{"sf1_id":89421,"sf2_id":"XekwazYe","title":"Breaktime Shorts 12","author":"tobiasfoxx","words":931,"posted_at":"2009-06-03T18:34:00.000Z","tags":["Hermaphrodite","No-Yiff","Other/Herm"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/89421-breaktime-shorts-12","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/XekwazYe","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/fa/c5/fac52433-6485-43ca-9164-d38327cdf587","description":"#7 of Breaktime Shorts","content":"Author: Tobias Foxx  \nTitle: Breaktime Shorts 12  \nPart: BTS 12  \nSummary: A timed writing exercise 'money shot' quickie.  \nKeywords: Furry, herm, nosex  \n  \n30 min Story Starter  \n\n* * *\nStories in this series are simple timed writing exercises. As the series title suggests, they  \nare written during my breaks at work. As such, most will be very short, rushed, and  \nlacking all but the most basic character building. Essentially, they'll mostly be \"money  \nshot\" quickies. I hope you enjoy them.\n* * *\n  \nTraci stood nude before the mirror, staring at herself. Hirself. Itself. Thatself.  \nThingself. Freakself. She shook her head. She. Her. The lupine hermaphrodite had  \nalways thought of herself as female, despite the additional genitalia she sported. She had  \nalways dressed as female, acted as female, -felt- female. Her eyes fell to the offending  \nbits of flesh that hid her feminine sex. A hand moved from its limp hang at her side to  \ncup her precious orbs within their sack of flesh. Its twin grasped the sheath above and  \nher member contained within. She gasped as pain lanced through her, hands clenching  \nhard on those tender parts, caught by a sudden urge to rip them off and be done with it.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The urge lasted only a few moments, and she stood trembling while the pain dulled to a  \nlow throb. There was a part of herself that actually enjoyed those masculine bits. They  \nmade masturbation a lot more interesting, certainly. She let her eyes rove over her body  \nonce more, ticking off its flaws. Her paws were too big, too male, not at all like the  \ndainty things most females were granted. Her legs were shapely enough, but her hips  \nwere rather flat. She wished she had at least gotten a decent butt out of the deal, but her  \nwaist was trim enough to give her figure an approximation of the right shape. Her breasts  \nmight as well not exist, petite A-cups that only required a sports bra framed by too-wide  \nshoulders. In all, she looked like an effeminate male, like a fox or bunny boy.  \n  \nShe turned to the side, sweeping her steel gray hair into a hand-held ponytail, thrusting  \nher chest forward and rump back in an attempt to make both look bigger. It only seemed  \nto make her sheath all the more prominent. She slumped, looking down it, the real thing  \nthis time rather than the reflection. It wasn't like she was huge or anything. Her sheath  \nwas only three inches long though plump, the orbs hanging beneath the size of walnuts.  \nEven when she was fully erect, she weighed in at a rather average six and a half inches  \nincluding her knot, two inches thick along the length and three at the bulge. Nothing  \nclose to the other herms she had seen. Most of them seemed like the must have equine  \nblood in them they were so massive.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The wolf gave a soft sigh. At least she was going to a new school this year. It was a  \nchance to start over, make a new name for herself away from the taunts, the torments, the  \n\"pranks\". A shudder ran down her frame. NO. She was sixteen. She had a driver's  \nlicense, a car, and a chance to redeem her failed social life. She would NOT allow the  \npast to haunt her nor fear to deter her. Her back straightened as she turned to face her  \nreflection once more. She would have friends, confidants, a life outside of school and  \nhomework. She would go to parties and hang out at the mall. She might even have sex if  \nshe wanted to. She cringed, a hand involuntarily reaching to cover her feminine gender  \nand tailhole, remembered pain flaring briefly. She pulled it back, though, and squared  \nher shoulders. That would not happen here.  \n  \nBut... how? How was she to win acceptance? She eyed herself yet again, less critically.  \nMaybe... She pulled open the doors to her closet and began rooting through still  \nunpacked boxes. Eventually, she found what she was after. For years, her granddam had  \nbeen sending her boy's clothing. She had never worn any of it, preferring dresses and  \nskirts in her quest for feminine acceptance. Now, she pulled forth the box those garments  \nhad been packed unworn into. Jeans, pre-ripped and overpriced. Tee shirts in either  \nblack or some garish color sporting sarcastic phrases. Several pairs of pawboots, most  \nwith far too many buckles. A leather jacket, second-hand, well-worn and faded black.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt at random and put them on, checking the mirror  \nagain. The shirt was a big baggy, but the way it hung served to mostly hide the lumps on  \nher chest. Her sports bra would flatten them enough to take care of that, though she'd  \nneed to wear a tank top over it for gym class. The jeans were tight, but they displayed  \nher package well and sat low enough on her hips to mask their curvature. She held her  \nhair back with one hand, looking herself over, then went back for a pair of boots and the  \njacket. The complete ensemble worked well, but she realized that she still held herself  \nlike a girl. She affected a slouch and a surly expression. She would have to practice, lose  \nthe sway in her walk, the hippy cant of her stance, maybe cut her hair, spike it, pierce one  \nof her ears. She couldn't help but smile, though. Traci the girl had not made the cut. But  \nTraci the boy would.  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Breaktime Shorts","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/89418-breaktime-shorts-10-and-11.json"}}