Cassie's First Ball-Bra

People say that all futanari are sex obsessed sluts who can’t control their urges or act proper while out in public. That’s why there’s so much prejudice against us. Unfortunately, that stereotype—the stereotype that the female mind isn’t designed to handle male urges so futa are incapable of controlling themselves—is pretty much true. In fact, other than myself, I’ve never met a futa who didn’t fit this stereotype exactly.

I don’t know why this is. Maybe I’ve just always had a low sex drive, or maybe I was just raised right. My mother taught me how to be a proper woman, despite the `8-inch penis and golf tennis ball-sized balls between my legs. I dress modestly, I conceal the fact that I’m a futa, and I hardly ever date.

I’m Cassie. I’m a career driven futanari who works as a sales representative in an office space. I’m blonde, muscular, 6 feet tall, and very curvy. My unusual height and double F breasts are the main giveaways that I’m a futa and not just a regular woman, but since I act so proper and hide my bulge, most don’t suspect me.

Anyway, enough about who I am. The problem that I’ve been having, like most other problems in my life, is related to being a futa. For the past couple of weeks, my balls have started to really ache. I’m a total hypochondriac, so this has caused me so much panic. I usually only masturbate once a week or so, but I tried jerking off once every day to see if that would alleviate the pressure. It didn’t. I know I should go see a doctor, but futanari have to go to a specialist and its always really uncomfortable and bigoted. We’re segregated from other women, but our doctors aren’t futa. How could a futa ever make it through med school? So, the doctor usually involves a lot of sexual harassment and harsh judging that I just hate going through.

So, before I would go through all that trouble, I decided to call my mom. That may sound weird, but for me, it’s perfectly natural. My mom is my best friend and I tell her everything. She’s a strong supportive in my life and I’ve never felt the need to lie or keep things from her. Despite not being a futanari, she taught me to love my body and be okay in my own skin.

Still, it’s a pretty embarrassing thing to talk to a parent about, so I spent a few hours pacing around my apartment before I worked up the courage to give her a call. The phone rang three times before she picked up.

“Cassie? What’s the matter? What happened?” she says as her sleepy voice comes over my phone’s speaker.

“Hey Mom. How do you know I’m not just calling to say I love you?”

She lets out a little knowing chuckle. “Because its past 2a.m.”

I feel my face getting hot. Crap, I totally didn’t realize the time! I’ve been pacing around worrying about my balls for so long! “Oh shit, sorry Mom. I can…I can call you back tomorrow.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You already got me up, now tell me what the problem is!” She shoots back.

So, while blushing, sweating, fidgeting, and my voice shaking, I manage to recap my mom about how my balls have been hurting for a while and how I hate the doctors and don’t want to go.

“Have you been masturbating frequently?” Of course, she asks that right away.

“Mom!” My face is so hot to the touch. In my sweatpants, I feel my penis give a sudden lurch and start to harden at the thought of getting release. The embarrassment also plays a part in my sudden erection. Humiliation has kind of always had that effect on me. My mom thinks it’s because I’m so ashamed of being a futa. “You can’t ask me that!”

“Well, I just ask because that could be the source of your problems,” she shoots back.

I can’t bring myself to reply for a moment and instead just watch the rising tent form between my legs. My cock pulses insistently, now its full 18 inches, stretching my pants lewdly. “Yeah I-I’ve been m-masturbating every day,” I tell her. “So, I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“Hmmmmmmm,” my mom ponders. “Maybe you should try using a ball-bra? I read that futanari with extra large balls can get discomfort, you know, just like with large breasts. Do your balls feel heavy?”

“I-I don’t know mom!”

“Well check!”

“Mmph, fine.” I stand up, and with one hand, work my sweatpants and modest panties down. My eager cock springs forward, pulsing and splattering clear watery precum onto my carpet. As my panties slide down, my balls drop and hit me with a stab of pain. Reaching down, I balance them in my free hand. “They do feel pretty heavy.”

“Perfect, then you can avoid the doctors for now. Just go buy a few ball-bras from Victoria’s Secret.”

“Thanks Mommy, I love you,” I say quietly. I feel relieved about not having to go to the doctors.

“Love you to baby. And don’t forget to masturbate. Your kind needs a lot of attention down there.”

My cock jumps in agreement with my mother.

After a few days of researching ball-bras, I’ve found out that my mother is right. Victoria’s Secret is the only place near me that carries them. I fucking hate Victoria’s Secret. I don’t wear sexy underwear like that, and all the scantily clad women in the posters always causes me to get a boner. I’m just too awkward in my modest blouses and skirts. I look out of place.

My only other option is to order online, but those would be way more expensive, and they probably wouldn’t even fit properly. After a few more days of mulling over the issue, I decided to visit Victoria’s Secret after work.

I get there around 6, feeling jittery and nervous. Going into the big pink and black store feels like the polar opposite of what I want to be doing, but the constant ache from my balls pushes me forward. I go inside, wearing my work outfit, already starting to blush and sweat just from being in this environment. The pefume-y smells make me feel a little lightheaded, and I catch myself more than once staring at the scantily clad mannequins and models on posters. It feels like all the employees are staring at me, either thinking that I don’t belong here, or that I definitely do due to the size of my large breasts. I circle the entire store, but no luck! I cannot find the ball-bras anywhere! I can feel my heart start to race, and I start blushing even harder. Fuck, should I just leave?

I spot a cute employee who has kind of an emo style. She has a black pixie cut, tattoos, is short and petite, but as a total dump truck ass. She’s putting bras onto a shelf and hasn’t noticed me yet. I feel my still-soft penis twitch from looking at her. I could ask her for help, but that would be pretty mortifying and that would give away that I’m a futa.