The Cub Reporter

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

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. It features explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, 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. Everything in this story is fictitious and not meant to represent any real-life people, events or medical conditions. All characters in sexual situations are over the age of 18 regardless of any age portrayed for narrative or dramatic purposes. Do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©2024 J. K. Ermon.

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Violet Vollmer laid the ledgers open on the huge mahogany desk, side by side. The goose-neck desk lamp was the only illumination in the room. She pulled the tiny spy camera from her clutch and snapped photos quickly and expertly.

She thought she heard something. She stopped and listened. No one was supposed to be up there tonight. Especially not her.

She could hear music and crowd noises from the main area of the club downstairs, muffled and distorted by padded doors and stairwells. Modesto's was a posh nightclub most nights of the week, but on Sundays it was the most exclusive sausage joint in Nashville. That night was a particularly special occasion: it was Memorial Day weekend, 1965, and Modesto's own ten-year anniversary. Violet had made a wrong turn downstairs and almost caught a glimpse of the floor show. Thankfully, she'd gotten oriented in time. She was curious, but not that curious.

She strained her ears until she was satisfied she was alone on the second story. She resumed taking pictures. Every page held evidence of payoffs, prostitution, and a half-a-dozen illegal income sources. For a cub reporter trying to make a name for herself on the crime beat, this was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

She carefully replaced the ledgers in the hidden wall safe behind the Monet print. She made sure their spines lined up exactly as she found them. There were stacks of cash in there as well, and bulging eight-by-ten manila envelopes.

Fortunately, the envelopes weren't sealed. She brought them to the desk and began examining their contents one at a time.

She drew a sharp breath. It was a blackmail trove.

Each envelope was filled with at least a dozen photos of some local politician or police official having sex with dickgirls. In some of them, the marks were sprawled on couches while the surprisingly beautiful Hag-bred dollies performed fellatio. In other shots, the subjects were having full-on intercourse. The women's penises were visible in every picture, Violet noted queasily, and they were all exceedingly well-hung. Those arresting dongs wagged every which way. They were often being grasped or masturbated. Violet found it difficult to look away from them.

Each envelope was devoted to a different public figure. Their names were written on them. Violet made sure to document that. All of the photosets seemed to have been taken in the same upscale hotel suite, and she felt sure she could identify the place with time to study enlargements.

She dumped out a fresh envelope and nearly dropped a photo when she saw its contents: a famous local evangelical minister being fucked in the ass by not one, but three pretty dickgirls, one after the other. The girls were all wearing cheerleader uniforms, for some reason.

Oh dear sweet Lord in heaven, Violet thought faintly.

She knew the man. He'd been her pastor, growing up, before his ministry had grown and spread across the Southwest. Now here he was, wearing nothing but that same saintly smile made famous from his billboards, being penetrated by the varsity big-dick cheer squad.

She stared at the photos. The girls looked just as delighted as he did. Violet ruminated that you didn't often see a woman wearing that expression -- like she couldn't believe her luck in getting laid and was just wild about it. In fact, in every shot where they were mounted upon him, they looked ready to sing or outright weep with happiness. And in the shots where they were waiting their turn, they were stroking their greased-up prods with palpable anticipation. In several, they were spurting prematurely all over the coupling couple.

Violet suppressed a shudder and forced herself to look through the other envelopes. It was all more of the same. In a surprising number of them, men and women were performing fellatio upon the dickgirls. She recognized celebrities, socialites, and in one case, a city councilwoman. Violet's stomach fluttered and her pulse quickened.

I should be nauseated. I should be horrified. But I'm not.

On the contrary, she'd never felt more alive. At last, she was doing what she was supposed to be doing: getting to the truth. It had been drilled into her at the UNC Chapel Hill school of Journalism. Get to the truth. It was the departmental axiom.

She laid out the photos under the desk lamp, three-by-three, and snapped her own copies of them. Her heart was racing. She was a little flustered to realize there was an excited little pulse between her legs, too. She gritted her teeth and bore down on the task at hand.

She had a randy and rebellious little beaver that gave her more trouble than she cared to admit. For as long as she could remember, it had been a source of weird urges and mortifying symptoms. Her embarrassingly frequent trips to the gyno couldn't keep it in check.

Then her reporter's eyes noticed something. Not only were the photos all shot in the same location, it was the same three dickgirls in every photoset. The pics were all in black-and-white, but it looked like a blonde, a brunette and a redhead. The large-breasted blonde was the most frequently-photographed one. Also, the person being blackmailed was always wearing the same dreamy expression. They looked bemused, as though they didn't know how they got into this situation, but certainly weren't unhappy about it.

Drugged. Wonder how the bastards administered it.

Something else caught her eye. The photos were all taken at different angles. This wasn't some stationary camera behind a two-way mirror. They were taken by someone in the room, someone visible to the participants.

Good Lord, they knew they were being photographed!

And yet... there they all were, just smiling away benignly. It made no sense.

She checked the safe thoroughly for false backings or hidden compartments. There were none.

She bit her lip. She'd been hoping for some evidence as to the actual identity of the elusive owner of Modesto's. It was a longstanding local mystery. Whoever-he-was ran the place anonymously through various henchmen, and, notoriously, even a few dickgirl henchwomen. No one knew his name, nor had anybody ever laid eyes on him.

Oh well.

She put the photos back in the correct sequence in their respective envelopes. She returned them to the safe. She shut it, spun the dial (making sure it stopped at five o'clock, just like she found it) and replaced the artwork over it.

She gave the office a final once-over to ensure there was no sign of her intrusion. Then she listened again until she was sure the coast was clear.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the getaway. She shook her head a little in disbelief. Who would've thought Violet Valencia Vollmer would land on the dickgirl beat. She'd hated them her whole life.

Everyone knew that the Hag-born were a plague and a pestilence upon this great nation. There were, wisely, laws in place to contain their depravity. So why were there sausage joints in every town of every size from the Midwest to the Pacific corridor? Why did the circulations of sausage mags like Hungbunny and Bustwanger rival that of Life Magazine?

Here, Violet had found answers. Corruption. Collusion. Bribery to look the other way and extortion when that failed.

It had taken months to uncover Modesto's as the main hub of Nashville's dickgirl underworld. Months of her editor flatly refusing to take her findings seriously. Months of him refusing to assign her a photographer or any other resources. Months of duly submitting vapid fashion pieces (which were all he thought female reporters were good for) while carrying on her secret investigations at night.

Then finally, the dizzying break. She discovered the combination to the manager's safe by piecing together several torn-up scraps of paper from a dumpster. The wastepaper basket from the manager's office always had a distinctive pink plastic liner. She'd gotten into the habit of discreetly checking for it in the Modesto's trash. It paid off.

Now she had her proof. Now her editor would have to put her on the front page, where she belonged. She could almost smell the Pulitzer.

She turned off the desk lamp and picked up her high-heeled shoes. They were fashionable but noisy on these hardwood floors. She'd removed them as soon as she was past the bouncers.

She exited the office and padded barefoot downstairs. The stairwell led to a corridor by the rear employee entrance, next to the employees' changing rooms. Going the other way, the corridor elbow-turned into the open archway to the main lounge area, where the big party continued. She had no intention of looking that way again.

Violet was garishly dressed in a pair of purple satin hotpants and a cropped pink tank top. While most of the women at Modesto's on a Sunday were Hag-bred, there were always several regular hookers hired on for the night. The dickgirls would have sex with them for the entertainment of the partygoers. Violet had posed as one to get in the building. The gorillas guarding the back doors hadn't given her a second glance when she breezed through.

She paused to step into her prostitute shoes. She was visualizing how she would sashay past the bouncers when the doors to the dressing rooms burst open and a naked dickgirl strode through.

She knew her at once. It was the blonde from the photos upstairs.

Oh... my God.

The shock of recognition, coupled with all that bare, beautiful skin froze Violet in place. The woman had long, straight, sandy-blonde hair and a wholesome, pert, freckled face. It was the face of every girl's more-attractive best friend from high school. There was nothing sleazy or dissipated about her. She greeted Violet with a smile that was broad and friendly and genuine.

She had the buxom curves of a Playboy centerfold, with a tight belly and breasts that could fill a bra easily thrice as big as Violet's own 32C-cup Maidenform (which, in a fit of daring, she'd decided not to wear that night).

Violet couldn't help gaping at her nipples; they were pink and at least an inch tall and wide, towering from equally pink, puffed-up areolas.

Then of course, the woman's penis registered. It was massive. It was even more intimidating in person, and equally difficult to not look at.

Violet blinked, and her reporter's brain automatically captured details. The glans of that penis was the same beautiful pink as the woman's nipples and as smooth as marble. It was wet with its own clear fluids. Its shaft was broad and curved and a slightly more flushed shade of her golden tan skin tone. Like her glans, it looked polished. Below it, her testicles were fully the size of overripe plums and just as smooth. They were the same kissable pink as her nipples and glans.

Jeepers, thought Violet. The woman's whole body was in motion as she came barrelling through the doors. Everything she had was swaying and wobbling and swinging. The only thing she was wearing was a pair of pink high heels that were taller than Violet's.

The reporter felt her cheeks flood with heat. She felt her eyes widen. She got that squishy feeling down below again. Her belligerent little beaver was making its own feelings known once more, and as usual, piping up at the most inappropriate time.

The woman stopped short at the sight of Violet. Everything sort of jiggled to a halt.

She's tiny, noted Violet, another odd reporter reflex. Even in those heels, she's hardly any taller than me. At five-foot-four, Violet's elfin proportions and features always made being taken seriously a challenge.

In contrast, this woman had a larger-than-life presence. She radiated sex appeal. She made Violet want to gulp like an overawed schoolboy, and she fought the impulse.

"Well, hello there," the woman said, in a Midwest voice that was startling to hear this far south. "I didn't see you inside."

"I just got here," blurted out Violet.

"Oh good," the woman said with a warm smile. "You'll be needing a little jay, then."

Jay? As in joint? Is she offering me marijuana?

She was not. The dickgirl put her hand on Violet's head and pushed down.

"Oop!"

Violet found herself on her knees. The woman's incredible beauty and manifest sexuality made her instinctively comply.

What? How did that happen?

The woman grabbed her Johnson by its roots and wagged it in Violet's face. The scent of it hit Violet at once; she was startled by how good it smelled. She couldn't help inhaling deeply. It was both sweet and meaty, like honey-glazed ham, with notes of cinnamon and peppermint. It blended perfectly with the carnal musk below it. Despite herself, her mouth began watering.

Time slowed down. She was familiar with this process. It had happened to her before during moments of adrenaline-fueled excitement. Things went slow-motion while her thoughts sped up.

She wants me to suck it, her brain noted with admirable calm.

She opened her mouth to try talking her way out of this.

I can't refuse, she thought, just as quickly. If I say no, or make some hokey excuse, it'll blow my cover. She'll know.

There was a lot of nonsense about the Hag-born in the public arena, but their ability to spot a lie was something Violet didn't doubt for a second. In her research, she'd come across plenty of evidence proving their ability to correctly read people. All the blackmail material upstairs testified to that.

Should I do it? Should I just give her a blowjob?

The deeply-buried prude inside her protested mightily.

It wasn't that she believed any of the rumors about Hag-bred sperm being some kind of narcotic hallucinogen. She was confident that was malarkey. What held her back now was pure ill-will. She had despised the Hag-born for so long, part of her revolted at doing sexual favors for one.

Well, it's not like there's a choice, woman! She studied that glossy, dripping head. She felt no repulsion. Quite the opposite; it excited her. And you've given blowjobs before. How different could it be?

Sure enough, her beaver was doubling-down in agreement. All the more reason to proceed with caution.

Oh come on. How many boys did you date in high school, anyway?

It was a trick question. She couldn't remember. She'd given all of them blowjobs, though. She'd even put out a couple times. Miss Beaver had been running the show back then.

Even now, she felt that ancient, complex pang of resentment. If it hadn't been for the Hag-born, she never would have sucked any dicks at all. That was the Curse of Comet Seahag: a plague of dickgirls upon the land who would have sex with anyone, anywhere. A normal girl had no choice but to start giving head, just to keep a boy interested.

Once she'd started dating regularly, it appalled her how quickly she came to love blowjobs. They really got her motor running. She went boy-crazy, junior year. She looked forward to having a new cock in her mouth every Saturday night. Her beaver got enthusiastic and allowed the boys more liberties than was wise. She got a reputation. It stuck with her, and it was so bad, after graduation, she had to study journalism out-of-state to get away from it.

If dickgirls hadn't been a factor, that would never have happened. Miss Beaver would have stayed in the backseat where she belonged.

All of that went through her disciplined reporter's brain in less than one heartbeat. Then the woman made the choice for her.

"Oh, you like to tease, huh?"

Her voice was husky and pleasant. She held Violet's head with both hands and shoved her cock forward. It popped through her slack lips.

"Hmph!"

It was astoundingly delicious. That was the first thing she noted. It was salty and succulent, underlaid with that rich, candy-like flavor its scent implied. It was also very thick. Violet had to open wider than she'd ever had to, with any boy, to accept it in her mouth.

She found herself oddly light-headed. The taste of it and its imposing size made her mouth drool and her vagina throb. It dazed her.

Well jeepers, don't act like it's your first time, dummy.

Violet began sucking. It had been a long time since her senior year in high school, and college had been a long dickless dry spell (she'd forced herself to focus on her studies), but it was like riding a bike. It all came back. She was even a little dismayed at how eagerly she found herself wolfing it down. The fact it was dickgirl cock made not the slightest difference. She slurped and licked and got the whole shaft good and wet. Then she grabbed it with both hands, stroked it, and let her mouth follow her fists.

"Oh," sighed the dickgirl.

Knowing she was pleasing her partner aroused Violet. She loathed that she was performing such an intimate act upon a God-damned Hag-bred, but as the woman's excitement grew, so did Violet's, and her consternation too. The woman's penis trembled in her mouth and in her fists; she could feel a climax rising as inevitably as a tide. It was very exciting.

Don't slack off, she thought to herself dizzily. The sooner she comes, the sooner we get out of here.

A dozen cues from different senses gave Violet a complete picture. She could smell the dickgirl's roused cunt; it grew sharper the harder her penis throbbed. She could taste the mild sweetness of the DG's pre-ejaculate; it was flowing strongly. Violet could hear the woman's breathing quicken to panting; she made plaintive little whimpers that were intensely erotic to Violet's ears.

These cues allowed her to perfectly track her subject's trajectory towards orgasm. She knew what to do even before the woman knew she wanted it. Violet soared with a sense of mastery and control. Her heart was singing. She couldn't remember when she'd last felt so high.

When she felt the cum surging up the shaft, the emotion that filled her the most was elated triumph.

"Oh!" the woman gasped.

Violet was ready for the ejaculation when it happened. She was even prepared for how big it would be. She'd studied dickgirl magazines as part of her research and was well aware of Hag-bred capabilities. When the sperm erupted in her mouth, the flavor amazed her - it was far richer than her pre-cum, and as sweet as cake frosting - and she had no trouble gulping it down efficiently, even hungrily. She found herself enjoying it immensely. What she wasn't ready for was how it would make her feel.

She'd downed three of those good-sized spurts when the effect manifested. Her natural high of accomplishment suddenly quadrupled upon itself. It became bigger and more profound than anything natural. She could feel it sweeping through her body, warmly enveloping her in a wave of sensual pleasure.

Oh. Oh... my. What is this?

She couldn't stop swallowing, even as she blinked and thought to herself, What? What?

The feeling could only be called bliss. It wasn't just an emotional high, but a physical one, too. In the wake of that great wave, Violet's body felt relaxed, flushed and pleasantly tingly all over.

The woman's body jerked every time she squirted. Her sperm was hot and spicy upon Violet's tongue. The reporter was aware of those great breasts swaying and bumping together above her head. The muscles twitched in the woman's belly. It all gave Violet shivers of arousal, as though her libido was being tickled with phantom fingers. It made her want to giggle and moan.

Oh dear Lord, she thought in a kind of hysterical wonder. It's true. Everything I heard about hag-born cum is true. It is a psychoactive drug.

She felt dazed, but at the same time, acutely aware and sensitized. Moreover, she felt good; she couldn't shake the certainty that this was something positive. All of her fear and anxiety were gone. An unaccountable joy had taken their place. It was mystifying. Her beaver, of course, was one hundred percent on board. It juiced and bubbled. Without warning, it boiled over in a ripple of little spasms. She came without touching herself or even cheating by squeezing her legs together.

Haven't done that since high school either, she thought distantly.

Her orgasm wasn't a big one, but it was filled with a delightful energy. It was bright and sparkly. It had a zip that was entirely new to her. She closed her eyes.

Oh my God. What is happening to me?

Then another thought popped into being: I need to understand this. All of it. There is more to this Hag-bred thing than I ever suspected and I need to know it all.

The driving imperative of her reporter's brain reasserted itself: get to the truth. She seized it like a life-preserver.

She opened her eyes. Her vision was starry, but strangely sharp. Her brain was floaty and expansive, but at the same time whirling with keen observations. It made connections deftly, effortlessly.

In the photos... that gimpy look on all their faces. It's this. Violet was willing to bet her own face now carried that same look of tipsy bemusement. In nearly the same instant, another connection was made: the sausage mags all hinted at something called 'Seahag fever' in their pornographic fiction and dirty letters purportedly sent in from readers. She thought it was a slang term for an unnatural fascination with dickgirls themselves, a kind of mania. Now she knew better. It's this.

There's so much I don't know. All that research and I barely scratched the surface. I need to know more.

The rush of curiosity, of knowing she was onto something potentially huge, really throttled up her ecstatic state. She felt supercharged.

But first, I have to escape in one piece.

She wallowed in the sensations brought by that uncannily delicious sperm. She swallowed all she could get. She rose higher with every gulp. She sucked and stroked and gave the best finishing flourishes she could give.

"Oh," the dickgirl sighed. "You're a real gem."

"Thanks," she replied, resisting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. A pearl of post-cum blossomed in the woman's urethra, and Violet licked it up without thinking. Yum!

The dickgirl caressed Violet's ear and jawline. Her touch felt electric. It sent shudders down the small of her back.

Ooh. I just might spontaneously come again.

"I haven't seen you around here before," the blonde said.

"I'm new," Violet replied thickly. She swallowed again to clear her mouth and said, more distinctly, "It's my first night."

"Well you can call me Jaye," the blonde said and extended a hand humorously. "That's Jay with an e. Jaye Jaymaker."

Violet did giggle as she shook it. She couldn't help it. She was unaccountably happy and everything was bright and fascinating. Even that minimal contact -- clasping the woman's hand -- felt exquisitely pleasant. Then the silliness of the woman's name registered.

"Jaye Jaymaker?" Violet choked.

The dickgirl laughed. "Yeah. You know, as in Vitamin J? The jay?"

"Yes. I get it. You make it."

And Violet did get it. Vitamin J was hag-born slang for dickgirl jizz. Only the vilest of sausage publications tended to use it. It also referred to the feeling one got from dickgirl jizz, like a loose synonym for Seahag fever. When Jaye said Violet would be 'needing a little jay,' she was referring to that. Or possibly even herself.

So many things are clicking into place now.

"What's your name, honey?"

"Violet," she said automatically.

Oh my God. Her brain despaired. Why would you give her your real name? Then, just as quickly, came the unvoiced answer: Because any attempt at deception would be futile.

"Well Violet, it's very nice to meet you."

To Violet's hazy startlement, the woman bent down and kissed her.

Her lips were full and sweet and moist. More of that energy sizzled between them, and her nipples stiffened so hard they ached. She could even feel her clitoris engorge. Miss Beaver was positively purring.

Jaye's tongue entered her mouth, and Violet found herself welcoming it. She even sucked on it and caressed it with her own. She kissed her back, and could tell the woman was savoring the taste of her own cum in Violet's mouth.

Violet twitched. Another orgasmic ripple went through her. This one was a string of firecrackers.

"Umph!" Violet made a weird noise into her new friend's mouth. Jaye made a pleased sound back.

It was the sweetest, most passionate and -- bizarrely -- the most romantic kiss of Violet's life. The lust and tender emotions it stirred in her were overwhelming. She couldn't help returning the kiss with equal passion. She felt like every square inch of her skin was flushed with sexual heat. Without thinking or breaking that precious contact, she floated to her feet. Her arms snaked around the woman and pulled that silky, enormous-breasted body into hers.

Her bare legs rubbed against Jaye's. She loved the feel of her skin. She loved running her hands over it. Her hands impulsively ran down Jaye's back and squeezed a double handful of that sumptuous ass. It made her cunt spasm with joy. Violet thought she might faint.

Without warning, Jaye pulled her into the dressing room. Violet got a quick impression of lockers, padded benches and an archway leading to a tile-floored communal shower.

"Let's get you out of these," Jaye said, and peeled down her hotpants and panties. Violet had worn the extra-skimpy bikini undies she never would have worn without this excuse, and threads of vaginal juices clung to them as they descended.

Oh, she thought. I'm... soaked.

Jaye pushed her down onto a bench.

"Lie down here," the blonde said breathlessly.

Better not refuse, a part of her noted idly. Actual resistance never entered her mind. The bench was comfortable under her back and her legs automatically took a widespread posture with her feet on the tiles.

The situation was spiraling out of her control with dreamlike inevitability.

Jaye straddled the bench between her legs. She cupped Violet's mound without any warning. Violet made a little sound. Her hands twitched but she couldn't stop her.

Jaye's thumb petted her soft brown pubic hair, back and forth. A slow and knowing smile spread across her beautiful face as she looked down between Violet's legs.

"I can tell this one gives you a lot of trouble, huh?"

For a strange moment Violet didn't know if Jaye was talking to her, or if she was talking to her vagina about her.

Then Jaye looked into her eyes and there was no doubt. Violet nodded. Her cheeks were burning.

"Yeah," she said, a little shakily. "You could say that."

"Well," said Jaye. "I know just how to straighten her out."

Again, Violet had the oddest impression Jaye meant both her and her beaver.

Then, to her everlasting shock, Jaye's mouth dropped down, right onto said beaver.

"What?" Violet gasped.

Is she really putting her mouth on my messy, nasty cunt?

The woman's tongue began working and her lips began to purse and suck.

"Oh," Violet gasped.

I guess she is.

"Oh," she gasped again, sharply this time.

Ohhh. So that's what that feels like.

"Ohhh..."

Violet could hear the sloppy, slurpy noises Jaye was making over the racket from the main club floor.

She's really licking it, she thought dizzily. Licking me where I pee. Getting right... into it! Ooh, now she's putting a finger inside!

Clearly Jaye did not share her opinion of her odious vagina. She seemed to adore it. She lapped and burrowed and crooned like she was devouring some delicious meal. Her finger wriggled and thrusted in ways that made Violet's back arch.

"Guh!"

Oh wow, she really knows what she's doing. The reporter moaned heatedly. I've never... this quickly...

She could hear her groans and gasps growing more strident. She was shaking uncontrollably. Jaye's finger stabbed and twirled. Those full, pretty lips surrounded her clitoris and sucked.

The taut expectancy in Violet's body soared to undreamt-of heights, paused for an excruciating beat, and then plummeted like a rollercoaster into glorious destruction.

"Oh," she shrieked.

Her eyes clamped shut and she writhed through explosions of color and physical joy.

Some far-away part of her mind made the oddest observation as she convulsed. Violet had played varsity basketball at Chapel Hill. She made the 'A' Team -- she'd always been an excellent dribbler. She could move fast while keeping the ball bouncing at a steady tempo, and her orgasm reminded her of that. The rhythm of her climax was like that heavy basketball pounding the varnished floor of the court, over and over. The hard impact, the sudden lift of the rebound, then the decisive downstroke. It was a familiar, thumping pulse.

"Oh!"

She never knew an orgasm could feel this powerful, or so empowering. She felt like she was made of light. She felt like light was shooting out of her, like she was the crackling center of a Tesla coil.

As she came back to her senses (somewhat), she made another dazed observation: she had fully expected an experience like this would make her feel cheapened or dirty. She didn't. In fact, she felt cleansed. She felt purified.

She felt godlike.

When Jaye moved on top of her, she lifted her legs and grasped them under the knees to keep them folded back and apart. She acquiesced without question. Even though that far-off part of her brain was convinced that Jaye's huge member would never fit inside her, she lay back and watched that member bob and sway above her anxious beaver.

When her hips descended, Jaye didn't try to penetrate her. She rubbed her cock on Violet's vulva instead.

"Oh," Violet sighed. It felt delightful.

Jaye's cock was thick and hot and slippery. It drew back and forth over Violet's

clitoris like the bow of a violin. And just like with a violin, the friction made music. Violet let out a keening sound as her back arched again. She felt another orgasm rise.

Jaye beat her to it. The blonde woman let out a sharp gasp and began to ejaculate. She pulled her hips back before it let fly and pressed her glans right into the mushy lips of Violet's entrance. She came directly onto, and into her pussy.

It triggered Violet's orgasm instantly. She let out a great breathless cry as the pulses reared and galloped through her. It was the most powerful one yet. Jaye's sperm gave it a fiery, tingly boost. She could feel that creamy jism glowing inside her.

Another wave of Seahag fever rolled over her, and this one was a lot more profound. It suffused her every bone and muscle with its sweet relaxation. Her whole body became softer and more jelly-like. When Jaye began to press, Violet's cunt expanded effortlessly.

"Oop." Violet made a startled noise as Jaye's head popped through, and then a breathless "uhh..." as that broad column followed it.

She's really doing it... it's really going in...

"Oh," said Violet brokenly.

The feel of her entry was extraordinary. It stretched her and filled her to a degree she hadn't thought possible, and the most amazing part was that it didn't hurt at all. There was only pleasure. And such pleasure! The friction and the music it made were more intense than anything in Violet's admittedly limited life experience. It made her wail helplessly in ecstasy.

It went into her slowly. Violet was grateful for that. She felt the soft skin of Jaye's scrotal sac kiss her butt hole and let out a moan that was both triumphant and despairing.

When Jaye's face descended to hers, she seized it in both hands.

"You... God-damned... dickgirl." She choked it out somewhere between a sob and a snarl, and kissed her.

This time the electricity was flowing from Violet. It coruscated out of her in a torrent of lust and affection, lit up with all her residual anger and resentment. It surprised her. She never thought those feelings could come out that way, but there they were. She could feel Jaye's surprise. Then, recognition.

Oh... did I just give myself away, there...?

Jaye pressed back. Her tongue went in her mouth. Now they were sharing the electricity, passing it back and forth and amplifying it. Purifying it. Jaye's hips drew back and her cock began to slide.

"Mmph!"

Jaye pulled almost all the way out, then slammed it back home. Violet squawked into her mouth and her eyes rolled up into her head. Jaye started thrusting, and Violet made garbled noises. Jaye's mouth smothered them.

They rocked back and forth on the bench. They made muffled moans and grunts as they kissed. Violet let go of her legs and they immediately scissored Jaye's waist. Her arms went around her and clutched her shoulders. She didn't relinquish Jaye's mouth for an instant.

Jaye spiraled her hips as she humped. It scrubbed the most sensitive parts of Violet's tunnel and turned her moans into wails. She felt the expectancy gathering again.

So quickly, that far-and-dim part of her marveled.

She was running her hands up and down Jaye's moving back. When she began to come, she clutched the woman's shoulders and dug in with her nails.

I'm drawing blood, she thought distantly. Serves her right, the dirty dickgirl.

When the orgasm hit, Violet screamed at the top of her lungs. It set off Jaye, and Violet could feel the pulsations of that huge prick fighting the contractions of her vagina. Hot jism filled her.

"Ahh..."

Another obliterating wave of Seahag fever surged through her body. Every inch of her trembled.

"Oh... ohh...."

~~~

It felt like ages for Violet to come back to herself, but it was probably only moments. Jaye was still kissing her when she blinked back to some semblance of reality. She was still shaking.

Jeepers. Wow. That was... I feel...

For once, her sharp and analytical brain was at a loss.

... Happy.

It was the truth, and it startled her. Jaye had made her unquestionably happy. Moreover, Violet knew she had pleased Jaye greatly. The blonde was clearly floating on her own little cloud as well. That made Violet happy for her. It was the strangest thing.

Once Jaye had emptied and Violet's own tremors had subsided, she burst into tears. She wasn't sad or upset, merely having an emotional release. It happened to her sometimes. It always disturbed the boys, but Jaye wasn't fazed. She seemed to understand. She even acted like this was something she expected. She didn't remove her penis, merely cuddled Violet close and kissed away her tears.

Violet drew a shaky breath. She felt utterly discombobulated. None of the boys she'd dated had ever shown her such tenderness, even the ones with whom she'd gone all the way. Neither had any of them been as sexually proficient or generous as Jaye.

In fact, realized Violet, as she snuggled deeper into that warm embrace, Jaye was all-around wonderful. Penis and all.

She tried to understand her feelings. It was not unlike being a teenager again, when her emotions were gigantic and baffling. She felt an enormous amount of affection towards this woman, that was foremost. It was salted with a tiny remnant of bitterness, not unlike her feelings for men. There was also a grain of concern about how these experiences might change her. Despite that, she knew it was a good thing. She knew this to her core.

Her beaver was pleased with Jaye, too. Her vagina was a happy glowing ember between her legs. Miss Beaver had never felt so healthy and satisfied. Somehow, Violet could tell this was a lasting fix. True to her word, Jaye had straightened her out, but good.

My life has changed, she thought with startling clarity. I feel... stronger. More confident. I am here at the most dangerous after-hours sausage joint in Nashville, buck naked with a dickgirl on top of me... and I feel as carefree as a butterfly on a breeze.

She gave her head a little shake to clear it. Wow. Is it like this with everyone? No wonder people like having sex with dickgirls so much.

Her brain got very still then, the way it did when she was about to make a major breakthrough. It was just like that excruciating pause before an orgasm.

... because dickgirls are wonderful.

Violet's eyes fluttered shut.

"Aw... jeepers," she groaned. It had been staring her in the face throughout her research. She'd come across many articles in sausage magazines that claimed sex with dickgirls imparted myriad benefits to physical and mental health. Violet always dismissed them as fiction. Or perhaps propaganda.

There was nothing fictional about how she was feeling now.

I was wrong. This is wonderful. Dickgirls are wonderful. And I have been wrong about them all along.

She blew out a breath and let her head fall back.

Jaye chuckled and kissed her forehead.

"Are we okay down there?"

"Yes," sighed Violet. "Just... adjusting."

"You've never done it with a dickgirl before, have you?"

Violet opened her eyes and met Jaye's.

"Was it that obvious?"

Jaye lifted a shoulder. "A little. Is there anything... you'd like to know?"

Only about a million things.

Violet cleared her throat. "Um. I can't get pregnant... from you. Right?"

"Right."

"Good. I was concerned about that."

"Why would you be?" Jaye looked at her curiously. "Aren't you on the pill?"

"No. Why would I be? I'm not..."

Violet stopped herself. She was about to say not sleeping around, but then realized she was pretending to be a whore. "Sorry," she muttered instead. "Like I said, I'm new at this."

"Don't worry about it. I think you'll do fine."

Gee thanks, she thought humorously, but without rancor. Nice to know I'd make a great hooker.

"You really should get on the pill, though," said Jaye. "For a little while, anyway. Vitamin J boosts your fertility. Women who have sex with emergent ladies get pregnant a lot easier, at least at the beginning."

"At the beginning? Why? What happens after the beginning?"

"Wow," said Jaye with a smile and a shake of her head. "You really are green, aren't you?"

Violet had a terrible thought. "Does repeated exposure to vitamin J make women infertile?"

Jaye shook her head. "The opposite. After awhile, you get control of your fertility. You won't need the pill at that point, because you decide if you get pregnant or not."

Violet opened her mouth to say that's utter nonsense but the look on Jaye's face silenced her. The woman wasn't lying. Violet didn't think she knew how to lie. Another myth now proved true.

This is... incredible.

"If you don't mind me saying," said Jaye, "you seem awfully well-read for a prostitute."

Absurdly, Violet felt indignant at that.

"I went to college," she said, trying not to say it snappishly. "I got my degree, too."

She stopped. She didn't know if it was the vitamin J, or just a natural result of their new closeness, but she really wanted to be forthcoming with Jaye. She couldn't lie to her. She did not, however, think it prudent to say more. She got very quiet.

"Oh." Jaye stroked her face and her lips descended for another brief and blazing-sweet kiss. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me what happened. I can tell you don't want to talk about it."

Oh. That pierced Violet's heart. She's such a sweetheart.

In that moment, there was nothing Violet wouldn't do for her. She would permit Jaye every liberty she'd never allowed any of her male lovers. She would let Jaye spank her, tie her up, cum on her face, even put it in her butt. She would do it willingly, lovingly. She would love it.

I love her.

It was a crazy thought, but it was true.

~~~

Violet had been in love once before. She'd fallen hard for a boy the summer before she started at Chapel Hill. He'd been a new boy in town, who she thought didn't know her reputation. She wanted to do things right and not be a slut with him.

It turned out he did know her reputation. He broke up with her when she wouldn't put out. And that was after she'd sucked his dick inside-out all summer. Violet had been devastated. That experience was a big part of why she stayed celibate through college and beyond.

This was like that, but a little different. She didn't want to own Jaye. She didn't even want Jaye all to herself. She just wanted Jaye (and her cock) to be a permanent part of her life. Even if Jaye didn't reciprocate her feelings, Violet knew the dickgirl would be okay with giving her vitamin J treatments every week or so. And Violet would be okay with that too.

Good Lord, girl, you only just met this woman.

It didn't matter. She closed her eyes again. She'd had so many radical perspective shifts tonight, her brain felt like a pinball ricocheting between bumpers. If she didn't feel so unabashedly good, she would probably be quite worried.

Just then the doors to the dressing room burst open and two more dickgirls entered. Violet recognized them as well from the blackmail photos. Here in living color, the bustier one was indeed a redhead and the taller one a brunette. Neither of them looked older than Violet herself.

"Jaye," said the brunette, "you missed the ending. The guests are leaving."

Goodness, thought Violet. Must be later than I thought.

For the first time, she noticed that the party noise and music from the main club area had faded.

"Sorry," said Jaye, although she didn't sound sorry at all. "I got held up." She nodded down at Violet.

"Hi," said Violet. She gave them an awkward little wave.

"Who's that?" asked the redhead.

"I'm Violet, hello." She extended a hand and the two women came forward to shake it.

"Violet," said Jaye, indicating the redhead, "this is Scarlett Thunder, and that," she gestured at the dazzlingly glamorous brunette, "is Dazey Woodcock."

"Call me April," the brunette said hurriedly.

"And Lettie is fine," added the redhead.

"Nice to meet you, Lettie, April," said Violet.

"So where did you come from?" asked April.

"Arkansas, originally," said Violet. "Bentonville." The truth, again.

"She was late getting here," said Jaye. "Good thing too. She's too green for the fellas. They'd knock her up in no time."

"That's funny," said Lettie thoughtfully. "Pretty sure we only booked those four girls for tonight..."

"Would you gals like blowjobs?" blurted out Violet.

It was all she could think to do. She needed to derail Lettie's train of inquiry, pronto. Three heads swiveled towards her with surprised looks.

"Like Jaye said," Violet explained. "I'm pretty green. I'd like to change that. If it's okay with you?"

It was a tactic, but it was also the truth.

"Well... sure," said April.

Right before Violet's eyes, their pricks rose up. She gulped. April's penis was longer, almost as long as Jaye's, with a prominent foreskin. Lettie's was much thicker, with a fat, glossy, circumcised head.

Oh dear Lord, she thought again. What have signed myself up for?

Then another axiom from her journalism course at Chapel Hill popped into her head: A reporter is only as good as his sources. Cultivate them.

These women are my sources now, she thought firmly. And this is how I cultivate them.

~~~

Events began blurring together after that. The evening took on a fuzzy and intimate soft focus.

She put her hands on Jaye's shoulders and pressed lightly. The blonde immediately and very gently pulled out of her. Feeling that big cock exit her pussy made Violet feel sad, but only until she swung herself around into a sitting posture and April slid her own big cock into her mouth.

Mmm...

Violet's eyes closed. The woman's dick tasted of dickgirl cum and bittersweet vaginal juices. She'd been fucking lots of different cunts tonight. Violet moaned and savored it. Her hands rose and filled themselves with the brunette's balls and vulva. She slid fingers into her and probed with her thumb until she found her clitoris. She sucked and stroked and rubbed.

"Oh." April's voice was filled with startled pleasure.

It amazed Violet how quickly she was able to bring her to orgasm. It also gave her a very pleased, smug feeling. The taste of April's sperm was distinct from Jaye's, but every bit as delicious. The rush she got from it was also different, more tactile and tingly, but no less potent.

"Umm." Violet gulped it down and fell in love all over again, this time with the unique texture of April's high.

Scarlett - Lettie - was standing hip-to-hip with April. When Violet had sucked out the last of the brunette's cum, she slipped her mouth off one dick and socketed it onto the next. The redhead's cock was just as pungent and captivating. Violet was able to make her come just as quickly as April, but her sperm was quite different. It was heartier and less sweet than April or Jaye's, but equally flavorful. When the rush hit, it too was different. While Jaye was spacey and April physical, Lettie was heady and energizing and exhilarating. Violet loved it.

Jaye had placed herself hip-to-hip with Scarlett, so Violet kept sucking right on down the line. She delighted in their moans and little caresses. The distinct character of each of their essences combined into a single marvelous experience.

"Oh," sighed Jaye. "You..."

She lifted her balls and Violet didn't hesitate. She buried her face in Jaye's beaver and ate pussy for the first time her life. She loved the taste of the brunette's juices. She loved the outrageous messiness of it. She lost herself in it as deeply as when she kissed Jaye's mouth.

It turned out she had a knack for this kind of sex as well. She ate them all out, and even licked their assholes while jacking off those big hoses until they squirted in ecstasy.

Oh cum you dirty dickgirls, cum, she thought in a fury of oral passion. She pushed her face between Jaye's buttocks and gave her a hard spank. Jaye's delighted squeal made Violet come on the spot.

She started out servile and submissive, but along the way, got more demanding. Then she became outright dominant. She sucked their cocks greedily and feasted on their cum like she was entitled to it. She was able to open her throat and swallow those mighty prongs all the way down to their balls. When she decided it was time, she bent over the bench and planted her knees wide to admit them.

"Do it," she ordered throatily.

Lettie fucked her first. Her awesome girth drove the breath from Violet's body as she pushed inside. The stretching sensations were exquisite. A dozen life-changing strokes later, Lettie's thrill-ride sperm was bursting into her. Violet exploded into a shuddery orgasm of her own on the third spurt.

April fucked her after, and then Jaye again. Then they repeated the process. Two of them would fuck her at either end while she jacked off the third. They used her like the whore she was.

"Oh, yes, yes," she gloated, weeping.

Jaye slipped a sperm-coated finger up her asshole, and it sent fireworks shooting through her.

Oh my God, I love that!

She reached back with both hands and spread her cheeks so they would know she wanted, no, needed them to fuck her ass. They did. They lubed her up with their sperm and then pushed their own sperm-slippery cocks into her anus.

"Oof!"

The heavy charge of vitamin J made the penetration painless, but not effortless. It took awhile for Jaye to get all the way in there, but once she was, she asserted her full ownership. Violet surrendered willingly. Her toes curled as the blonde pumped her butt hole.

"Oh... oh!"

They all fucked her ass. The only time Violet nearly got pulled back to Earth was when Lettie's stumpy behemoth entered her. It was almost too much. The redhead came quickly inside her, and it sent Violet right back into space.

Once her asshole was well broken in, they made free use of all her holes. Violet let them. At one point all three of them were mounted upon her, Lettie in her mouth, April in her ass, and Jaye in her vagina. When they all came in her, Violet couldn't stop crying with joy.

~~~

Funnily enough, it was the dickgirls who decided to end things after that. Violet felt like she could have gone all night.

Miss Beaver was a tight little thing, but that was deceptive. When her blood was up, she became a hungry, slavering maw. She wanted all the meat crammed in her she could get. She wanted every cock in the world. The urges were so strong they'd frightened Violet when she was younger. It had alienated her from her own body.

Like being a dickgirl, she thought woozily. Waking up with this new and foreign part of yourself with no idea how to handle it.

Now, both of them were on the same team. The 'J' Team.

I always thought it was my beaver. Turns out it's just me. I am a slut. What a remarkable thing.

~~~

The four of them showered together and then got dressed. The three dickgirls looked surprisingly normal in their everyday clothes, although the sporrans were a dead giveaway. April and Lettie kissed her goodnight - it was strange how natural kissing a girl like that felt now - and left.

"Come on," said Jaye. "Let's get you paid."

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but then quickly shut it. She was supposed to be a whore, after all.

Jaye noticed. Her eyebrow quirked up. "You don't want to get paid?"

Violet gave a little laugh. "I feel like I don't deserve it, I had such a good time."

Jaye laughed. "That's the spirit. If you do what you love, you'll never work a day in your life. Follow me."

For the second time that evening, Violet walked up to the manager's office. It was much more pleasant this time, trailing Jaye's big ass in her slinky cocktail dress. It felt a little surreal, being in there with all the lights on. She discreetly looked away as Jaye opened the safe, but noted the dickgirl dialed the combination quickly, from memory.

"Nifty safe," Violet said. "Whatcha got in there?"

"Petty cash," the blonde said, drawing out a few bills. "And a few keepsakes. You want to see?"

Violet nodded. Jaye handed her the money. Violet quickly counted it and gulped when she saw it was a hundred dollars.

Jeepers. A week's pay in one night. Hookers have it pretty good.

She stuffed it in her clutch as Jaye pulled out a manila envelope and poured out its contents onto the desk blotter. Violet had another moment of déjà vu.

"Go ahead, have a look."

Violet picked up a photograph. She remembered it from before. It was Jaye, Lettie and April happily cavorting with a congressman. He was very good looking, and in great shape. She whistled, and looked through the others.

"Your body is so beautiful," she said. It just popped out. She wondered when this wonderful feeling might dissipate. She tried to get her mind back on track. She had so many questions that needed answering. "Where was this shot?"

"Oh, right here. There's a suite in the basement."

So, no hotel. Wild.

Violet held up a photo. "This is Congressman Belcourt, isn't it? Is your boss blackmailing him?"

Again, it just popped out. She calmly wondered if she might not make it out of here after all.

Jaye gave her a startled look. "Blackmail? No. What kind of people do you think we are? These are mementos."

"Sorry, mementos?"

"People in the public eye can't go to sausage joints like everyone else. They need to make private arrangements."

"Okay. But... why the photos?"

"They have copies too." She tapped her face in one of the pictures. "And I'm just as visible as they are in every shot." She leaned a hip onto the desk. "Have you ever heard of the doctrine of mutual assured destruction?"

Violet nodded. "MAD. We covered it in college."

"It's like that. We help those who are in a position to help us. People who can direct public opinion and policies in more emergent-friendly directions." She gestured to the pile of photos. "These photos are simply a guarantee that we all stay on the same side. We stand together, or we fall apart." She smiled and shrugged. "That, and I just like whacking off to some great memories. So do they."

She reached out and plucked the photo from Violet's fingers. She dropped it onto the others and shuffled them back into the envelope. She gave her a serious look.

"Emergent love can heal people, Violet. It can expand life and consciousness. It is a good thing. We are trying to create a situation where everyone can benefit from us, without stigma. But our current status as an underclass makes that difficult. We are still at least fifteen years away from getting Jane Grow repealed, and maybe twenty years from where people aren't so hung up on sex that they can accept us as we are."

She's telling the truth, Violet thought faintly. Not just what she believes to be true, but actual facts. She had no idea where this certainty came from, but she trusted it. The vitamin J was doing some splendid things to her mind and body.

Then something else occurred to her as Jaye locked the photos back in the safe.

"You're the boss, aren't you?" She blurted it out. "It's you. You're the manager. You run this place."

Jaye smiled and raised a silent finger to her lips.

~~~

Back at her apartment, Violet sat on one of the lounge chairs on her balcony and stared at the tiny spy camera in her hands, thinking.

She knew, she thought.

Violet was certain of this. She knew it via the almost-extrasensory insight Seahag fever granted her.

She knew I wasn't a hooker. There's no way I kept anything hidden from her. She knew, and she let me walk out of there unscathed.

There was only one explanation. She trusts me.

She thought about the ledgers.

Every nightclub occasionally has to make payoffs or do under-the-table stuff to stay afloat. I know that. Modesto's is no different. And Jane Grow means prostitution is the best-paying option most dickgirls have. Hell, even I got paid for sex tonight.

Violet heaved a deep sigh and put the pieces together. She's not a gangster or crime lord or anything shady. She's got her fingers in a lot of pies, pun intended, but basically, she's an emergent woman trying to secretly run a business. And not just that, but also do something heroic. She's trying to improve the lot of all the women like her.

Then another thought popped into her head: What have you done that's heroic, Violet?

She had no answer.

She made a decision. She opened the camera, removed the roll of film and dropped it into the little hibachi she had on her balcony. She pulled out a book of matches from Modesto's and set the film on fire.

She watched it burn and enjoyed the waning glow of hag-bred intoxication. She lit up a cigarette. It tasted awful and she squashed it out, coughing.

She sat there thinking into the wee hours and made several more decisions.

She stayed up to watch the sun rise and then called into work. She got her editor on the line.

"Eddie? It's Violet. I quit. And... go fuck yourself, you male chauvinist pig."

She hung up, went to bed and slept like a baby.

~~~

After two weeks and several well-paid visits to Modesto's, nine AM Monday found Violet in her car driving northwest towards Springfield, Missouri. She had several suitcases in the trunk and her typewriter in its case on the seat beside her. She had pulled up stakes. Thanks to Jaye her more-than-generous friends, Violet had more than enough money for the move.

Accepting oneself as a slut is not just liberating, she thought. It can also be surprisingly remunerative.

All of the big sausage mags had offices in Springfield. Their huge circulations meant they had huge editorial staffs. There would definitely be a place there for a qualified journalist with talent and conviction. And if there wasn't, she was maybe a dozen blowjobs away from being hired anyway. Possibly quicker with a little work from Miss Beaver. She was, incidentally, a much sweeter-natured Miss these days. Provided she took her vitamin J (Jaye) every week or so.

Violet was determined, and that was really all it took.

The End