Slap and Tickle (futa-male, futa-futa)

SLAP AND TICKLE

A Short Story by jokermon

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your bag, don't read it. If reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it. All characters and events are fictitious and are not meant to imply any real-world people, occurrences or medical conditions. This story is copyright the author©2023.

I met Sophie Evans in 1961, the year my wife died. The two events weren’t connected.

Sophie was a recent addition to Valence Chemical’s secretarial pool. A very welcome addition; most of our secretaries were crotchety old ladies who should have retired back in the thirties. Not to sound unsympathetic, but arthritis and poor hearing were significant impediments to our workplace productivity.

Sophie didn’t have those issues. She was in her twenties, smart as a whip and pretty as a pageant winner. I found out later she actually was a pageant winner: Junior Miss Norfolk County Cheddar Producers’ Association of 1953. She was highly competent to boot. I had just gotten a big promotion and a big new office. She was the secretary that came with it.

The first time I saw her, though, I swore inwardly. I was unfashionably crazy about my wife (it was mutual) and I wanted to stay faithful. At thirty-one I was mature enough to know I was still young enough to get myself in trouble. The old biddies never presented any kind of temptation. Sophie was another story.

She was an olive-skinned brunette with dimpled cheeks and catlike hazel eyes. She was chatty and friendly. Too much so. She told me she was Guyanese and German on her mother’s side, Scottish and Filipino on her Dad’s. For early-60’s Connecticut, this was quite an exotic mix.

Her bustline was so impressive that it confounded the enforced modesty of our office dress code. When she stood to shake my hand, I saw her blazer was styled short to reveal a pinched waist and a pulse-quickening hip-flare. When she turned to grab a pen from her desk drawer, I caught a side view of her rear end, hugged by her pencil skirt.

I gulped. Sophie had at least a forty-inch rump that was so well-rounded it made me feel like I’d been punched in the stomach. Back in the day we called a figure like that pure dynamite. Explosions in every direction.

She had a way of staying true to the letter of the dress code while violating its essential spirit. Her tops weren’t low-cut enough to be an infraction, but they were fitted well enough to make cleavage superfluous. Likewise, her skirts always fell below the knee, but clung distractingly.

Not only was she attractive, her manner was suggestive as well. She always had a smile for me, and it was always a little too inviting. Whenever she shook my hand (which she did at the beginning and end of every work day) she would always hold it a little too long. When we were discussing a document on my desk, she would lean over me and press her breasts into my back.

That was another thing. She was always touching me. Whenever she came in range I could always count on a squeeze on the shoulder, or a spontaneous little backrub if she thought I looked stressed.

I won’t lie. It was very pleasant.

When she was that close to me, her perfume became evident. She always wore just a touch of the most captivating scent I’d ever smelled. It was an unabashedly carnal blend of vanilla and cinnamon. It made my head spin. The merest whiff of it was enough to give me an erection.

In fact, Sophie-induced boners became a daily issue. The woman physically aroused me several times a day. Even with frequent masturbation breaks in my office john, her ability to tempt me remained undiminished.

I gritted my teeth and resisted. Whenever she drew near, I stolidly averted my gaze and did my best to focus on my job. I tried to be nice, but kept our interactions as terse as possible. After a week, I was seriously thinking about replacing her with one of the crotchety old ladies. I was irritable and unfocused. It was beginning to negatively impact my work.

To put this in perspective, there was, in general, a lot of inappropriate sexual conduct in the workplace back then. There were no HR departments to police it. It was tolerantly referred to as ‘the ole slap and tickle.’ I never partook. I’d seen, first-hand, how a man could destroy his life through disastrous infidelities with his s

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