Sausage Night (futa-female, futa male, group)

Story by jokermon

Hi all, here's the long-awaited new fic. Enjoy.

Sausage Night

A Short Story by J.K. Ermon (jokermon)

subscribestar.adult/j-k-ermon

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, don’t read it. If reading this type of material is illegal where you reside due to your age or whatever, don’t read it. Everything in this story is fictitious and are not meant to represent real-life people, events, or medical conditions. All characters in sexual situations are 18+ regardless of age depicted for dramatic or narrative purposes. This story is copyright J.K. Ermon©2026.

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Author’s note: originally published in the October 1959 issue of Broadpoles as My Husband Brought Home a Hag-bred.

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Dear Broadpoles,

I have a story for your readers I think they’ll enjoy. My husband always keeps a copy of your magazine in the john, it’s by far his favorite. He’s a farm machinery mechanic here in rural Tennessee and for the most part, he’s a simple, hardworking soul. From time to time though, he’ll make some less-than-bright decisions. Like the time he went out on his weekly trip to the sausage joint and came back with a dickgirl in tow.

“They done closed down Artie’s sausage joint,” he told me. “Josie-Mae here needs a place to live. Artie says she can’t stay in the sheds out back no more.”

“Well why on Earth did you bring her here?”

“Josie-Mae has come to mean a lot to me over the years. She’s been workin’ at Artie’s since I was a Junior. I seen her almost every week. She’s practically family.”

“Cletus, she is a dirty Hag-bred whore! I will not have her under my roof!”

That’s when he got that mulish expression I know all too well. My heart sank. My dumb husband is an amiable man, and I can usually sway him, often without his knowledge. Whenever he digs in his heels, however, that’s all she wrote. When I saw that look, to my great dismay, I knew there’d be no budging him on this point.

“Oh fine.” I threw up my hands. “She can stay in the spare room above the carriage-house. But we better be seeing some rent.”

“The girl just lost her job, Mavis. Have a heart.”

Just then Josie-Mae spoke up. “Don’t worry, missus. I’ll pay my way. I’ll help with the cleaning and whatnot and I’ll find some proper work soon enough.” The little trollop certainly sounded cheery for someone who’d been thrown into the street. She was also a pretty and wholesome little thing, which I didn’t expect either.

Cletus harrumphed at that point and said something about taking her money being unchristian, but surprisingly, the girl herself wouldn’t hear of it.

“Once I get situated at a new sausage joint, I’ll be happy to pay rent. I insist.”

And so, overnight, we acquired a dickgirl boarder. Words could not begin to express my chagrin.

I have to admit, the girl did make herself useful. She was a great help with the housework, much more so than my daughters ever were. Also, (and this really surprised me), I found she was good company while Cletus was at work. All four of my girls got married (knocked up) while they were still in high school and Cletus and I had found ourselves with an empty nest in our mid-thirties. I hadn’t been ready for that. It was too early by far.

Having a gal around to share the chores and chat with made the nest feel a lot less empty. It was like having a less useless version of one of our daughters there.

Just like our girls, she spent a lot of time on the phone, only in her case she was calling around looking for a new sausage joint. I didn’t find it objectionable. My daughters were on the phone all day and night while they lived here, frequently coming to blows over it. Josie-Mae conducted her phone business quietly, with no idiotic braying and cackling. Her gentle voice in the background was oddly soothing.

For a while I was worried the neighbors might discover we were housing an unemployed sausage-chippie, but fortunately, Josie-Mae was very discreet in her comings and goings.

Soon she found a new sausage joint willing to take her on. The catch was, it wasn’t close. Lacking a vehicle, Josie-Mae needed Cletus to drive her to and from it. I did object to that.

“So you’re just...going out with her?” I was standing in the kitchen with my hands on my hips and a rolling pin dangerously close at hand.

“I’m driving her to work, woman. It’s not a date.”

“And you’re going to come right

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