Breaktime Shorts 12
#7 of Breaktime Shorts
Author: Tobias Foxx Title: Breaktime Shorts 12 Part: BTS 12 Summary: A timed writing exercise 'money shot' quickie. Keywords: Furry, herm, nosex 30 min Story Starter * * *
Stories in this series are simple timed writing exercises. As the series title suggests, they are written during my breaks at work. As such, most will be very short, rushed, and lacking all but the most basic character building. Essentially, they'll mostly be "money shot" quickies. I hope you enjoy them.
- * * Traci stood nude before the mirror, staring at herself. Hirself. Itself. Thatself. Thingself. Freakself. She shook her head. She. Her. The lupine hermaphrodite had always thought of herself as female, despite the additional genitalia she sported. She had always dressed as female, acted as female, -felt- female. Her eyes fell to the offending bits of flesh that hid her feminine sex. A hand moved from its limp hang at her side to cup her precious orbs within their sack of flesh. Its twin grasped the sheath above and her member contained within. She gasped as pain lanced through her, hands clenching hard on those tender parts, caught by a sudden urge to rip them off and be done with it. The urge lasted only a few moments, and she stood trembling while the pain dulled to a low throb. There was a part of herself that actually enjoyed those masculine bits. They made masturbation a lot more interesting, certainly. She let her eyes rove over her body once more, ticking off its flaws. Her paws were too big, too male, not at all like the dainty things most females were granted. Her legs were shapely enough, but her hips were rather flat. She wished she had at least gotten a decent butt out of the deal, but her waist was trim enough to give her figure an approximation of the right shape. Her breasts might as well not exist, petite A-cups that only required a sports bra framed by too-wide shoulders. In all, she looked like an effeminate male, like a fox or bunny boy. She turned to the side, sweeping her steel gray hair into a hand-held ponytail, thrusting her chest forward and rump back in an attempt to make both look bigger. It only seemed to make her sheath all the more prominent. She slumped, looking down it, the real thing this time rather than the reflection. It wasn't like she was huge or anything. Her sheath was only three inches long though plump, the orbs hanging beneath the size of walnuts. Even when she was fully erect, she weighed in at a rather average six and a half inches including her knot, two inches thick along the length and three at the bulge. Nothing close to the other herms she had seen. Most of them seemed like the must have equine blood in them they were so massive. The wolf gave a soft sigh. At least she was going to a new school this year. It was a chance to start over, make a new name for herself away from the taunts, the torments, the "pranks". A shudder ran down her frame. NO. She was sixteen. She had a driver's license, a car, and a chance to redeem her failed social life. She would NOT allow the past to haunt her nor fear to deter her. Her back straightened as she turned to face her reflection once more. She would have friends, confidants, a life outside of school and homework. She would go to parties and hang out at the mall. She might even have sex if she wanted to. She cringed, a hand involuntarily reaching to cover her feminine gender and tailhole, remembered pain flaring briefly. She pulled it back, though, and squared her shoulders. That would not happen here. But... how? How was she to win acceptance? She eyed herself yet again, less critically. Maybe... She pulled open the doors to her closet and began rooting through still unpacked boxes. Eventually, she found what she was after. For years, her granddam had been sending her boy's clothing. She had never worn any of it, preferring dresses and skirts in her quest for feminine acceptance. Now, she pulled forth the box those garments had been packed unworn into. Jeans, pre-ripped and overpriced. Tee shirts in either black or some garish color sporting sarcastic phrases. Several pairs of pawboots, most with far too many buckles. A leather jacket, second-hand, well-worn and faded black. She pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt at random and put them on, checking the mirror again. The shirt was a big baggy, but the way it hung served to mostly hide the lumps on her chest. Her sports bra would flatten them enough to take care of that, though she'd need to wear a tank top over it for gym class. The jeans were tight, but they displayed her package well and sat low enough on her hips to mask their curvature. She held her hair back with one hand, looking herself over, then went back for a pair of boots and the jacket. The complete ensemble worked well, but she realized that she still held herself like a girl. She affected a slouch and a surly expression. She would have to practice, lose the sway in her walk, the hippy cant of her stance, maybe cut her hair, spike it, pierce one of her ears. She couldn't help but smile, though. Traci the girl had not made the cut. But Traci the boy would.