Compartments Or Back In The Saddle

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, or if reading this type of material is unlawful where you reside, don't read it. Everything in this story is completely fictitious and none of it is meant to represent any real-life people or medical conditions. All characters in sexual situations are over the age of 18 regardless of any age portrayed for dramatic or narrative purposes. Please enjoy this story responsibly and do not repost without permission. This story is copyright the author©2014.

~~~

The extraction kiosks always reminded Janey Yorke of old-time peepshow booths, where people would feed in coins to watch porno movies or live nude performers. She imagined these were a little more spacious. They had shelves to put one's folded clothes on, and little institutional wash-up basins. In larger cities, she knew there were extraction centers that were almost like day spas, with swimming pools, hot tubs, even massage tables for relaxing before a session. There, the kiosks were like mansion bathrooms. In this small southwestern corner of nowhere, they were eight-by-twelve plywood boxes. The Saddle took up much of the space.

When Janey was a little girl this building had been a small boxing gym. A dozen or so kiosks now sat in the main space where the ring used to be, with the locker rooms and showers adjoining. She knew they were lucky to have that much. She cast a whimsical eye at the plywood siding of the kiosk -- no glory holes.

The Saddle itself grew out of the wall like an odd piece of plushly-padded exercise equipment. You stepped into the stirrups and then leaned forward into the strategically-placed support cushions held up on adjustable arms. The ergonomics of it evenly distributed one's body weight. It was as comfortable as lying on a pillow-top mattress. A standard twenty-four-inch micro-plasma monitor faced you at eye level and a rudimentary control keypad offered itself on another flexible arm. Behind and slightly below the parallel hip pads, yet another mechanical arm angled a U-shaped metal instrument upwards like the poised, forked stinger of a mutant scorpion. Closer to the front and below the resting pads, a gleaming steel cylinder about the size of a large coffee thermos tilted inward toward the center.

Janey disrobed and carefully folded her clothes on the shelf. Her bra felt tight, and unsnapping it was a relief. She glanced at the label: 34F. She decided she'd do an extra-long session today. It would burn off more calories. Whenever she gained weight it went straight to her boobs before loading down her butt and thighs. She didn't want to have to buy a whole new set of custom-fit brassieres.

Her penis swung heavily as she pulled off her plain white cotton panties. It had satiny-smooth skin like polished, blue-veined marble. She'd seen bigger ones, but not many. She was circumcised, but by choice, not religion. Her foreskin had been long and floppy and always in the way. She'd never regretted having it foreshortened. It still covered her head when she was detumescent, but quickly and efficiently retracted once she grew erect. She had balls like ripe garden tomatoes, and they jostled about in a pretty pink sac as smooth and hairless as nectarine skin.

She wasn't born with a penis; it literally appeared overnight back when she was in senior high. The syndrome was called Adolescent Onset Hermaphrogenesis, or just Onset for short. The phenomenon first appeared in the eighties, but didn't really start taking off until the late nineties and early aughts.

Once the world had adjusted to the fact that a small-but-significant percentage of the female population was now growing large penises midway into puberty, and that it was not, in fact, a harbinger of some oncoming apocalypse, certain social adjustments had to be made. They were hastened by the discovery that the seminal fluid produced by these women had remarkable curative and life-extending properties. Janey and the thousands of other women like her discovered they had gold mines swinging between their legs. Existing pharmaceutical empires had crumbled. Others sprang up to embrace what some cheekily called the White Rush. Numerous cottage industries sprang up overnight to cash in on it. By aught-five, extraction centers were commonplace. Even this tumbleweed town had one, such as it was.

Janey mounted the Saddle like a girl's bicycle. She stood upright in the stirrups while she tied her long brunette hair back with a scrunchie and then leaned forward. The Saddle easily and comfortably took her weight. Her thick penis hung straight down.

No way I'm still under 130

, she thought fleetingly.

Must have slipped up somewhere

.

She typed a series of pin codes into the keypad. They identified her and authorized her use of the extractor. She'd done this so many times, she knew them all by heart and didn't even have to look at the keypad to do it. The monitor on the wall in front of her read

Code Accepted

in bright friendly letters each time she hit Enter. The question,

Begin Extraction Sequence?

finally appeared and she hit Enter once more.

Extraction Sequence Initiated -- Stage One

. The lettering faded into a soothing screensaver of looped ocean vistas and rainforest panoramas. The lighting dimmed to a peaceful sunset ambiance.

The top of the big metal cylinder just below her hips irised open, revealing a vaginal pink slit made of some kind of soft molded latex composite. It bubbled with clear lubricating fluid. Janey reached down to probe it with her fingers, testing the tightness and level of lubrication. Both were to her liking. She inserted each finger of her hand and then made a fist to make her hand all slippery. She palmed her penis and rubbed in the lubrication. She closed her eyes, relaxed, and went with the sensations. Her penis ballooned in length and girth; she'd never measured it, but guessed it was a little bit more than a foot at its angriest. Blood rushed into it. Her member stiffened, and her breaths came a little deeper. She had the kind of big handsome member men used to sell their souls for, at least until it was discovered that Janey's type of semen, processed correctly, could give just about anybody the kind of size and potency she took for granted. With immunity to all infectious diseases thrown in for free. Another reason it was so valuable.

Now pleasurably full, Janey pointed her erection downward at the greased rubber tube. She pushed a button, and she sucked in a quick breath as the cylinder rose, swiftly engulfing her organ in delightfully slick, pseudo-fleshy tightness. It bumped her balls as it bottomed out.

The lubricant did a lot more than just make things slippery. It contained a cocktail of muscle relaxers, hormone coaxers and blood vessel de-constrictors. She could feel the familiar sense of erotic lassitude creep over her. She felt boneless and energized and fearsomely concupiscent all at once.

The tube swam in a viscous and superconductive fluid that filled the drum of the cylinder. Via the keypad, she could control both its warmth (through internal heating elements), and its relative tightness. There was a hollow internal piston that shunted back and forth to provide stimulation once the extraction process was underway.

Janey hit Enter one more time, and the U-shaped device behind her moved forward on its mechanical arm. The smooth metal prongs had recessed openings in their rounded tips from which more of that heavily-medicated lubricant flowed. They were warm and wet as they nosed between her buttocks.

My round, overly-large buttocks

, she thought distantly. The medication had done its job; the lower prong entered her vagina with no trouble while the upper one barely needed to press on the relaxed pucker of her anus for a second before breaching it. Janey sighed and grimaced. She didn't care for anal sex in her private life; the feel of that greased steel probe easing warmly up her rectum was not something that would ever grow on her.

She tapped a key and both deeply inserted instruments squirted her full of that sweet extraction juice. Her head began floating and she relaxed even further. She had the oddest sensation of her body melting and oozing over the plush, cozy support pads of the Saddle. She tapped another key, and the big cylinder began vibrating and rumbling like an old twentieth-century washing machine. The artificial vagina began sucking and massaging her buried member, impelled by the internal churning of the cylinder's SmartFluid.

She let out a wavering little breath. The internal piston began sliding. It gripped tightly and rolled her foreskin to and fro as it cycled over her prodigious length in long, slow strokes. She squirmed and tried not whimper; the friction was beyond delicious.

She hit the final Commit button, and safety restraints arched up from slits in the weight-bearing modules and locked over her arms and legs. She had found them unnerving when she was younger, but had since come to see their necessity. The extraction process could be turbulent and staying firmly saddled was important.

Then the inserted probes began to vibrate. The vaginal probe had a small hook-like extension designed to rest upon the Saddled woman's clitoris, while the anal probe stimulated all the orgasm receptors in its respective opening, focusing primarily on the prostate gland. Involuntarily, Janey gasped and then moaned. The intensity of the extraction experience did this to her every time.

The vibrations were gentle at first, but designed to increase in power as the Saddle tracked the subjects' upward ramp of arousal toward orgasm.

Janey tried to take deep, even breaths, but her chest kept hitching. Her vagina flexed around its broad mouthful and her clitoris felt swollen to bursting. The vibrations sent waves of almost-ticklish joy pulsing all through her pelvis. Hot and cold chills swept up her spine and down the backs of her thighs. Her excitement rose slowly, but gathered momentum as the moment approached.

Her muscles began going into spasms.

It's happening

, she thought dizzily.

Oh God, here it comes, here we go...

Her clitoris went incandescent and her vagina began clenching and releasing in a hard, jolting rhythm. She groaned and ejaculated. Her sperm burst forth like jets from a cracked hydroelectric dam. The pleasure was damn near unbearable.

She stopped counting after six spurts. The monitor calmly scrolled stats overtop the reassuring nature imagery: volume (updated dynamically as the collection syphon at the bottom of the artificial vagina registered the take), sperm count and motility quotient. All pushed the limits of the top percentile. And the volume measurement kept rising as her orgasm went on and on.

It was like floating in ecstasy. Her thighs shook and her buttocks trembled from being squeezed around those two deeply-inserted vibrating prods. Perspiration dripped from her brow and tickled the small of her back as it flowed down her body. Her vagina was dripping as well. She could feel the froth of her juices soaking her balls and the insides of her thighs. She moaned, and could hear other women moaning from the other cubicles.

"I'm coming," one of them whimpered.

"Oh, me too, me too," another answered in a moan.

"Oh come, honey, come."

Women would often visit the extraction centers in groups for mutual support. For them, it was a shared, bonding experience. In the aftermath of a session they would relax together on the long padded benches in the locker room. Janey had seen women kissing and hugging and even tenderly sucking each others' penises. They wouldn't have any sperm left, of course, and often they wouldn't be able to erect even partially, but it was intended as a comforting, sisterly kind of thing. A lot of mutual back-scrubbing and other hanky-panky happened in the showers as well. Janey had never partaken.

Her balls felt like they'd swollen to the size of coconuts. They sat snug against the roots of her penis, warm and tingly from pumping out all that sperm. It would take a lot to get them to relax into pleasant, achy satisfaction, Janey knew.

Her personal refractory period was very short. An hour or so in the Saddle could whittle it down to almost nothing. After each climax, the Saddle would restart the ramp-up sequence a little sooner until the women reached a plateau of almost continuous orgasm. It was a dizzying, incredible experience. It never failed to amaze Janey what her body was capable of when put through the Saddle's paces. Four and a half hours at that insane, overwhelming peak was Janey's personal record. It wiped her out, but that peak produced the purest and most valuable yield.

The vibrations of the warm metal prongs in her vagina and rectal canal had eased off slightly after her first climax. The piston in the milking tube had slowed and loosened as well. Janey panted harshly. Her flushed cheeks warmed the faux-leather pads of the Saddle's face-cradle. The oxygen felt wonderful hitting her lungs. Power filled her body like an airborne drug.

She felt euphoric, completely out of herself and filled with a fearless, sensual potency.

I'm ready. Give me more. Bring it on.

The buzzing probes buried deep in her vitals gradually resumed their seductive, tantalizing dance. They rekindled her. Fresh lust washed over her, and her renewed erection forced the circumference of the milking tube wide open. The piston began sliding again.

"Ohhhhhh..." her breath escaped her in a long, high-pitched sigh. Her toes curled and her fingernails gripped the soft carbon-fiber weave of the Saddle's hand rests.

Ramming speed. Ooh, here it is again...

Janey whimper-grunted as another ejaculation wracked her. Soon there would be another, she knew, and then another and another until they all ran together in a fugue of convulsive bliss. The Saddle would coax and tease you along at first, but then after a point the gloves would come off and it would push and demand and drive you to heights undreamt-of. It was both exhilarating, and, for Janey, profoundly disconcerting. Every woman like her had a complex relationship with the Saddle. You worshiped it and resented it in equal measures.

"I'm coming," she groaned, not caring who heard her or who answered. "I'm coming, coming,

oh God

."

She would be beyond speech soon. Soon there would just be gasps and breathless grunts. They would go on for a long time. When it was finally finished, she would stagger off the Saddle, splash some water on her face and penis, then lurch bonelessly to the showers with her clothes under her arm.

~~~

Her best take-home for a session was just in excess of fifteen thousand dollars. Murphy, the cigar-chomping owner of this extraction center, would make ten times that off the same yield. Every Sunday he drove his refrigerated truckload of the week's output in liquid-nitrogen-sealed canisters to the big pharma plant in Phoenix, three hours away. They paid a fortune for them. They, in turn, would make billions off the same harvest. The effective medicinal dosage of Janey's kind of product was measured in pico-liters.

The limit was one visit per week per donor. Murphy couldn't handle any greater volume. Janey and almost every other woman like her easily had the jam for more than that; if she had to, she could have managed a visit to the center (or, as the locals liked to call it, the

Stop-n-Slop

) every other day. If she was feeling up for it, or if she needed the money, she would double down at another center forty minutes away in Piedmont.

~~~

Janey stood under the shower, head bowed with both palms pressed to the tile wall. The hot water felt indescribably good.

She had managed three hours in the Saddle today. Her take-home would be eleven thousand and change. Her eyes had been too blurry to register anything after the first few digits when the monitor displayed the final tally. She felt calm and happy and good all over, with a lingering sense of empowerment and naughty giddiness.

Not a bad day's work if I do say.

"Wash your back?"

She looked up. It was a blonde woman, about her age, a little less buxom, but with a regular pink cucumber swinging below her waist. She had the dreamy, happy lassitude of a woman who'd just come out of an especially poignant session. Janey knew she herself looked the same. The blonde woman was good looking, and that wasn't unusual. Janey's condition produced healthy and robust women. For some reason, they never seemed to be tall; at five foot six, Janey was considered something of an amazon among her kind.

Automatically, Janey began shaking her head, but then thought,

why not?

She was feeling both tired and space-rocket high. It was a natural high (albeit pharmaceutically facilitated), so there was no danger of dopamine depletion, but still her ordinarily steep inhibitions were relaxed. It was nice to be touched, nice to let someone else to the work of running the soapy loofah over her shoulders and back.

She thought of the larger extraction centers like the one in Phoenix she'd visited once. She thought of masseuses and warmed oil baths. She enjoyed the contact.

She did consider protesting when the woman lathered up her buttocks and ran the loofah up and down her legs but then thought

why bother?

It felt good.

The woman rinsed her, and then, without so much as a by-your-leave, knelt down behind her and began kissing and licking her too-big bum.

"Wait..."

Even to her own ears, Janey's protest sounded halfhearted. The woman ignored her and pressed her pretty face right between Janey's rear cheeks. An orgasmic shiver whipped through her as a tongue licked her still-dilated anus.

Her body was still quaky and overstimulated, not to mention

sensitive

. Her rosebud was a little sore from its recent prolonged intrusion and the gentle tonguing was soothing as well as wickedly pleasurable. Her toes fisted and she rose up onto the balls of her feet. Amazingly, blood rushed into her penis and it rose to semi-erection. It hung from her body in a thick, soft parabola.

The woman sliced her tongue through Janey's juicy and puffily-sensitive pudendum. She lapped at the long sac of her testicles and mouthed each swollen orb in turn. Janey's penis rose a little higher.

"Turn and face me." The woman's voice was soft and sweet and loving. Janey couldn't think of a reason to refuse her.

When the woman's mouth engulfed her long, droopy sausage, Janey's eyes rolled up. She was so sensitive after her session, but not so sensitive that the blonde's soft lips and roving tongue didn't feel marvelous. Janey watched that wet blonde head draw closer to her belly as more of her penis was ingested. The woman sucked very gently. Janey moaned as the dregs of her last emission were sweetly drawn through her pipe and exited with a shuddery, delicious tingle.

The blonde woman moaned, tasting her. Janey saw beautifully lacquered nails as fingers grasped her column and cupped her balls. The woman squeezed her, again ever so gently, and colors burst behind Janey's closed eyelids as a diminishing post-climactic spasm pushed the last of her sperm into her partner's mouth.

The woman sucked and squeezed, and Janey felt her penis finally droop in absolute surrender. Then the woman rose to her feet. Janey's dilated pupils made the droplets of water streaming down the blonde's body sparkle with soft-focus brilliance. She kissed her and inserted her sweetly-spermy tongue into Janey's mouth.

Janey had never tasted her own cum. She was not a licentious woman. She was happily married with two children. Her husband was an artist and a damn good one, and she was happy to support their family and his career. The world was a better place with his work in it. She was as strongly sexed as any other woman with her condition, but it wasn't the be-all-and-end-all of her existence. Her sexuality had its place her life, and it was beautiful and righteous; it did not own her. This was why her trips to the extraction center were always strictly shoot-and-scoot. She didn't go there for companionship or to bond with other empenised women.