheila Fletcher closed the dryer and jabbed the On button. As the clothes began to tumble, she pressed her pelvis against the warm, vibrating metal. She closed her eyes and gripped the edges. A half-smile curled her strawberry lips as she lost herself in the rumble and shudder. Masturbating like this was an everyday thing for her. It was a harmless bit of excitement she allowed herself every morning. A happy sigh escaped her.

She heard a noise. There was someone standing at the screen door of her one-storey pre-fab's back entrance.

Oh...crap.

Wendy Boggs grinned at her through the mesh. Sheila's breath caught, and she licked her lips nervously. Her excitement grew, becoming something darker, less controlled.

Sheila's unwanted visitor stood there with her hips cocked in a pair of cheek-baring denim cut-offs, cowboy boots, and a man’s sleeveless plaid work shirt tied off above her navel. A rancher’s straw Stetson tilted up over her fresh-scrubbed face. The Texas morning sunlight sparkled in the 19-year-old’s curly blonde hair.

“Hiya neighbor,” came Wendy’s cheerful greeting. “That looks like fun. Mind if I come in?” Her eyes tracked a slow, insolent sweep over Sheila’s body.

Sheila wished she wasn't wearing such cutsey-housewifey pink housecoat. The silly thing was nearly transparent, and barely reached mid-thigh. With fuzzy trim, no less. It showed off her buxom figure a little too well. She’d just gotten out of the shower and was naked under it. She heaved a deep, petulant sigh, and closed her eyes again.

She let the dryer resonate in her flattened pubic mound for a few more seconds, then, without a word, detached herself. She put her back to Wendy and walked into the living room. She heard the rickety screen door squeak and clatter as it opened and shut. She glanced at the clock on the mantel of the faux fireplace: 10:23 am. She went to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a stiff drink.

“A little early for that, don’t you think?” Wendy’s sweet voice carried gentle amusement.

“Go fuck yourself,” muttered Sheila. She downed her drink and gave Wendy a glare. “I mean it. Yourself, this time.” She tightened the belt of her housecoat. A futile gesture, she knew. Every curve and contour she possessed was legible through it.

“Sorry,” answered Wendy calmly. “Not part of our arrangement.”

“Fuck our arrangement, too,” Sheila said truculently. There was no real defiance in her and she knew it, just surly bad grace. She fumbled with the glass to refill it.

“Behave, Sheila.” Calmly, without any warning or preamble, Wendy unzipped her shorts. She leaned forward slightly to wriggle them down past her hips, and then let them drop to the floor. She wore no panties underneath. A large pink penis sprang out, semi-erect and bouncing.

Any rational observer to this abrupt occurrence would have jumped a foot or fainted dead away. A neatly trimmed sandy-blonde rectangle of pubic hair sat atop Wendy's mound. Instead of sloping down into a vulva, her mound fattened and extended into a great trunk-like organ. An uncut foreskin half-concealed a broad, bulbous head that shone as though polished.

Sheila merely gave the bobbing member a wary-but-unsurprised glance. She'd crossed over into the sexual Twilight Zone that surrounded Wendy Boggs long ago. It was amazing what one could accept and even take for granted over time.

Wendy Boggs was a girl—all girl, right down to her ovaries, Sheila knew. But she was also a girl with some perplexing differences. For instance; a perfectly normal vagina lay behind that perfectly normal (albeit quite large) ball sack. Sheila had seen that vagina many times.

Sheila remembered how she had, in fact, nearly passed out the first time she'd seen Wendy in all her glory so many months ago. “A lot of the girls in my family have them,” she'd said proudly, shaking he

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