The Hangover

Got a new for ya'll. A little naughtier than usual. Futa on Female, nc themes (sorta).

The Hangover

A short story by jokermon

This is a piece of erotic fantasy fiction containing explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content.

If that's not your thing, don't read it. If reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside,

don't read it. Do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©the author 2008.

Amanda came to groggily, and her first coherent thought was, why am I gagged?

She was lying atop her own bed in her own apartment, and while she felt excellent considering all the alcohol she'd consumed the night before, the fact that there was a band of black silk over her mouth, knotted somewhere around the back of her head was disconcerting.

The gag wasn't uncomfortable, nor was it terribly tight. There was something in her mouth, however, a large wad of some kind of cloth, and the gag prevented her from spitting it out. She reached up to remove it, and belatedly discovered her hands were restrained.

She stared down at herself. The shock of the leather cuffs on her wrists (linked by steel rings to a leather belt around her waist) was secondary to the fact of her blatant, creamy-white nudity. Her large, mixing-bowl breasts lolled cheerfully in the morning sunlight. Her nipples stood perky in the open air. For some reason she still had last night's open-toe high heels on, but aside from those, and her restraints, Amanda was as naked as a newborn babe. Her small blonde triangle of pubic hair caught rays from the rising sun, and its filaments shone.

She never slept in the nude. She always wore one of several pairs of tatty, comfy flannel pj's that covered her from neck to feet. She didn't even own any skimpy nighties. What is going on?

Realization hit her like a club, making her dizzy. Oh my God, Erica...the bet...

She had gone clubbing with some friends last night. They had been 'celebrating' the collapse of her two-year engagement, trying to cheer her up. The man she had almost married had revealed himself as a liar and a jerk, and she had no regrets about breaking it off; still, she had been sad about returning to the loneliness of the single life. Her friend Erica joked about calling it her 'spinsterhood' and Amanda almost slapped her. Amanda was 35, but a damn good-looking and firm 35, thank you very much. Erica's humor was sometimes a little too close to the edge.

Like when she