A Knack for Phyllis (futa on male, femdom, reluctance)

A Knack for Phyllis

A Short Story 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©2025 J.K. Ermon.

~~~

Satanta, Kansas, 1959

Sonny Kellerman opened the dressing room door without knocking and stuck his head inside.

“Hey Phil, ya gotta minute?”

Phyllis Phallus, aka Anne-Marie Krause, looked up from patting herself dry with a threadbare white beach towel. Her hair was wrapped up with another, equally tatty towel. Her beautiful face gave him a sour look as he let himself in.

He was immediately engulfed in the intensely feminine and somehow secret scents of a showgirl’s dressing room: cosmetics, talc, vanilla body lotion, soap. And underneath it all, the tantalizing aroma of emergent sperm. Phyllis was a dickgirl, like all the women who performed at Sonny’s place.

He took a moment to savor it. That smell never got old for him.

“Isn’t that door supposed to lock?” Her tone was pointed. It belied the sumptuous and inviting curves of her naked body. Her beach blanket could barely conceal or contain them. Her now-soft penis made a big hump in it.

The Keller Cellar was a mid-scale sausage joint that in better days hosted feature DG performers from all over the country. Phyllis was local. As was the Cellar’s owner now darkening her door.

Back when they were in high school, Phyllis had been an actual cheerleader captain. She came down with Seahag Syndrome the day after she finished her end-of-year Junior exams and was out on the sausage circuit by Labor Day.

Her emergence was a colossal win for the men of Satanta. She was a celebrated hometown beauty, who, even before she went Hag-bred, had the whole town whacking off whenever she did jumping splits in her cheer uniform. After she emerged and turned pro, they really lost their minds. Her old high school classmates flocked to her shows whenever she came back, and quite a few of the faculty, as well.

And it’s a damn good thing they do, ruminated Sonny. The bigger-name DG’s on the circuit were no longer booking his venue and he was damned if he knew why. He was a jovial former high school running back who always threw a great party. In his black velvet showman’s jacket and ruffled white shirt he knew he still cut a fine figure. He ran a clean and classy place. No butt-fucking.

The locals liked to joke that not only did Sonny K own the best sausage joint in town, he was his own best customer. Every show, he’d be downing Seahag punch like lemonade in August. And when the dickgirls came out, he’d be front and center with his own sizable dick out alongside his patrons’.

“Well, first off,” Sonny said, “here.” He handed her a bulging yellow envelope. “Your cut of the punch sales.”

She riffled through the bills with her thumb. She pursed her lips, which Sonny knew meant she wasn’t happy. It was still incredibly sexy. Phyllis had full and sensuous lips. He loved to feel them fastened around his cock.

“This is light, Sonny.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “We did alright.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. This is at least twenty shy of what it should be.” She pitched the envelope into her sporran with a disgusted air. “You know what might make it less light, right? You not drinking up all the profits.”

Phyllis was known for having a tart tongue and an unsympathetic demeanor. It was unusual for a Hag-bred.

She turned her back to him, which was not a bad view at all. Her skin was sun-baked gold with zero tanlines and a full, dimpled ass bursting out below her waist. Just being this close to her, smelling the fresh-scrubbed scent of her, really got Sonny’s motor running.

To his dismay, she wrapped the towel around her whole body, covering herself from her armpits to mid-thigh.

“Aw Phil,” he protested, as much for that as her manner. “Don’t be like that. I always tip, don’t I?”

“You always monopolize. For every one tip you give me, I miss out on five tips from other customers. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re great, you run a clean joint and c

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