The A.V. Club

A Novel by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

A Novel by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. Everything in this story is imaginary and is not meant to represent any real-life people, events, or medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older, even if it seems otherwise for dramatic or narrative purposes. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©2016 J.K. Ermon.

This is a work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. Everything in this story is imaginary and is not meant to represent any real-life people, events, or medical conditions. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older, even if it seems otherwise for dramatic or narrative purposes. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright©2016 J.K. Ermon.

~~~

Prologue

Excerpt from the documentaryAmerican Hag-bred, Powell Pictures, 1968:

Fade in: Animated intro sequence set to a vintage theremin-heavy sci-fi score. An old-school Claymation rendering of the solar system hovers in space. The planets all have peaceful sleeping faces. A comet with a witch's hat and an impishly grinning green face flies into view. A glittering silvery-white mane trails behind her in a cone. She flies past the outer planets, leaving their slumber undisturbed. The perspective follows as she passes Saturn and Jupiter. The snoring face of Jupiter has a monocle over its big red eye.

Narrator: (She sounds British, mid-twenties, educated)Comet Seahag was discovered and named by the astronomer Edwin Hubble in 1935. Experts calculated its trajectory would take it past Earth, missing us by roughly three million kilometers. That's one-point-eight-six million miles. More than eight times the distance from the Earth to the Moon.

Animation shows Comet Seahag clearing Mars and approaching Earth. A cluster of molded foam rubber rocks drift into her path and hit her in the face. She scowls and wrenches herself to one side.

Narrator:In fact, it passed much closer--approximately five hundred thousand kilometers from Earth, nearly inside the moon's orbit. Astronomers today theorize it was diverted by an asteroid field or other interplanetary debris. It bent closer to Earth's gravitational field than anticipated. This led to someveryunexpected consequences.

Animation shows the comet swooping in close to Earth, narrowly missing the moon. She cackles. Sparkling particles detach themselves from the comet's trail and shower the sleeping Earth. Its eyes open and its face assumes a surprised expression.

Narrator:The near miss happened in 1938. The first incidents of Seahag Syndrome, or Acquired Xenogenic Andromorphism, appeared the next year.

Opening credits begin rolling to the Dick Dale and the Del-Tones recording ofRiders in the Sky. The animation continues through the credits. The perspective moves closer to the startled Earth, passing by satellites and orbiting astronauts. It enters Earth's atmosphere. We descend through clouds above the central continental United States. We pass by carrier pigeons and flocks of Canada Geese. The surface becomes more and more detailed as we approach it. The view descends to a small town in Kansas (the ground is labeled) and enters the upper window of a clapboard house. A teenage Claymation girl is lying in bed, staring under her covers with a look of surprise that matches that of the Earth. Music and credits end. Smash cut to black.

Excerpt ends.

End of Prologue

~~~

Chapter One: The Ecstasy of Splooge

The Grant High AV Club always met on Sunday afternoons at ourde factopresident Jack Porter's house. We met there because his place afforded the most privacy. It was an old out-of-the-way farmhouse hiding behind a copse of trees at the end of a long dirt drive. Jack was an only child in a single-parent household (a rarity for small-town Ohio in 1967) and his mother worked second shift Sundays. We had the place to ourselves until eight at night. It didn't hurt that his basement rec room was huge. It offered more than enough space to set up a projector and hang up a queen-size bed sheet as a screen for our makeshift movie theater.

We would fold up the ping-pong table, roll it to one side and drag out the two couches to face the sheet. As the club's Film-and-Photography Specialist, it was my job to maintain, prepare and operate the projector.

I didn't mind being the projectionist. I liked anything mechanical. I'd always found machines a lot easier than people, and I suppose we all felt like that in the AVC. Apart from our own little group, we weren't what you'd callpeople persons. Mark was the only one of us who'd ever dated a girl, and while his relationship with Marianne Fleischmann was on-again/off-again, at least he'd gotten to first base. He'd shown us photographic proof.

The rest of us weren't so lucky. To put it frankly, we were a gangly and awkward bunch. Jack and I were the only ones who didn't wear glasses. I didn't get bullied as much as the others because in sophomore year I'd shot to my full height of six-foot-one. By Senior year I'd filled out to a semi-respectable one-fifty-nine. I wasn't about to go out for football, but I was pretty damn good at track. I got lots of practice fleeing the more determined members of the wedgie brigade.

If I'm making myself sound at all attractive, I really wasn't. I looked like a teenaged Don Knotts. I often thought a beard might give my face more character (and at that age I was able grow one) but Grant High's Code of Student Dress and Deportment would never allow that.

As usual, we were all entrenched in the basement by two PM. We'd all showered and changed into our ceremonial robes: cheap black faux-silk polyester bathrobes from JC Penny withGHS Audio-Visual Societyembossed across the backs. Jack had laboriously stitched the lettering into all six robes with his mother's Singer sewing machine. That was why we made him president. That, and it was his house.

As per our security protocols, we'd blinded the windows and locked all the doors. We started out with a rushed version of the minutes and our Treasurer, Allen, passed the collection jar around. Each of us forked over five dollars. That was a lot of money in those days--the better part of a day's pay at the kind of part-time minimum wage shit-jobs we all worked.

I actually liked my shit-job. I worked weeknights and Saturdays at the Fotomat hut in the local Sears' parking lot. I had access to the occasional naked and sometimes downright pornographic photos that perfectly ordinary folks would drop off to be developed. I would make copies of anything good and share them with the club. I was the one who developed Mark's topless shots of Marianne Fleischmann.

The collection was to cover the activity costs of our weekly meetings. The projector itself hadn't cost us anything--it was an ancient piece of Department of Education junk we'd rescued from the school dumpster. It took a lot of tinkering to keep it going, but we all had an affinity for that kind of thing. Jack's mom provided popcorn at no cost, provided we popped it and cleaned up after ourselves.

The collection went towards beer and acquiring the films we'd watch. They were...unique. Right now, you're probably thinking we were watching a bunch of old-timey blue movies and you'd be wrong. But not entirely.

So, there we all were, lights out and the projector casting a big rectangle of white light on the bed sheet while its celluloid tongue rattled through the reels and grommets of its disgruntled innards. A mottled picture in splotches of red and yellow appeared, and the guys hollered "Focus!"

I did so, quickly. Like them, I didn't want to miss a second of this. As I cranked the focal adjustment knobs, the picture sharpened into crystal clarity.

There were no opening credits or even a title card. The image resolved into a sunny day in some cheery country house filled with golden summer haze. Comfy furniture with crochet coverings abounded, and sunshine poured in through large windows.

A gorgeous blonde woman stepped into the frame. She wore a shiny crimson kimono covered with oriental dragons embroidered in black. That kimono hugged someverylush curvature. Her nipples poked through it.

The rec room got church-quiet. The camera cut to a low angle shot, looking up into her beautiful smiling face. With tantalizing slowness, she undid the sash of her kimono and then flung it open.

Her large breasts shook with their sudden freedom. We all gasped and groaned with approval. The low angle cut gleaming highlights into their undersides. Her breasts were as evenly tanned as the rest of her and tipped with pink nipples atop wide areolas. She changed her stance slightly, planting her feet farther apart, and her penis leapt into view like an oncoming freight train. It had been pushed back between her legs.

We all went berserk, applauding, laughing and whooping.

It was enormous, even in its current soft state. It dangled down into the camera, almost touching the lens. A broad, truncated vee of gingery-gold pubic hair pointed down at it. Its foreskin partially covered a bulb-like head as pink as her nipples. The vertical mouth of its urethra held a clear drop of pre-seminal dew. She swung her hips, and the screen filled with her penis swaying heavily and seductively. The marble of pre-cum dropped loose, and extended downward on a long string. She caught it on her finger and popped it into her mouth with an impish smile.

"Awman," somebody groaned. Seated by the projector, I already had a raging-stiff boner. I knew all my friends did too.

The camera pulled back a little. The techie in me duly noted the action was smooth; they must have been using something with well-greased wheels to mimic the action of a dolly rig. It caught the slither of her kimono dropping down her arms and leaving her naked. She had an inswept waist that spread into a set of hips that drew more groans out of us.

She pulled back her foreskin and began slowly masturbating with both hands. Her penis immediately began to inflate and extend.

There were more muted exclamations of amazement and appreciation. The damn thing just grew and grew. When she finally took her hands away, it looked about as long as one of my mom's prize-winning homegrown cucumbers, and nearly as thick. The blonde put her hands on her hips and let it wag arrogantly into the camera. Its fullness pushed back her foreskin, baring her glans all the way to its purple coronet. Her head was so tightly inflated that it shone.

As usual, the sight of a hard dick rearing up from all that feminine softness held us spellbound. Her penis was lightly veined and had the polished look of an oversized candy cane. Unlike a candy cane, it had a pronounced upward curve.

She lifted up her ball sack and inspired another round of involuntary moans as her vulva appeared. The puffed halves of her labia majora ran up into the pinkly translucent skin of her sac. She forked it open with two fingers. Her insides were bright pink and shiny-wet.

"Gawd." Someone groaned, like they were walking off a gym class injury.

She took a seat in one of the large, plantation-style fan-backed wicker chairs. She produced a small steel whistle -- "that's a dog whistle," someone muttered, and the others shushed him -- and blew into it.

The camera panned right to catch a nude, black-haired girl crawling into the room on all fours. She was plump and pretty with a page-boy cut. Her skin was pale and very smooth. She looked about a year or two younger than the blonde. The only thing she had on was a black leather dog collar. The camera cut to a close-up of her face; her eyes were light brown and lively; her full lips were pressed together in a trying-not-to-laugh semi-smile. The shot panned down to the bronze tag hanging from the collar:Bitchy.

The girl's breasts weren't that big, maybe a firm pair of B cups, but she had thick thighs and a really fat, round-cheeked ass. The camera cut to a low following shot and those large swaying cheeks filled the screen. She had a neatly-trimmed black bush framing a juicy and attractive vagina with fuller lips than her big-cocked friend. She had no penis or balls -- just a regular gorgeous girl.

She reached the blonde woman and reared up on her haunches with her elbows cocked in a dog's begging posture. She made soulful eyes, stuck out her lower lip and whimpered.

"There, there," said the blonde. She petted her, and then presented her huge penis to her lips. The brunette smiled, opened her mouth and mimicked a dog's grateful panting with her tongue out. Then she slurped Blondie's cock into her mouth.

Several of us sighed. One of the guys up front opened his robe and the silhouette of his shoulder began moving as he started masturbating. Others followed suit.

The brunette was pink-cheeked and beaming as she lapped and sucked away. I heard someone mutter "whoa," as she took the blonde's penis deep into her mouth and kept right on going until she had swallowed it down to the balls. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up. The blonde smiled down at her and patted her head.

The girl pulled back, took a deep breath, then let her lips slip back down the woman's now-saliva-slick limb. The brunette had a tight lip-lock on her, but the thickness of that penis held the girl's mouth open wide. Her head began to bob. Bitchy's cheeks pulled in like she was downing a thick milkshake. The blonde stood tall with her hands on her hips. Her pelvis rocked gently as she moved in counterpoint to that slow in-and-out suction.

The camera cut to a rear shot of the blonde. Her splendid buttocks filled the frame, flexing slightly with each push into the brunette's mouth. The brunette's fingers crept into view with their red-lacquered nails; she cupped and squeezed those cheeks so sweetly my own fingers twitched in envy. She spread them, and that deep split opened to let Blondie's beautiful pink anus wink at us. Her even pinker labia peeled apart below it.

I groaned. I couldn't take it anymore. I untied the sash of my robe with a yank and flung it open. I was naked underneath it, as we all were. My aching, hot-blooded erection reached for the ceiling. There were handy little TV trays around the room with pump bottles of lube and hand towels. I grabbed the lube and squirted that clear, cool slippery stuff all over my penis. I stroked, and it felt delicious.

As Bitchy's head slid back and forth, I stroked in time with her. I could hear the heavy breathing of the other guys, and the wet sounds of masturbation. I felt a deep affection for them, as well as a strong sense of camaraderie and the intense-yet-familiar excitement of doing this forbidden thing with my friends.

Blondie pulled out of Bitchy's mouth and lifted up her balls. The brunette obligingly licked those balls, and sucked on them, too. Blondie touched her head, and Bitchy licked lower.

The camera changed to a low-angle shot looking up at the brunette licking the blonde woman's vagina. She was really giving it a lot of love, nuzzling and mouthing and sucking on its swollen clitoris. We could see little shivers going through the blonde's thighs. Bitchy's face got slick with the other woman's juices.

A slow romantic fade-out brought in another shot: the dark-haired girl lying on the couch with her legs spread wide. The blonde was crouched down in front of her and returning the oral favor. The brunette was moaning, and her open-mouthed face reflected pure, unfeigned ecstasy.

"Jesus," I said softly.

Blondie was licking deep into the other girl's pretty pink vulva, pausing only to suck on the unearthed jewel of her clit. She was clearly relishing the girl's taste and the task at hand. The brunette had a clit easily twice the size of the blonde's and it was a pleasure to see that wet tongue slap it around. The brunette gasped and those smooth, fleshy thighs quivered.

Eventually, Blondie reared up and presented that blue-ribbon cucumber to Bitchy's well-tongued and juicy opening. We all leaned forward to witness the breach.

The girl's labia spread as the blonde's big pink head squeezed its way into her. We groaned in unison as it disappeared, a long and guttural "uhhhhh" that rose all the way up from our balls.

Bitchy's teeth clenched. Her back arched, and her head flung back at that mammoth intrusion. Her face got all red and her cheeks puffed as she gasped for breath. Blondie's face, however, was as peaceful as a statue of the Virgin Mary at St. Michael's where my family took Mass. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted in a winsome smile. Their drenched and mossy pubes meshed together as the blonde sheathed herself fully.

The film must have skipped a bit, because the next thing we knew, Blondie was sawing her hips with great vigor. On every out-pull, her thick shaft came out glistening and dripping. Her breasts bounced and her big round ass cheeks quaked from her hard thrusts. For some reason her ball sack mesmerized me. I couldn't take my eyes off the way it swung back and forth, first slapping the brunette girl's anus and then whipping back to slap Blondie's undercarriage on the withdrawal. Her balls were big and smooth. They shone with the women's combined juices and flung droplets every which way as they swung.

There was another quick cut and Bitchy was down on all fours on the rug. Blondie was kneeling behind her, gripping the younger girl's broad hips as she slammed her penis home. The girl's rump rocked with the impacts. Blondie grabbed her lush black hair and pulled it.

"Speak, girl," she said breathlessly. "Come on bitch, bark like a dog for me."

"Wow," moaned someone. I think it was Jack.

The dark-haired girl did it. "Woof," she giggle-moaned. "Woof, woof. Ohhhh...woof..."

I think she came then. Her arms seemed to give out and her shoulders dropped to the rug. Her soft brown eyes looked dazed and faraway. Her cheek plumped on the Persian carpet and she moaned through wide-open, trembling lips. Her thighs were trembling too, and the cheeks of her butt.

"Ohman," I heard someone else say, and I could hear the rising tension in his voice.

The next shot was absolute genius. It was a top-down shot from the blonde's perspective. We were looking down her body, seeing what she saw as she fucked her voluptuous little friend. The blonde's big tits thrust into the picture frame from below, while further into the screen her broad trunk split Bitchy's juicy pink labia wide open.

Every inch of her long, vein-marbled shaft glistened in the mote-softened light. It pumped her like a piston, making the sunlight flash on it. I guessed she was holding the Super-8 with her right hand, because her left hand was busy in-frame, fondling and slapping her partner's bottom. The picture was shaky but it put us right there, with her, in the driver's seat.

I heard someone grunt, "Aw shit,Jesus," and then follow it up with a loud "Ahhhh...ahhhhh...". Someone was shooting off. Usually when that happens, it's like a string of firecrackers. The rest of us go off in quick succession.

I was proud of myself. I was able to hold off long enough to see the money shot. Blondie yanked her cock free (it came out with a spray of pussy juice) and Bitchy promptly rolled over to face her. The dickgirl straddled her partner mid-torso. Her hugely-erect cock extended all the way to the supine girl's dog collar, and it was lathered with buttery vaginal fluids. It throbbed and shuddered expectantly. Bitchy grabbed it with both hands, stroked it, and in the next instant it began spurting thick streamers of cum. I came a split second later. I sent a fountain of jizz up into the air that nearly touched the rec room's low ceiling. I gasped with joy. All of my friends were doing likewise. Our high-flying loads cast shadows on the screen as they passed through the light from the projector.