The Evening!

The day dragged on at work, meetings blurring into one another as my mind kept drifting back to that sticky spot on the guest room floor. Every time I shifted in my chair, the memory of Georgia's secret essence sent a jolt through me, mixing curiosity with that gnawing guilt.

Steve's sister—futanari or not, she was off-limits. But by 7 PM, when I finally pushed through the front door, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin, and all I wanted was a beer and some quiet.

The apartment smelled of wine and something floral, Georgia's shampoo maybe. Soft light spilled from the living room, and there she was, curled up on the couch in a dimly lit corner, a half-empty glass of red in her hand.

She looked up as I dropped my keys on the table, her green eyes shadowed with a sadness that hit me square in the chest. But damn, she was sexy—mature in a way that made my throat dry. Her long blonde hair cascaded loosely over one shoulder, and she wore a thin white blouse that clung to her toned curves, the top buttons undone just enough to tease the swell of her breasts.

Low-rise pants hugged her hips, and as she shifted, uncrossing her legs, I caught it: a subtle outline pressing against the fabric at her crotch, unmistakable now in the soft light. Not just a trick of the imagination from that morning's discovery—this confirmed it. She was futanari, her cock hidden but real, stirring that forbidden heat in my gut.

'Hey,' I said, kicking off my shoes and hanging up my jacket, trying to keep my voice steady. My eyes flicked away from her lap, but the image burned into me, my own cock twitching in response despite the emotional weight of the day.