Birthday Presents (futa/female, futa/futa, futa/male, incest

Story by jokermon

This one's set in the same universe as Dime a Dance and Casey at the Bat. It was a back-burner story that I never intended to post. I'm dumping it now because I think we could all use it. The next chapter of Compartments II will be up by mid-next-week.

the story

Birthday Presents

A Short Story by jokermon

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction. None of the characters or events are real, or represent real people or real medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. It that's not your bag, don't read it. If reading this type of material is illegal where you reside due to your age or whatever, don't read it. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission

The motel was cheap, but thankfully, clean. Francine Mollinger collapsed onto the bed like a gunshot victim and closed her eyes.

She couldn't sleep, not yet, although she desperately wanted to after a long day's drive and more to come tomorrow. She needed a shower. A long and hot and thorough one, followed by a luxurious application of that new body lotion she'd picked up in South Carolina. Then she had to plug her laptop into the motel's advertised 'lightning fast' Wi-Fi and rattle off about a dozen emails to her department back in Boca. Most of it was good news, thank God, but there were other concerns about the new off-site data storage facility up in Charleston that she'd just inspected.

Then, she had to swallow her pride and find out exactly where she was. She was lost.

Well, perhaps not completely lost. She knew she was somewhere in Georgia, near the coast and just north of the Florida state line. She was driving back to South Florida on the return leg of a business trip, and cursing, among other things, her mordant fear of flying.

The motel's advertised A/C was working, so far. The suffocating trudge from her car to the room had just about melted her. Even after three years in Florida, she was still a Montana girl at heart; the kiln-like heat of these southern states refused to grow on her. Especially on an August night like this one, in the middle of God-knew-where.

She didn't even know the name of this little town. There hadn't been any Welcome to signs along the approach. It sat hidden in a baffling warren of local roads off the I-95, which she had no idea how to get back to, and according to the last road sign she saw, somewhere in the vicinity of a place rather hysterically named Jekyll Island.

Probably at the mouth of Hyde Bay, she thought with a grimace. The idea that she really didn't know where she was disconcerted her. It was also a little depressing. At some point while she was driving around South Carolina she'd lost her cell phone.

It was a dreadful shock. She only realized it was gone after she'd gotten turned around somewhere here in southern Georgia. She'd pulled over to use a GPS app and found her smartphone was missing. After tearing her car apart in a near-panic, she tried to check Google Maps on her laptop. She discovered that she'd left the stupid thing on and the battery was completely drained. For an added helping of grief, she'd also lost the car adaptor.

I miss my smartphone, she thought mournfully. She had no worries about the security of her personal information; the phone was password, retinal and thumb-print protected. Her phone was just something she'd gotten so used to having with her that she felt naked and unprotected without it. Its absence felt like sheâd lost a limb or a minor vital organ, like a spleen or a kidney.

She drew a deep breath.

I am not lost. It's impossible for me to be lost. I'll power up my laptop and get reoriented. I'll be back in Boca by noon tomorrow. I just took a wrong turn. Or two.

She chewed her lip, chagrined. Like when I left Montana...and Mark...in the first place.

She could tell where her thoughts were drifting. She corralled them.

I am, she thought to herself firmly, exactly where I should be. I am fast-tracking up the ladder in a highly competitive and, let's face it, male-dominated supply-chain management company. There will be time for a husband and babies and regular life once my place is secure. The company loves me, and they rely on me, but I haven't made myself indispensable. Not yet.

The sly thought that her indispensability might never occur nagged her, like it always did.

She sighed and felt a pang in her chest. She missed her family and friends up in the prairies. It had been over a year since her last visit. She felt another pang, this one lower and more intimate. She especially missed Mark, her college beau.

Her treacherous brain called up a m

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