Ms. Rogers' Neighborhood

Ms. Rogers' Neighborhood

A Short Story by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

This is a  work of erotic fantasy fiction for the entertainment of adults only. It contains explicit futanari  (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, don't read it. If reading adult material is unlawful where you reside due to your age or whatever, don't read it. This story is entirely imaginary and nothing in it is meant to reflect actual people, events, or real-life medical  conditions. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright the author©2015.

~~~

I swear I wasn't going in there to steal anything. My friends had dared me, and when you're male and coming into a new high school mid-senior year, wussing out on a dare just isn't optional. If I saw anything cool I was only going to take a few pictures with my phone and send them to my friends. I wasn't going to do anything stupid like actually swipe something or post any gang-sign selfies during the commission of a criminal act.

I only went in there to explore. We all believed the big house at the end of my cul-de-sac was empty. The previous resident, a crazy old cat lady, had died half a year back and the realtor hadn't posted any For Sale signs. We'd been talking about spooky old houses last period Friday and the one on my block came up. Before I knew it, I'd been dared to check it out.

That was how I got caught trespassing at a stranger's house on a Saturday afternoon.

~~~

I had decided to approach the place from the rear. There was a huge backyard flanked by tall privacy hedges, but the back lay open to the woods with just a token waist-high diamond-link property fence. A large multilevel wooden deck ran the length of the back face. Sliding patio doors offered access to the inside and nobody in this neighborhood ever locked those.

I entered the woods behind my house and cut through the trees all the way to the end lot. I hid in some bushes on the fence line and scanned the back of the house. It took a while to work up my nerve. There was no one in the yard, and no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't see any movement in those tall, arch-topped windows.

I took a deep breath and vaulted the fence. I sprinted across the lawn with my heart thundering like kettle drums in my ears. I fully expected to hear warning shots and alarms any second.

Nothing of the kind happened, of course. I made it to the broad, three-tiered back patio without incident. I dropped to a crouch and used the tarp-covered barbecue for cover. I remained perfectly still and listened with all my might. I couldn't see through the sliding glass door; the angle of sunlight gave me nothing but reflection.

Nothing continued to happen. Birds sang in the trees. Boughs creaked in the breeze. A lawnmower rattled in the distance as it chewed up twigs. My heartbeat quieted to an easy canter. 

I crept to the sliding doors and peered through them with cupped hands. There was some kind of breakfast nook in there, with archways leading off to a kitchen and what looked like a living room.

I tested the door and it slid open. I went inside. It was as easy as that.

The second I was inside, my pulse began pounding again and I felt the neck-tingle of adrenaline. At first I didn't know why. Then I realized.

The house wasn't abandoned.

The refrigerator was humming. The digital display on the microwave was on and displaying the correct time. Someone had been baking cookies recently; I could smell baker's chocolate and vanilla extract. The tile floor was swept and had been recently scrubbed with lemon cleanser. I could also smell weed, I realized. There was a distinct skunky under-note of marijuana lingering beneath all the other kitchen smells. My senses registered all these details before my conscious mind could.

I stood very still and quieted my breathing. I listened so intently my whole body thrummed like a radar dish. I heard nothing beyond the normal house noises: appliances, central AC (that was working too) and the distant whoosh of a furnace. I heard no movement or voices. Nobody was playing a stereo or watching television.

This was the normal soundscape of an occupied house, however. Not the stark, creaky silence of a vacant one. Even at eighteen I knew this instinctively. I'd been living in big houses like this my whole life; I understood its noises like I knew my own mother's footfalls late at night.

For the moment, though, it seemed like nobody was home.

I slowly relaxed. Maybe the realtor's been paying the bills, I thought. You can't show potential buyers some dank mausoleum. The expense would be worth it. The commission on this place would be a fortune. A deeper, quieter thought still bothered me: Doesn't explain the cookies. Or the weed.

I walked very slowly to the family room and stopped short. My jaw fell slack. There was a shiny sixty-inch flat-screen television on the wall. Two different gaming consoles, a blu-ray player, a digital cable box and a computer tower radiated from it on HDMI umbilicals. Stacks of games (all new titles) and high-definition movies on the coffee table and speaker cabinets formed precarious Jenga towers. Still more game titles and movies filled the bookshelves lining the walls.

To a boy like me, this was Aladdin's cave. I got a little shock when I walked in and saw the topmost movie of the nearest stack was X-rated. A pretty blonde girl smiled and held her blouse open, happily showing off an impudent pair of teenaged breasts. The title read Cute Li'l Cocksuckers. I checked further into the stack and they were all like that. Whoever lived there sure had a thing for young blondes. I felt the pleasurable surge of an erection and I was glad I was wearing my baggy cut-off-at-the-knees cammos. I was tempted to pop one of the movies in for a look-see.

There was a half-eaten pizza sitting on the coffee table and a half-drunk bottle of diet cola next to it. There was also a plate of those fresh-baked cookies I'd smelled. There was a carpeted hallway leading out the far side of the room. I checked it out. It was a dead end with storage closets full of cleaning supplies and a small, spotless pink tile bathroom at the end of it.

I helped myself to one of the cookies. It was chewy and delicious. I ate a second one. And then a third.

I spent the next forty minutes or so exploring the rest of the main floor. It was posh without being grandiose and the living room was actually pretty homey. There was a huge atrium by the front door and a double-wide wooden staircase spiraling up around the perimeter to the second floor. I thought about poking around up there, but the stairs looked way too old and creaky. There was no way I could walk up them quietly.

I decided to head back to the den and snap some shots of the stacked porno movies. They would be my proof-of-daring. Then I'd go out the back, like I came in, and make my escape.

I began feeling very sluggish on my way back there. I gave myself a shake but couldn't shake the feeling. I photographed the movies, but then started feeling downright strange. My head seemed stuffed with plush quilting and I felt very drowsy. I sank down on to the couch. I ran my hands over its soft leather and it seemed like the smoothest, most sensuous thing I'd ever felt. I leaned back and the softness and support were wonderful. The popcorn-stucco ceiling seemed amazingly, dizzyingly complex and fascinating.

I caught myself; how long had I been staring? Ten minutes? Twenty? Time seemed...weird. And my body felt kind of...oogy.

I chuckled. Oogy. It seemed like the most hysterical word ever. My body seemed to be melting and my consciousness dissolving into the vastness of the universe.

I was buzzed. High. Faded. Those weren't cookies, I realized with a bemused kind of dismay as I sank into oblivion. Edibles.

~~~

When I came to, people were having sex in front of me. They didn't seem to care that I was there or even notice me. Then the camera angle changed, and I realized a porno was playing on that huge TV screen. A slim and gorgeous young blonde girl was taking dick from a muscular and well-hung black man. It was a pretty hot spectacle to my pot-dazzled, reality-heightened eyes and a rush of blood made my penis uncoil and straighten. It tingled.

"Your phone kept going off," a woman said in a faint and distracted voice. "It woke me up."

I was still extraordinarily high, but no longer sleepy. There was a droning cosmic Om in my ears and my mouth felt like an old suit pocket stuffed with mothballs. For a moment I thought the voice had come from the TV. I struggled to get my phone out of my pocket: three increasingly irate texts from home and several missed calls. Four hours had passed. I'd missed dinner.

I called home. "Jake?" my mother yelled. "Are you okay? We were getting ready to call the police!"

"Yeah I'm fine," I yawned. "I just...fell asleep."

"You what?"

"I'm at a friend's house. I'm okay. Sorry I forgot to call. I'll text you when I'm on my way home."

I disconnected and turned off my phone before she could harangue me any further. Her frantic energy was putting me on edge.

My whole body felt soft and heavy as though under the not-unpleasant weight of a dozen invisible down comforters. Firework trails streamed behind my hands as I fumbled with my phone. I kept blinking, but the light show persisted. It was like seeing spots when you look into the sun, only they stayed longer.

"So," that strange girl's voice asked, "um...are you really here?"

The question paralyzed me. Am I really here. It was the deepest, most penetrating philosophical question anyone had ever asked me. I couldn't begin to answer it. With a glacially slow and patient effort, I turned my head to face the voice.

Holy shit. Am I ever tripping balls.

It wasn't the ghost of the old cat lady. The girl on the couch next to me was solidly real, and she wasn't old by a long shot. Maybe early-to-mid twenties. She was watching the TV with very large and pot-softened green eyes. She had a pretty, high-cheekboned face with shoulder length oat-blonde hair and a long, slender neck. She looked every bit as stoned as I felt.

She was also naked as a jaybird. That wasn't the strange part. Her breasts were large and beautifully formed, like rounded cones with puffy pink areolas. That wasn't the strange part either, but it was breathtaking. My mom had a really big pair of double-D cup jugs, and this girl could easily fill one of Mom's bras. On her slim frame those breasts looked massive, like she was some bosomy centerfold out of the pages of one of my Grandpa's Big & Bodacious magazines. But again, not the strange part.

The strange part was that she had a penis. I couldn't believe it at first, either.

It was erect, and I mean it was hugely swollen and aroused. It was long, with a pronounced banana-curve and a shaft so thick that her fingers couldn't fully close around it. Its skin was satiny-smooth from the veiny peach tones of her shaft to the rosy-pink of her fat glans. She was stroking it up and down as she watched the naked people onscreen.

I'm hallucinating, I thought in wonder.

That thought also carried a small amount of regret. This was such a bizarre and fascinating vision that a kinky corner of my psyche was a little disappointed it wasn't real.

For a hallucination the details were incredibly...detailed. Little things caught my eye, like the way her foreskin accordioned below her exposed dome when she pulled down. The way her dome itself gleamed and pulsed. The way her big nuts moved around with her up-and-down strokes. The way her penis glistened from the lubricant oozing from her bulb. The way her whole pubis was shaved smooth, including her stuffed-full sac. The way the wet skin of her penis shifted back and forth over the ridges and veins of her fat shaft. As her hand pulled up, the central fin of scrotal tissue pulled taut and her plums rolled. It was...trippy.

Her end of the couch was swathed in an enormous powder-blue knit men's cardigan. She was sprawled out on it. I guessed she'd been wearing it like a robe when she sat down and just sort of shrugged out of it. It was covered with intricate vertical braided knitwork that was entirely too much for my brain to deal with just then.

My brain was able to register that she was nowhere near as tall as me. We both had our legs stretched out, and mine went a lot further. I was a gangling great lout of a teenager, but for such a petite thing, she sure had a huge wang.

My own wang was straining painfully against my zipper. I watched as my neon disco-streamer hands opened my cammos and let it spring out. It stood tall.

I'd never measured it, but I had a more-than-proportional unit. It always embarrassed the hell out of me--I didn't need or want that kind of attention in the locker room--but right then I didn't care. Partly because I was so high, but more because the nonexistent girl next to me also had one. Only hers was much bigger. I couldn't look away from it; it throbbed in a most hypnotic way.

I licked my hand and started stroking off to the porno with her. I relaxed and just grooved on the naked, grunting, slapping bodies on the TV. From time to time I'd glance over and take in my now red-cheeked companion. She was masturbating at a good clip, and her breasts jostled distractingly. Her eyes were swiveling from the screen to my crotch.

"That's a...really nice dick you've got there," the hallucination said.

"Thanks," I replied. I paused. It seemed only polite to return a compliment. "You got a nice one there yourself." As I said it, I realized it was the truth. She really did have an attractive and impressive member.

We masturbated together in stoned and amiable silence. I licked my palm again to keep my dick slippery.

"Oh here, take this," she said, and handed me a pump bottle of lube.

"Thanks."

"No worries," she said distantly, eyes on the screen. "That stuff's great. I love it. It makes it all feel so good."

Her voice...it wasn't squeaky, but it was pretty high up there. Even as stoned as she clearly was, her voice was still musical and pleasant to hear. It was another thing that didn't line up with that massive dick of hers, at which I couldn't seem to stop staring.

I squeezed some lube onto my dick and began stroking. The added slipperiness increased the pleasure and gave it a delicious, shivery edge. She hadn't been kidding.

I had a weird moment then. How could something handed to me by a hallucination be real? The lube bottle was unquestionably solid. The lube itself was realler-than-real. It felt slick and awesome on my dick.

The video cut to a close up of the lead actor's enormous penis ejaculating. The actress had her eyes closed and her mouth open. My eyes were riveted to all that sperm piling onto her tongue. My mind kind of went blank and I forgot my train of thought.

"That's so nice," my hallucinatory friend sighed. "I really like cocks. All shapes, all colors, all sizes. This guy has such a nice one." She shot me a bleary glance. "Do you like dicks?"

"Um." I replied. "I like my own," I answered truthfully. To be polite (and honest), I added "I think yours is pretty cool, too."

"Thank you. I really like watching big dicks get sucked." A slow and sensual smile spread over her pixie face. "Especially by pretty blonde girls. Bonus points if they look like me." She shot me a rather goofy smile that was both jarring and endearing. "I like watching big dicks go into pretty blonde girls, too. Into their pussies...and their assholes...ooooh."

Her attention had drifted back to the porno and she stroked herself a little harder as she saw something she particularly liked. A pretty blonde girl had her mouth on a dude's ball sack. She was licking and sucking them. You could see the guy's nuts roll around as she pulled them in and out of her mouth.

"Oooh, I love that. Pretty girls licking balls is just the greatest. I love having my balls licked." She gave me another dopey smile. "You like having your balls licked?"

A girl had never spoken to me so frankly, so bluntly. And that sweet Disney Princess voice made it that much hotter and weirder. It was messing with my head almost as much as her nudity. Or the fact she had a penis. But then again, I'd never seen a girl half as stoned as this one. Or as naked. Or one with a dick.

"I...wouldn't know," I croaked. I couldn't even think about mounting some macho ego defence and lie-brag about it. I wasn't a virgin, but I'd had sex exactly once and it had been a quick and extremely no-frills experience. A friend's older sister had pulled me into a spare room during a house party. The whole damn thing was over almost before I'd realized it had begun.

"You never had your balls licked?"

I shook my head. "It does look pretty nice though."

"Ooooh, it is. You been missing out, bro."

I chuckled, a little hysterically. I couldn't help it. A girl had just called me bro.

She gave me a long and speculative look that was a little unsettling. Then she grinned and licked her lips.

"Welllll, phantom buddy," she said in a giggly and drawn-out kind of way, "I guess today's your lucky day."

What? What did she mean by--

She was moving. My eyes kept painting bright paths onto moving objects and it was a freaky thing to watch her slide bonelessly forward off the couch onto her hands and knees. That dopey, friendly grin didn't change once as she crawled over to me. Her breasts hung down nearly to the carpet and her nipples drew sparkly zig-zags as they swayed.

She giggled as she grabbed my baggy cammo shorts and tugged. I co-operated without thinking, lifting my hips so she could remove them. I was freeballing it underneath, so I was suddenly naked from the waist down. She ducked under my left leg and nestled in between them. Her warm, smooth skin brushing against mine gave me electric tingles and gooseflesh all over.

Her heavy-lidded eyes held a drugged kind of sensuality as they gazed up into mine. Her shoulders kept hitching in breathy little half-giggles.She dipped her head and licked my balls. I quivered at the moist, sensual caress. I guess my reaction must have been obvious; she gave another little half-laugh as she kept on licking. She kissed each hugely swollen testicle with a noisy smack. I let go of my cock and it stood upright and vibrated like a fence post during a tremor.

"Nice," she said in between all her smacking and smooching. "That's niiiiiice."

Her tongue lolled under my balls and licked my perineum. I jolted; it was the most intensely pleasurable sensation I'd ever felt. She didn't stop at one lick either; she brushed it up and down with long, lazy strokes.

Previously unknown nerve endings got up and danced with joy. I let out an incoherent gurgling sound that might have been a moan. She half-moaned, half-giggled in response and licked me right on my ass hole. The delicious sensations peaked. My body jerked. She tongue-traced slow, excruciating circles around my pucker. It felt so good that my skin-tingles intensified and my toes curled involuntarily. Her tongue strummed the ridges of my anus like ukelele strings.

"Oh...God," I groaned between clenched teeth. I spread my legs as wide as I could. I guess she could sense how close I was to coming, because after giving my bung one last loud, wet smack (which sent concentric ripples of ecstasy through me) she pulled away and sat back on her haunches.

"That's all you get. For now. My turn."

She grabbed me by the cock and unceremoniously tugged me forward off the couch. I landed on my knees.