Momma Lends a Helping Hand (futa-female)

Story by jokermon

Posted earlier this year on Subscribestar, now it's time for everyone to enjoy it (hopefully).

Momma Lends a Helping Hand

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.

~~~

From Broadpoles, May 1970 (Mother’s Day Special): Issue 5, Volume 23

Dear Broadpoles,

Not only am I a loyal reader and long-time subscriber of your fine magazine, I am also a dickgirl myself. Unlike many of the beautiful and well-hung ladies that grace your pages, I don’t work in the sausage trade. I don’t have to, since Momma and I are what she likes to call “filthy stinkin’ rich.”

Momma is a beautiful woman who just seems to get more lovely with age. In her youth she was a famous stripper whose claim to fame was her bawdy stage manner and enormous breasts. It was said she did the sexiest stripteases in five states. She retired at twenty-two when she married a very wealthy (and horny) old man. Daddy died when I was little and I barely remember him. Momma says I didn’t miss much. He did leave us a pile of money and several beautiful homes so I guess I’m grateful to him for that. Momma and I live in the biggest one, an old plantation estate here in Arkansas where I grew up.

I was a late bloomer in many ways. Unlike Momma, I was almost eighteen before my boobies even started growing, and I came up Hag-bred around the same time. I’m told girls usually do both a lot earlier.

At first, I was despondent. Emergent girls can’t get married or have babies and I had no idea how to cope with this big ole’ ding-dong I now had. Not to mention the big pair of overly-sensitive balls. I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time because I went to an all-girls private school, but now I had no hope of landing a beau at all. Boys don’t date emergent girls. They use them like inflatable sex dolls.

I was still a virgin, but no longer had a cherry; once you go Hag-bred, everything down there is open for business.

The only good thing about my emergence was the timing. It happened while I was home with Momma on the summer break.

My eighteenth birthday was a somber affair. I spent most of it in my room weeping into my pillow.

Around dinnertime Momma strode into my bedroom and told me enough was enough.

“I won’t have you moping your life away,” she said, standing by my bed with her hands on her hips.

“Life?” I sobbed. “My life is over. I may as well go out and dance in those sausage joints for a living. What else am I good for?”

Momma gave me a sharp smack on the rump, which made me yelp. She spoke sternly.

“No daughter of mine is going to whore around in dive bars. I did enough of that for both of us when I was your age. Besides, we’re rich, Miss Melodramatic. You don’t need to work.”

“But...I want a husband, Momma.” I bit my lip. “I want one so bad. And...” I took a breath. “I get...erections, Momma. Big ones. I get so...hot. It drives me crazy. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

Momma sat on the bed and stroked my hair. “Is it bad, baby? Do you get really frustrated?”

I nodded, although frustrated was a mild term for it. The powerful and inexplicable needs that came with my erections gnawed at me with a yearning, seductive hunger. I had a clue what my penis wanted me to do – I knew about masturbation and the girls at school had taught me how to give boys handjobs – but so far, I had refused to touch it. I didn’t want to. It intimidated me.

Momma leaned over me and put her lips close to my ear. “Don’t worry, baby. Momma knows how to take care of that. One moment.”

Momma left my room and I heard her go downstairs and send all the servants home for the day. Then I heard her come back upstairs and go to her bedroom down the hall from mine. A few minutes later, she came back to my room.

I gasped. Momma had changed into one of her old stripper outfits. It still fit her perfectly. It was a lingerie corset top with a black garter belt, stockings and heels. She looked amazing. It left her shoulders bare. Her big boobies looked ready to pop out of it. My fac

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