Diary of a Secret Futanari Girl

The Paxton House

I ring the doorbell. My heart is racing as my breath comes short, butterflies flapping around in my stomach.

Trying to push aside my nerves, I strain my ears to listen for sound inside the gigantic house. From the road it looked like the place was in total darkness, making me wonder if this is some elaborate trap that's been set to catch a hideaway Futanari.

The thought alone makes me jumpy as I glance around, paranoid that someone will spring out of the bushes and throw me into an unmarked van.

But nothing of the sort happens. Instead, I hear the faint sounds of footsteps approaching from inside. As they get louder, a light switches on, shining through the hazy glass window above the door. With a loud click, the handle begins to turn, I feel my heart pound through my ears. Time slows down as I hold my breath, my eyes trained on the moving door handle. "Please let it be Michelle," I pray quietly, my paranoia still present.

But as the door creaks open, I let out a sigh, realising that it's only Michelle. Yet despite my relief, my paranoia stays firmly at the back of my mind.

"Yay! Ayaka, you came!" she smiles broadly, melting my heart in an instant. But before I have even a moment to think, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me into the warmth of the entryway - wrapping me in a hug. She steps back, an almost proud expression on her face, as though she had not expected me to actually turn up. I notice that her wavy golden hair flows loosely around her shoulders as she wears a tight fitting white tank top and sky blue pyjama shorts - the shape of her breasts obvious through the shirt.

"Yeah, but my mom doesn't exactly know..." I mumble after a pause, gesturing to my tattered room slippers that I was forced to wear - seeing as all my shoes were in my own entryway cupboard.

"I'm guessing you had to sneak out if you came over wearing those," Michelle giggles. "Don't worry, I won't tell your mom. Now come on inside, it's much warmer than the entryway." She turns to go into the house and I slide off my slippers, putting them into the cupboard and tentatively following Michelle straight into her living room.

"Wow," a gasp of surprise escapes my lips as I step into the huge well-decorated room. The low yellow light does little to mask just how immense the space is as I take it all in.

The walls on one end of the room are covered by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, with huge tomes bursting from every shelf. An impressive mahogany desk stands in the front of these bookshelves, a green desk lamp lighting up a mess of papers and notepads that clutter the table top. Next to the bookshelves, closer to where I am standing, are a series of glass cabinets, each modestly filled with antiques and relics from all over the world. A carved wooden idol, with what seems to be both breasts and a penis, stands proudly under a display light in the central cabinet. On the other end of the room is an impressive television set mounted onto the wall, an inviting kotatsu (a low wooden table with a blanket and a heater under the table top) in front of the set. Near the TV is a doorway leading to a shiny kitchen - marble countertops visible in the bright light. A bay window is featured between the television and the bookcases, the curtains drawn closed at this late hour of the night. The floor is some type of wood and not covered by the traditional tatami mats - instead, Persian rugs cover the central areas of the room.

"You like it?" Michelle asks, that same broad smile across her face.

"I love it!" child-like wonder filling my voice as I wander through the room - my subconscious leading me straight to the bookcases.

My finger tips brush lightly over the spines in the shelves and with great effort I manage to restrain myself from picking up every title I read. Soon I find myself in front of the cabinets, carefully examining each trinket and relic through the glass. Many of them seem to relate to Futanari, with figurines and artwork that depict feminine bodies with masculine sex. The ever-present paranoia rears its head once again in my brain, trying to convince me that this must be some kind of trap, forcing me to wonder why someone like Michelle and her family are so seemingly infatuated with Futanari.

"Those belong to my parents - they're kind of Futa enthusiasts," Michelle says, as if answering my unasked question. "I hope they don't make you feel uncomfortable."

"Oh, no, not at all," I lie. I turn my attention back to Michelle, only to notice a slight frown on her face as she checks me out, making me feel very naked. 'How can one look from her makes me feel like she can see right through me?' I ask myself, 'does she know I'm lying?' Aloud, I say, "What's wrong?"

"You're not wearing your pyjamas," she says. Despite her frown, her voice is light and friendly, with a slight hint of a teasing tone. Her eyes lift to match mine. "This is a pyjama party after all."

"They're right here," I smile, moving my backpack around and patting it. "Shall I get changed in the bathroom?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, you can get dressed here while I go and rustle up some grub," she puts on a terrible American accent as she says this, jokingly covering her British one. I giggle politely, trying to mask my nerves. "Okay," I manage to stammer.

She moves off into the kitchen, the sounds of her humming some unknown tune floating through to the lounge. I open my bag and pull out my pink fluffy pyjamas - a pattern of white sheep covering the long pants and button-up pyjama top. My face heats up as I realise just how girly these night clothes are compared to Michelle's sexy ones - too bad they're the only ones I've got.

I place the pyjamas on the kotatsu before cautiously undoing the buttons of my red plaid shirt. My eyes dart towards the kitchen doorway, praying that Michelle is not watching me. I realise that I am able to see her through the open door, but luckily she has her back to me, busying herself at the stove. As she hums, she moves her hips smoothly side to side, matching the rhythm. Her movements entrance me as I vaguely feel myself continuing the unbuttoning of my shirt. Deep inside my loins I feel a slight twitching, but I'm too enthralled by Michelle's hips and tight bum to even notice my looming erection.

I take off my shirt in a daze before lowering my jeans, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them before pulling my tank top up and over my head - my dark hair flicking up briefly before settling to frame my face again. Other than the brief moment of slipping off the shirt, I do not take my eyes off of Michelle's rocking hips - even when the sound of popping popcorn covers her rhythmic humming.

I now stand there, almost completely naked, wearing only my black panties and socks. The cool air in the room gives me goosebumps, making me subconsciously rub my bare arms as I continue watching Michelle's body move. A sudden primal urge to call out overtakes me, a deep desire that demands to make Michelle turn around, to show her my naked body, to let her eyes wonder over my tiny breasts with my pointed dark pink nipples. The throbbing in my panties becomes more pronounced.

My mouth opens, preparing to call to the stunning girl in front of me. But my voice catches in my throat, causing me to snap my mouth shut - my momentary burst of near-bravery fading as quickly as it had come, taking my potential erection with it.

I give my head a small shake, moving my focus away from Michelle and her dance moves. I grab my pyjamas and pull them on hastily, just in time for Michelle to turn around with a big bowl of popcorn.

"You ready?" she asks me, a twinkle in her eye. I nod quietly as I finish doing up the buttons of my fluffy pyjama top, all too aware of how close I was to showing her my naked body. "Oh those are so cute!" Michelle giggles, "they suit you really well."

"Y-you think so?" I ask and give a little twirl, giggling along with my host as I come to a stop in front of her - somehow she just brings out the silliness in me.

"Definitely," she winks at me, placing the bowl of popcorn down on the kotatsu and climbing in under the blanket. "Now, what shall we watch?" she asks, patting the seat cushion next to her, gesturing me to join her in the warmth of the table.