Laura's Thing

LAURA'S THING

A short story by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. It is entirely fictional and nothing in it is intended to represent any real-life people, events or medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If 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. Do not repost without permission. This story is copyright the author©2004.

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Something happened to me in my third year of college that I've got to talk about.

Like many spoiled young boys with affluent, influential parents, my folks had gotten me into a really good, big-name Southeastern University and, well...I totally fucked that up in my first year. There was a scandal that I'd rather not talk about and the upshot was that I had to transfer out to continue on at a different, less prestigious college down in Georgia. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say it was that or jail.

I lasted in the Peach State less than a year before poor grades and partying flunked me out and I wound up retaking my second year at some last-chance-U over in Arkansas. Then-Governor Clinton took a dump there once, or something, and that was its sole claim to fame.

If it sounds like I didn't care much about education, that's perfectly accurate. I was a dipshit, not to put it too mildly. My folks were (and are) filthy rich and I had a trust fund that rivaled the income of any University Chancellor. I also had an inheritance package waiting for me that didn't care if I made anything of myself or not. At the time, screwing around and having a good time until I turned twenty-five and nabbed the big enchilada seemed like a perfectly good plan. Which shows you what a shallow, stupid fuck I was.

When I started at this new university, my parents, showing some real backbone for a change, cut my monthly trust-fund payout to a fraction of what it was (goddamn Power of Attorney) so I wouldn't have as many distractions available to me. You can bet that provoked some tantrums over the phone.

For the first time in my life, I had to take on a roommate to help pay the rent in this cool little bachelor's bungalow I'd leased off-campus. It was either that or give up the Lamborghini Diablo, and there was no way I was going to do that. That car got me laid more than a PhD's worth of charming conversation and personality ever could.

I went with the first person that showed up, which was a choice that would have an enormous impact on the rest of my life. She was a tall, studious-looking Southern Belle with round wire-frame glasses around her cool blue eyes. Her hair was long, blonde, and very straight and her body showed lush possibilities under her shapeless undergrad khakis. I thought she was hot, so I took her on as a roommate, thinking that it might be good to have a female around, sort of like pussy in reserve in case I didn't score at parties (I'm not making this up; it's physically painful to recount this).

I should mention that at that time in my life, I'd never really had a girlfriend. There'd been plenty of call girls, of course, since I was old enough to use a phone, and quite a few one-night stands. Being rich means you can always get laid, but I couldn't really talk to women. I never knew what to say, and the overwhelming pressure to quit talking and fuck already always hampered me. I liked college parties, especially ones with lots of booze, because girls would be getting drunk and that made my prospects better. Being rich, of course, also automatically makes you interesting to women, but I was so hopeless when it came to interacting with them I could only get so far with that alone.

Laura was a scholarship student who never spoke about her family. I think they were very poor or something. Her lovely Arkansas twang would get more deep-woodsy whenever she got angry or emotional.

She worked at some restaurant to supplement her scholarship and studied more seriously than anyone I'd ever met. She was also a very private person and my constant attempts to see her naked were thwarted by a regime of locked bedrooms and bathrooms. She never set foot outside her room unless she was fully covered. All my fondest hopes for a casual female roommate who would lounge around in her panties were dashed. When she griped about her cheap boss at work, I suggested she become a stripper because she'd make more money and she sure had the body for it. At first she laughed, thinking I was joking. When she saw that I wasn't--hey, to me it sounded like a good way to get to see her naked--she got really cold toward me.

When her expression froze, it was a testament to what an ass I was that I actually said "What?"

For a while, I thought she might be a lesbian, because she was always so remote with me and she never went out with guys, but I had to ditch that idea because she never dated women, either. Late at night, through the wall, I'd hear slapping sounds and little gasps, and it turned me on to know she masturbated. It sounded almost the same as when I beat off, and I thought that was kinda cool.

One weekend I decided I'd had enough and wanted to get myself some Laura-pussy. I rented some DVD's and procured some booze and roofies. I still wince at my thinking. I figured after I'd fucked her, I'd clean her up and put her in her bed and she'd never know what happened. At the back of my mind was even the repugnant hope that I might be able to make this a regular thing.

It was a Saturday night, and Laura usually watched a little TV before going to bed. I bustled in with movies and drinks and declared this an official movie night. She looked surprised, but not unpleased as I popped in a flick and poured us some rum and cokes. I had gotten a flick I knew she'd like (some boring chick thing) and we proceeded to drink and watch the movie. I knew girls had tiny little bladders, and sure enough, after one drink, Laura asked me to pause the disc so she could go to the washroom. I did so, like a perfect gentleman, and as soon as she was out of the room I dosed her drink with Rohypnol.

I chugged my drink waiting for her to come back, and slammed another one down to settle my nerves. It was exactly this kind of idiotic stunt that sent me to Georgia after my first year. But I was really excited now and knew there was no turning back.

I kept drinking, and by the time she came back, and all that booze had gotten to me, so I excused myself to hit the washroom too. Laura joked that it 'must be contagious,' and I chuckled along with her.

When I came back I was gratified to see Laura polishing off her doped drink and I knew the cat was in the bag. I took a deep victory swig of my rum and coke and that's when the night got kinda weird. Ordinarily I can hold my liquor really well, but all of a sudden it was like the number of drinks I'd had had multiplied themselves and I was suddenly very drunk and very woozy. Everything got kinda hazy and I could dimly hear Laura saying something to me and me answering something, but I had no clue what. The rest of the evening faded into one long blur and it wasn't until I woke up all groggy the next morning in my own bed with no memory past that last bathroom break, I realized I had somehow drunk from the wrong glass. Or they'd been switched.

It was noon, and I could hear Laura's printer chugging away in her room. I quickly put on some clothes; I was naked, which was disquieting, because ordinarily I never sleep that way.

Laura was sitting at her desk, looking fresh and pretty in a white cotton tank top and baggy track shorts. For some reason I recalled at that time that Laura never seemed to wear anything tight down below. I thought it was a shame because I could tell she had nice hips and there was definitely a fine shapely ass down in there somewhere. Laura had a stack of color photo-prints pressed to her bosom, picture side in, like a little girl carrying books to school. She smiled at me, the first real smile I think I'd ever gotten from her. I didn't notice at first that it was a smile of suppressed mirth.

"Hey Bo," she said (Beauregard's my name, I know, blame my parents and their god-awful pretensions to Virginian gentry), "Looking a little under the weather this morning."

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd drunk that much." I forced a laugh. "Guess I'm getting old. Look, I hope I didn't do or say anything, um, dumb while I was hammered-?"

"Oh no, Bo," she said, and I got the impression she was holding back laughter. "You were no trouble at all."

I sighed with relief. "Good. I don't know what came over me-"

"Oh I think I can guess," she cut in. "Let me see. Was it a little Gamma-Hydroxyl-Butyrate? Chloral hydrate, perhaps? Or maybe some good old-fashioned Rohypnol, 'roofies' to the date-rape set?"

I flushed. "I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Imagine my surprise when my creepy, spoiled throwback of a roommate suddenly shows up acting all nice with alcohol and movies. Imagine my complete lack of surprise when I pretend to go to the little girls' room and sneak back to observe him drugging my drink."

My stomach dropped. "You switched the glasses."

"You're damn right I did! Jesus, Bo!" she shook her head in a kind of amazed amusement. "I knew you were callow, but..." She took off her glasses and tossed them on her desk. "Did you think I just fell off the apple truck yesterday? We go to a university, Bo. They have women's self-defense seminars on this type of thing. How stupid can you possibly be, trying to drug and rape a woman you live with? My god, you are a walking Darwin award."

I didn't know what that phrase meant at the time. I just knew I was stung by her calling me stupid and unnerved by her using the word rape. That was a very serious word, a potential jail word, and incredible as may seem, I didn't see it that way.

"Hold it," I said, "I don't know about calling it rape..."

For the first time, she looked angry. "Well what the hell do you call it?"

My face was burning and I wanted to sink through the floor. "It's not like...I was...you know...gonna put a knife to your throat or anything. Come on," I could hear the whine coming into my voice and I despised it. I could feel the cold sweat start to prickle my underarms. "I'm not a rapist. I don't go prowling alleys at night...it's not the same thing at all. I was just trying to get laid."

"Just trying to get laid?"

She was incredulous. And more than that, genuinely enraged.

"Bo, I hate to break the news to you but there's this thing called consent. If the woman doesn't give it, it's rape. Period. No matter how nicely you do it." She was so angry I thought she might throw something at me. "My God, what are you? At first I thought you were kinda cute, you were like this naïve little boy who didn't know what to do with himself, but now ..."

I was terrified. "What are you gonna do?"

"Bo, if you wanted to have sex with me, did it ever occur to you to simply ask?"

Then I was angry. "Oh yeah. That's what they all say. And then they always say no when you do ask. They always say they want a man to be direct but then they never reward a guy when he is. And if you try to do it the other way, you have to be fucken Sean Connery. You gotta say the right things, or do something that impresses them and I never know what to say or what I'm supposed to do, or how. They never make it easy. I don't know how to jump through all these damn hoops. I just wanna have sex." I was barely coherent.

Her voice was cold. "Then why don't you go to a hooker?"

"I can't," I burst out. "My fucking parents have put me on a shoestring because of my grades and I can't even make rent without a roommate!"

I stopped, appalled at how much I'd just revealed.

"I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to get a job and earn some extra money."

"A job?"

I was genuinely horrified, and it showed on my face. Laura's expression became like steel.

"That does it," she said quietly. She drew a deep breath, apparently coming to some internal decision. "At first, I was just going to use these to make you keep your distance, but now..."

She held out the photo prints that her computer had just spat out. I took them and looked at them.

I staggered, literally staggered when my brain resolved what my eyes were seeing.

I sat down heavily on Laura's bed. They were pictures of me, arranged four to a page, taken in the den. They were all taken in tight close up and in every one a gigantic penis protruded into the frame and I was happily sucking on it. My eyes were either closed in apparent ecstasy or partly open in dopey bemusement as my lips distended around this king-size salami with its flaring red helmet. My shoulders were bare and I appeared to be naked. The cock was real, no doubt, thick and veined and in several shots, clearly dribbling pre-cum. My face was shiny with the stuff.

I shuffled through the pile of printed photo paper and it got worse. In one, a huge ball sack stuffed my mouth. In another, they dangled teasingly above my face, and my tongue was extended to lick them. My spit gleamed on the wrinkles and little hairs. In yet another, I smiled vacantly into the camera as jets of sperm spewed point-blank from the flaring head to frost my face like marzipan. The closing sequence of shots showed the cock, seemingly undiminished in girth, sweeping the cum into my open mouth for me to gulp down. In the last shot I was actually waving goodbye, sloppily beaming like a mentally retarded child who has just finished an extra slice of cake.

Horrified doesn't begin to describe it. I was almost sick. I nearly shat myself.

"What the hell is this?" I croaked, "This is some kind of trick..."

"No trick, Bo. You'd be amazed how tractable you are under the influence of a date rape drug."

I looked closer at the pictures. I couldn't help it. That cock was twice the size of mine. It drew me with the morbid fascination of a train wreck. None of the photos revealed the body or face of whoever owned that giant piece of meat.

"Who's the guy?"

"Someone you know," she said.

That rocked me. I wracked my brains, trying to think of who it might be. I couldn't begin to imagine any of my buddies doing this.

She took the photos from my hands.

"I've already emailed copies to several friends, Bo. If you give me any grief or try anything stupid, they'll post all of these, and more, to every campus message board."

I was devastated. I couldn't think from the dread that spawned in me. Something like that could ruin me, could follow me the rest of my life.

"What do you want?"

"Finally an intelligent question. The first thing I want is for you to take a shower and get cleaned up. You look terrible. Go."

I went.

As I showered, I tried to think of a way out of this, but thinking wasn't really my strong suit then. Also, I was rattled beyond the capacity to think clearly. I was scared shitless this might get out and people would think I was a cocksucker, a cum-eating queer. I was amazed at the stones Laura had shown, having some fag friend of hers come over to take those horrible digital pictures once she had realized what I'd tried. I only prayed she wasn't going to demand exorbitant sums of hush money for this. Coming from a poor family, she probably had no conception of what real money was. I might be able to foist her off with a couple thousand. I'd probably have to sell my car, but so be it. Again, I cursed my parents for putting me in this situation. If they hadn't strapped me for cash, I never would have gotten a roommate in the first place.

As I was drying off, I heard Laura call me from the den. "In here, Casanova."

She was sitting in my lazy boy recliner. She looked at me as I came in. "Take off your clothes."

I was startled. I looked at her, trying to see if she really meant it. The look she gave back was dead serious.

"Do it."

I took off my clothes. I was really embarrassed because as scared as I was, my dick was really shriveled. She looked me over appraisingly.

"You take good care of yourself, Bo. Pity." She gestured at a patch of carpet in front of her. "Kneel down, there."

"Look," I said, trying to sound reasonable and calm (I was feeling neither), "if it's money you want, I can get that for you. Do you have any idea how rich my family is?"

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Hoo boy, does that ever settle it. I don't want your money. Do you think you can bulldoze through life and then throw money at the messes you make to fix them? It doesn't work that way, Beauregard. You can't buy off responsibility. This is something all of the money in the world can't get you out of. Do you understand that?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to do what I tell you. Kneel. Now."

I did it.

Laura rose up and stood in front of me. She fiddled with the waistband of her shorts for a bit, like she was thinking something over. Then she pushed them down decisively and stepped out of them.

Her tummy was smooth and toned and her hips spread dramatically. She had a bush of gingery blonde curls trimmed close to the base of her belly. Below it, the huge penis from the photos emerged like a third leg from the juncture of her thighs.

I nearly fainted. I thought I was hallucinating. I felt like reality as I'd known it had disappeared in my sleep and left me stranded here in the Twilight Zone. Behind all the shock and horror, I felt vaguely resentful and abandoned.

Her uncircumcised foreskin rode up over the head leaving only the tip of her dome exposed. Hanging limp, it was thicker and longer than my fiercest erection. It hung down her thighs like some kind of smooth fleshy cucumber. Her legs were sleek and well-shaped behind it, her skin unblemished and soft. Her ball sack looked like it was overstuffed with two big Florida oranges, taut around the weight of the orbs, creasing in loose folds as it swept up to the under-base of her slab. It was clean and perfect, a magnificent specimen. I could feel my guts gnawing in envy and consternation.

She took hold of it and stroked. Her eyes were inscrutable behind her round wire-rims. Her beefy prick inflated, rising through her fist and stiffening to an alarming size. The head swelled to the size of a tangerine. She pulled back the foreskin and it flared bigger still. She shook it in my face, scant inches from my lips.

"Suck it."

I couldn't speak, couldn't move.

"Come on. You did it well enough last night."

I managed to shake my head a fraction and make a tiny sound of negation.

"Suck it or else."

I groaned. A little bead of pre-cum had formed in her slit. She touched it to my lips, and traced it over them like lip-gloss. I opened up and she filled my mouth with her meat.

It tasted fleshy and strong. Her fluid was sticky and salty-sweet. I had to keep my mouth open wide to take it in.

"Good. Now suck."

God help me, I sucked. She pulled it from my mouth briefly and told me to work up a good mouthful of spit. I did, and then she put it back in my mouth. I felt the spit overflow my mouth as she pushed in deeper than before.

"Keep sucking. Use your tongue. That's it."

Her fingers slid through my hair, caressing me. She directed my head back and forth gently. She gave me instructions on how to please her. She began breathing a little deeper.

Laura took hold of her tank and took it off. My eyes widened as I looked up at her body. Her breasts were perfect, bigger than I'd realized, round and weighty and gleaming. They rolled as she pulled her shirt off over them. Her nipples were tight and stiff and her areolas were puffy and pink.