I was minding my own business at the bar, nursing a mojito that was mostly wet leaves, hoping that my friends would get tired of dancing before they noticed my drink was empty. It was a small club. Dated but practical decoration, not too busy. The bar was practically the only part that wasn't anti-climb black paint or rubberised dance floor. I'd never seen her before. The first interaction we ever had was her reaching around from behind me, sticking her hands into my pants and curling her fingers around my balls, angling them just so to ensure I could feel her nails. She pulled backward, and bought my ass to rest on what felt like a warm bollard. "I've been watching you for some time", the stranger whispered into my ear, her breath smelling distinctly of cunt. "and I've decided that I'm going to rape you in your sleep. Post your address, phone number and a clone of your keys to the building on this slip. Make sure you do it today."
She handed me a coffee-stained post-it with the other hand. Once I took it, she pulled my T-shirt collar to one side and dragged her tongue slowly from my collarbone to my jaw, squeezing my balls ever harder as she did so. I didn't dare turn around. She obviously didn't want me seeing her yet (probably because it would make it harder for her to stalk me). Her actions alone were enough to identify her as a Futanari, let alone the column pressed into my butt, and I was still a Public individual. Saying no once would lead to punitive sex, more about inflicting pain on me than pleasuring her. Saying no repeatedly would lead to a criminal record.
The men either side of me reacted appropriately; one chuckled enviously at the situation; he wore the ring of a Private man, and having aged to the point where his owner was distracted by younger prey, he was only used a few times a month. His tatty sports jacket polished the brass on the bar as he laughed. I could see the spot was well worn. The other one put his arm on my shoulders and asked whether I needed some extra poppers. I reckoned I had enough at least for the journey home, so I politely declined and decided to call it a night. With my luck, she probably already knew where I lived and just wanted to set up some dread in order to maximise the jump scare she was planning on pulling when I got back home.
Even if she was telling the truth, trying to use public transport at this time of night often resulted in being collected by one group of Futa and pumped full of spunk until well past your stop, only to run into another group when heading back in the opposite direction that really needed a urinal. I kept a strategic vial of cum in my jacket pocket for just this kind of problem. Dumping it into my pants made me look used enough not to stand out. That, combined with a well-practiced walking hunch designed specifically to signal "hemorrhoids" rather than "my ass is in so much pain already that I'll make a noise you've never heard before if you fuck it" allowed me to slip onto the metro and off again without being intercepted. Of course, I had to cope with the endless slapping sounds, the stench, the moans of my fellow Public men and the sloshing of bodily fluids against my waterproof shoes when the purpose-installed drains overloaded, but the only way to fully avoid those things these days was a walk in the wilderness, plus a bit of luck.
"Jake! I'd recognise that walk anywhere!" My luck ran out just as I stepped outside of the station nearest my house. "I haven't seen you in ages! Come on, we need to catch up!." It was my school friend Maria. I didn't live anywhere near my school, but by pure chance (or more accurately an incredibly constrained market for well-paid jobs), we'd ended up living within a few blocks of each other as adults. Maria was tall, as were most Futa, with blond hair in wide curls and gentle brown eyes. She wasn't the most sultry individual from a distance, instead spending her entire life in what seemed like sugar rush / crash cycles.
The coming of the Futas had seen Romeo and Juliet age of consent laws introduced almost worldwide, effectively decriminalising all sex between students in high school. This had been necessary to end the practice of the Futas in a class simply locking the doors, gangraping the teacher until the teacher no longer moved, and then playing rock-paper-scissors over each student hole until the police broke down the door. For a short period, it was possible to explain 85% of a school's academic performance as an inverse function of its Futa headcount. As a compromise, Futas were assigned or selected specific "temporarily private" harems, so that their nature could be contained to only a few students, leaving the rest of the student body relatively unmolested. Maria had selected me as part of her harem. We called ourselves "cadets" as a pun, hoping we'd be able to graduate directly into being Maria's Private property, but Maria was never really interested in denying other Futa the opportunity to fuck us.
While I didn't see her too much in the school day, she would pick me up after dinner and take me back to her house. We'd brush our teeth together and then she would take me to bed, slide her dick into me from behind and discuss her day with me while fucking me gently before falling asleep. Having such intimate conversations did give me a soft spot for her, and I really do want the best for her to this day. It took me a full month, but I eventually learned to fall asleep with her 12 inch pole lodged firmly in my ass. She'd stay hard all night, have wet dreams (a common occurrence for all but the most satisfied Futas) and would wake in the middle of the night, relieve herself inside my body and then fall asleep again. Usually I'd have a litre or more of her bodily fluids inside me by the time morning came. All Futas typically need to do something like that in order to ever have the experience of waking up on dry bedding, but many of them do just fine with a latex condom. We'd fuck once more just before the shower, then walk to school together. From what I'd heard of the other Futas in school, Maria was remarkably gentle with her entire harem.
Nonetheless, Maria now saw me somewhat justifiably as her childhood teddy bear. She puts more effort into the sex now that we're grown, but she tends to use me most often as a friendly shoulder for her to cry on / fuck whenever her life isn't quite going right. Now, though, I think she mostly wanted to chide me for trying to draw attention away from myself.
"Now, Jake, you know that's not a good thing for people to do! What if someone found out that you'd been trying to make yourself less attractive? I worry about what might happen to you, I don't want the extremists to take you away!" She was talking about a particular political party that held the belief that passively submitting to the Futa sex drive simply wasn't good enough, and that truly moral citizens should spend their every waking moment constantly seducing the Futas. Maria strongly disapproved, but only because she didn't want to be denied the thrill of forcing herself on someone who would clearly rather get on with their Cello concerto or landing the plane they were both flying in. She thought accomplished fucktoys were more interesting fucktoys.
She walked quickly over to me and threw her arms around my chest. "Come home with me, I'll make you some sugar cookies! I'll even let you shower as many times as you want!" Well, she did get a really nice waterfall shower put in the other day, but I had a feeling that the moment I got clean she'd paint me with another thick, gloopy excuse to have a shower.
"Look, that does sound nice, but I really want to get some sleep tonight and I have an errand to run: Another Futa asked me for a key clone earlier."
"Aww, that sounds tough. OK, I'll come over and sleep in your house instead! That way there will be an ally when she breaks in!"
I stared at her levelly. "An ally of whom, exactly?"
"...of justice!"
I turned to move away. She grabbed my wrist "OK, ok, just a quickie now, but you'll have to promise me you'll come and see me and tell me all about this mysterious Futa once she's done raping you!" Her grip was firm. While Maria was all smiles, it was clear that the negotiation was nearing its end.
"...can we at least go back to my place?"
"ok, sure. It'll give us a chance to chat." As we walked the few hundred meters distance to my apartment, I learned that Maria was doing great at work - she'd built a kind of sanctuary for non-Futa that she called "Team Omelas". Looking at it, you'd think it was an office from the time before the Futas emerged. It turned out that it was the most productive place in the whole company. Who would have guessed that not getting your ass constantly torn open with dicks that would make a mare look twice would lead to an increase in productivity? The higher ups really liked the approach and wanted to replicate it. The only fly in the ointment was some pretty exotic medical bills that one of the non-Futa on the payload was accumulating, but that, Maria said, was "conveniently deemed an anomaly".
We stopped on the way to get my key cloned yet again and just made the last post of the day. After visiting the postbox, I arrived, and Maria let herself in. She already had keys to my flat of course, which she had actually asked for. After I followed, she did a 180 on a single foot, kicked past me to slam the door closed, and immediately stuck her tongue down my throat. She was about an inch taller than me, but she customarily wore 4 inch heels, so I definitely had to arch my neck back to meet her. She pinned me to the door by my wrists and spread my legs with her knees, finally grinding her impressive shaft directly against my significantly more normal one.
Once she ran out of breath, she changed her grip, took my ass in one hand and my upper body weight with the other one, and lifted me off the door. She knew my flat much as she knew her own, so she carried me to the bedroom with little difficulty and tossed me down. I mouthed "quickie!" and frowned up at her. She flashed a comic-book sad face, flipped my buckle and tore my pants off, before turning me over with my feet.
"You know I only care about your opinions because I love you, meanie." She reached for the lube that every smart non-Futa left in plain sight on their nightstand, intentionally missed my asshole with most of it, threw the empty bottle angrily into the corner and used her body weight to sink her entire shaft into me in a single split-second blow.
It hurt like hell. Anal sex is a daily occurrence for much of the population now, to the point where sex with a standard 6 inch penis would be essentially painless. This is a good thing, as it significantly cuts down on the hospital visits that the Futanari would otherwise cause. Maria pounded me, using all of the bounciness of the mattress to emphasise her thrusts. "Toys. Should. Never. Say. No. Little. Bear!" A few more thrusts, and that was all it took. She wrapper her arms around my chest, spread my legs apart with hers to emphasise the submission, and exploded inside me. A Futa's climax is always easy to feel. No matter which hole they're lodged in, the ropes of cum are easy to count. Ordinarily they'd cap out at round 8, but I could tell Maria was milking this "quickie" for all she could. She reached down below my belly and slowly started jerking herself off by running her knuckles along my stomach, slowly rocking her hips back and forth a single inch. It took her almost a minute to finish filling me with spunk. As her erection faded, more of it started seeping past. The smell of it spread through the bedroom, an enhancement rather than a new smell, for what bedroom is ever completely devoid of Futa spunk?
She reached over and pulled out one of the butt plugs I kept in my bedside drawer. As she moved back, she deftly swapped it in, splashing only 10-15 normal male loads' worth of cum on my thighs and sheets. "Now if you get attacked by this mysterious club lady, I expect to see that tummy of yours larger than I've left it mister! I'm going to come back on Sunday to properly exhaust myself with you and if I see you clean or empty I'll sit on the couch, strap your face to my crotch and drink as much weak beer as I can." I'd have to make a mental note of that. Like most people, I generally preferred actual sex to being used as a piss bottle. I'd have to stick to a liquid diet and try to convince anyone else that decided to rape me in the street to plug me up again afterwards.
Maria wiped her cock off on my pillows and left in a huff. Learning to sleep with a belly full of cum and a pillow that stinks of girlcock is something most people pick up before they leave high school. Home stores sell expensive absorbent waterproof charcoal infused sheets and mattresses to people that prefer to avoid the smell, but gradually the Futas came to recognise the brands and started to take them as a challenge instead. I slept well that night.
The next day was a normal working day. I woke up, showered awkwardly, cleaning as best I could around the plug, got dressed in my smart casual (but smart (but casual)) clothing and jumped on the metro to go to work. I managed to strike up an interesting conversation about the most recent flood defence modifications with a quiet, gentle-looking woman in a maxi dress sitting next to me. It went well until a pierced, crew cut Futa fresh from the gym pulled her cock out of her yoga pants, placed the tip on the woman's tongue and started pissing against the top of her mouth. The woman quickly threw the newspaper at me, grabbed on with both hands and rapidly swallowed the cock, trying to get a little piss on her dress as possible. The sweaty Futa grabbed her hair and slowly fucked her face up and down her cock while she finished emptying out the unnecessarily large amount of water she'd drunk at the gym. She grinned madly, revealing quite a lot of dental work. A martial artist? "don't need flood defences darlin'...just enough sluts to swallow all the water. Now lick my ass clean while I break your chatty train friend's asshole."
I lifted my leg and flashed the plug at her, together with the strongest puppy dog eyes I could muster. "Oh? Someone else has plans for your boycunt? Let's swap it up then. I wanted some real pussy anyway. I folded the newspaper carefully and it it on the seat. The woman propped her legs against the standing bars in the metro car, hoping to remain seated while a complete stranger used her most private parts to jerk off. "heh...cute. I don't work out so I can fuck seated bitches." The Futa grabbed her by her armpits, pulled her out of the seat and hugged her close, face-to-face. The height difference was enough for the woman's legs to dangle free from the floor, and the Futa's meatrod was easily long enough to fill her completely from the front. It wasn't obvious whether the dress had been hitched up or just buried painfully into its owner's cunt. I climbed behind the two and spread the Futa's asscheeks apart...with great difficulty, it must be said. I did what I could, but I couldn't get my tongue in that far while she was holding up the weight of two with well-toned glutes. I reached forward to focus on her balls and taint instead.
My conversation partner was starting to become enraptured. Most people find it at least a little liberating to simply give in to sex with someone who wants nothing more than to have sex with you, and the position was minimising the uncomfortably excessive penetration depth that most women experienced with Futas. It was common for the more naïve girls to assume that the "natural hole" would be better at accommodating foot-long cocks, and indeed without any additional tools and preparation this was entirely true. But the Colon, properly deployed, provides far more space.
The suspended office worker stared blankly into her users eyes. The Futas shifted her grip a bit. "Your weakness turns me on, toy. I'm gonna unload my balls into your womb. If you're as good a cumsponge as you are a pissmop, I'll take you with me for my next workout so I can rape you between sets." At that, everyone but me started to climax. I stuck with the bodies as best I could, as I know that nothing invites more attention from a Futa than stopping before they've asked you to. All I got for my efforts was smack in the face. The fresh sweat was tasty, but I would have preferred to get in on the waterfall of spunk happening just ten centimetres away.
The gym rat dropped her cocksleeve. I moved quickly, and managed to catch her near-unconscious body before she hit the floor. The Futa simply walked off at the next stop, not even bothering to put her dick away. Presumably she was not pleased at the amount of cum spilled on the floor. I had a surprisingly romantic moment with the person whose head I had just saved from the hard rubber floor. "I'm Jake, by the way. I liked chatting with you."
"I'm...s...Sally. Thanks for catching me, Jake." We spent the remaining 5 minutes of the ride on the floor, with her head resting on my thighs, recuperating as best she could given the circumstances. Moments of peace were rare, these days. When it was her stop, I helped her peel her dress from the floor, her legs and itself, and handed her the clean, carefully folded newspaper. Sally smiled, kissed me gently on the cheek, and left.
Work was uneventful. I was mostly left alone in my small office, except for a senior staff visit. Corporate power tends to supercharge a libido in most cases, but thankfully only a few Futa tend to hold corporate power. Something about lacking the necessary focus on the job. They tend to strike like lightning: rare, brusque, focussed. This time it was Alison, Head of Manufacturing. Her greeting was utterly efficient. "Everyone out but Jake."
She pulled me off my chair by my shirt collar, then spun me around and pushed my face into my keyboard. At some point I should find out why she wanted to fill my ass in particular that day, but it wasn't my greatest worry. She saw the plug and adjusted her plans appropriately. She moved my chair out the way, flipped me upside down with my weight on my shoulders, my back against the pedestal drawers built into my desk and my ass facing directly mostly upwards. She opened the hidden zip within her skirt and stepped over me, one foot next to my face, the other between my desk and the wall. The leverage was excellent, and she had a great view out of my window while she used me. If there was any disgust at stirring Maria's mixture from last night (that my colon was trying hard to drain the water from) it didn't show.
She never looked me in the eyes at any point during the encounter, making it extremely clear that my opinion and feelings were utterly irrelevant to her. She fucked me with hard, precise strokes, taking care not to apply any force that would allow any of the fluid to escape. It took her around ten minutes to cum. What took me by surprise was the amount. The position made sure nothing escaped, and it was clear that she was somewhat backed up. It just went on and on, her balls hypnotically contracting over and over again. I could hear the gurgling as my innards protested at not only being the wrong way up, but also having material of the wrong consistency travelling through them in the wrong direction. To make matters worse, once she'd pumped enough into me to make me look like I'd just finished a thanksgiving turkey alone, she followed immediately afterward with her bladder, which was even more full than her balls had been. Was I just the most absorbent-looking person in the office that day? Did she somehow sense how incredibly inconvenient it would be for me to be further filled?
No, probably something more inscrutable. I never really saw honesty when I looked into her eyes. She was corporate, through and through. She slowly, carefully pulled her pole from me, precipitating more angry gurgles from the organs that were supposed to be for digesting food. "Thank you Jake, that will be all." She left it to one of her aids to replace the plug. It took several hours after that for my body to settle down. Obviously the main problem was that I constantly felt like I was about to accidentally spray futacum everywhere each time I had to leave my seat, but Maria's directions had been clear, and, well, I didn't want to let down my childhood friend.
When I got home, the door swung closed behind me while I hit the lightswitch by the door. Nothing lit up. I was in pitch darkness. My fuse box is in the kitchen, so I tend to keep a small torch by the door for just this eventuality, having been raised before the time of widespread smartphones. I groped for it in the dark, but couldn't find anything. I pulled my phone out and switched on its no doubt superior torch to see where the actual emergency torch had got to. It was missing. Ahh. The club Futa. I looked back at the door. The interior sides of the locks were severely damaged. I don't think I could have gotten a key in there if I'd tried. I imagine she expected this to be scary, but this wasn't my first time being locked inside my own flat by an insatiable rapist with a cock big enough to split me in half.
I waited for the inevitable ambush. Nothing. I couldn't hear anything louder than my own heartbeat (which, to be fair, was getting louder by the minute). Normally when this happens, I can simply out-last the Futa's patience. She'll jump me eventually, out of boredom if nothing else. A minute passed. Two. Then three, with no movement. Alright, playing hard to get are we? "Don't worry I'm here". The first word came from behind me, as if she was in the clearly-far-too-small space between my back and the door. The second came from the bathroom door to my left. The third came from deeper within the flat, near the lounge. The fourth was inches from my right ear. To this day I have no idea how she did it. I dropped by bag and froze, my jaw locked shut. I started sweating. The adrenaline in my bloodstream shifted from "here we go again" to "100% monkey brain terror".
I raised the phone...slowly. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. I moved as slowly and as silently as possible. Nothing creaked unexpectedly. I moved through to the kitchen as if I was threading a needle, placing each toe individually. I looked up towards the fuse box. It contained...no fuses. She had removed things from it that I'm not sure one can legally remove without a licence. All very spooky, but how on earth was I going to eat? To heat the flat? "Dinner". One word, from the lounge again. Given the planning that had already gone into this, I suppose Dinner wasn't too much of a stretch. I put out of my head the implications, forced myself to stop asking how, or why, and moved over to the dining table.
Sure enough, A ribeye steak, clearly quite rare, what looked like triple roast potatoes, steamed asparagus and cauliflower garnished with mustard seed and a greek side salad, all perfectly laid out with a glass of red wine. Steaming hot. She must have tracked me home. She'd even found and draped the tablecloth I use for special occasions. No, wait, she'd ironed the tablecloth. There was a candle and a matchbox. Thankful for the chance at a warmer light than the harsh LED flash on my phone, I put the phone down to strike the match. In the instant between the phone's LED pressing flat against the table and the match sliding down the matchbox, I sensed...movement. Moving air. Close. A single thud, directly behind me.
I dropped the matchbox and spun around with the phone. Nothing. One of my larger pot plants was completely stationary in the light; no air currents here. Another audio trick? I took a slow, deep breath and lit the candle. There were no more noises that night. I finished what was by all accounts a far better meal than I had ever made myself, brushed my teeth and went to bed. It felt quite romantic by the end, giving a feeling of a wartime indulgence during rationing. A break between bombing raids. I felt quite relaxed as I climbed into bed, moving around to find the least wet patch for the night. As I drifted off, I had completely forgotten the club girl's exact words when we first met.
------X------
My eyes snapped open. The stench hit first. It was like the kind of smell one finds at the bottom of a pile of neglected laundry at home, after coming back from a two week holiday. A kind of composted rankness, sharper and more acrid than normal. I was laying on a pile of cushions on a fitted sheet on a mattress on the floor, rocking slightly. The lighting was poor, and appeared to be a mixture of candle light and sunshine through frosted glass. There was clearly smoke, or a lot of dust in the air. This was not my apartment. A low-fi beat played through expensive speakers, its rhythm ignored by the slapping and squelching sounds all around. The club Futa was rutting into my ass missionary style, her sweat rolling down her hair and onto my face. She noticed I was waking up, and moved to press her hand against my mouth and nose.
I had some idea where I was. The class of the place appeared to be a bit higher than normal, but I'd seen the format on the evening news when the police raided the dens. There were some Futa, you see, who didn't like being in the minority. To them, hugely outnumbering your partner was a key part of a Futa's natural dominance. To them, a fucktoy that can form a coherent sentence is a lazy affront to community standards. Every time they saw a crowd of relatively unmolested Public people walk past, they saw idleness in their Futa brethren. To them, one head of hair matted with spunk here, another low-cut top full of jizz there was simply a job incomplete. They believed that every last non-Futa needed to be brutally fucked into an unconscious, glazed, inflated cumsock every time they were precocious enough to move.
So they would set up dens where they would intentionally stack the numbers at a level of around five Futa to one man or woman. The reason these establishments got raided was that generally attempting to satisfy the sexual urges of a single Futa all on your own was a recipe for an ambulance ride. Facing five at once tended to result in permanent disability or death, which the other more normal Futa considered an unforgivable interference with their right to fuck whomever they wanted. Making someone your private sex slave was one thing. Injuring or them was quite another.
So I was in trouble. I reckoned I had a few hours of continuous fucking before the rawness and pain would make it difficult to think. I grabbed at the arm she had over my mouth and sat up hard. I moved around an inch or two in total. She stopped, still buried inside me, and leant closer. "I see you've never been with us before. Lovely. I'll give you to the count of...ten. One. Two..." she removed her hands and heaved her cock out of me, wetting the backs of my thighs down to my angles with spunk. I pushed myself with some difficulty to my feet and looked around for a door. The others noticed my movement. There must of been around thirty Futanari in the room. I spotted it; a slightly brighter lit mattress gave away the corridor beyond. I leapt towards it, my left foot landing awkwardly on unseen cushions below.
I took two whole steps before someone grabbed my leading ankle and planted me face first into an impressive pair of tits, interrupting their owner's nap. The one that had caught me crawled forward, her long braid catching the light as she moved. The previously asleep Futa propped herself up on her elbows and dragged her pole out of the throat of the unconscious cockwarmer that was breathing through her pubes. "What the fuck do you think you're doing running in...here?" Towards the end of her sentence she noticed my masculine silhouette and the size of me penis. "Ahh. Fresh meat." The thought of breaking my spirit, seeing the light fade from my eyes got her rapidly hard. She grabbed my hips, the tip of her penis reaching the small of my back. "Tell you what. I'll forgive what you just did if you can milk ten loads in a row out of me in cowgirl."
The average human stomach can contain about a litre of fluid. Your small intestine can take around another 1.4 litres. The large intestine can take around 3 litres, and the rectum about another 0.4 litres, for a total of around 5.8 litres. A normal Futanari ejaculation was about 0.3-0.5 litres, about a single serving of soft drink (something that Futas working in the service industry frequently took advantage of). Every man and woman and Futa is taught in their sex education classes well before age 16 a simple line: "Count to five, pills keep you alive. Count to ten, empty again". The pills in the line referred to the third addition to most wallets since the Futa turned up: dormant gastrointestinal flora in pill form, ready to re-seed one's innards after the pH had returned to normal.
She probably knew that if I did what she asked, I'd be dooming myself to digestive problems for weeks...and if anyone else had sex with me afterwards, I'm almost certainly end up vomiting pure spunk with every thrust. As if on cue, one of the other non-Futa, a diminutive, chubby girl, starting throwing up in-between me and the door. One smooth retch containing absolutely nothing recognisable as food, sounding more like an accident with a paint tin than anything else. The sight was apparently enough to set off one of the other Futa, who simply grabbed her by the hair and cut her off mid-heave by shoving a foot of cock down her throat and immediately filling her stomach with a fresh load of jizz.
I looked back. The one who had caught my foot was right behind me, her face just inches from my own. "...or you can run again, and we'll piss down your throat one after another until you stop breathing." Her face split into the smuggest, most predatory grin I've ever seen. "We're all trained in CPR. Our toys wouldn't last half as long otherwise." The one who originally brought me to this place loomed out of the darkness.
"...nine, ten. Time's up. You managed to make it ten feet, and not a single cock in you yet. Impressive."
Everyone wanted to get in on the new boy. After a bit of debate during which I overheard some names, the club Futa (named Sasha, it turns out) decided to take my mouth while the one who grabbed my ankle, going by the name of Alison, decided to take turns with my ass, swapping out after every climax. It was brutal, but not specifically to hurt me. I think they were satisfied after I gave up and simply hung on to whatever I could find to try to brace myself against the thrusts. My ass was surprisingly well adjusted. Presumably the more painful parts of the usual process has passed while I was being fucked awake by Sasha. I was too focussed on the present to worry about what might become of me eventually. Being something like 10% cum and 5% dick by weight will do that to you.
It became clear to me, looking into their eyes, that while this was mostly about their enjoyment, that wasn't all of it. It was important to them that I be completely exhausted, expended. They'd check up on me and adjust what they were doing if it looked like I was able to hold their gaze. The most effective technique was intentionally random thrusts, intentionally out of sync. It removed all sense of predictability from what was happening, make it totally impossible for me to relax into a routine, or acclimatise to anything. After three loads from each, I was starting to feel extremely queezy, my stomach taught. I was having to constantly swallow to keep everything down.
They noticed, and grinned to each other. "Time for your first real exercise", said Alison. "And what do we do at the start of exercise? We stretch off." With that, she placed both hands on the back of my head and cut off my air with her dick. With limited time available until I passed out, the stacked one got under me quickly, picked up one thigh in either hand and started bouncing me on her cock, penetrating me as deeply as possible. Were my throat unoccupied, I would have thrown up on her very first thrust. My body still retched with every thrust, but there was simply nowhere for the contents of my stomach to go. The fit in my throat was tight enough to stop anything leaking into my lungs, thank god. Alison gripped my hair tighter, clearly enjoying my body's attempts to force her out.
Few people, luckily, have ever had to go through what I was going through now. Plenty understand what it's like to retch when you have nothing inside you. Few understand what it's like to retch when you can't breath, your belly feels like a party balloon and ten inches of dick are pounding in and out of your ass at a rate I'd normally associate with EDM. This was the point where my traumatic flashbacks would start. "...ready, Tina?"
"Go for it." Tina, the last Futa I had yet to put a name to, shifted her grip to the top of my thighs, held me down with all her strength and came hard. Alison bent over my head, wrapped her arms all around me, thrust home hard enough to chip a tooth and did the same. I never stopped retching throughout their climaxes. It was incredibly painful. I felt something inside me tear. My body did nothing but run on spinal cord-driven instinct.
My ass gave way first. A small leak, and then increasingly a flood. "He's boiled over" said Tina. "I guess we were too rough on his rings earlier." They both abruptly pulled out, synchronised. I sprayed cum from both ends like an inexplicably double-ended firehose. I don't know how long it took to empty myself. I passed out halfway through.
I totally lost track of time. I don't know how many hours passed. The light from outside told me whether it was night or day, but other than that there were no markers. The Futa themselves constantly grazed from tapas and a small bar that was refreshed from time to time. There was a grate and a hose in the corner for quickly washing off the toys if needed, but it was dry, unused. I was passed around the room, from group to group. I tried to remember their faces, but the differences in the cocks and the treatment turned out to be easier. Some were rougher and bigger than others. Some liked to rake my chest with their nails. Some loved pulling my hair. Some preferred to bury me entirely under their flesh, while others ensured my feet never touched the ground.
The nausea and soreness gave way to absolute exhaustion. I was never directly fed. In theory, I drank all the fluids and protein I could need directly from my hosts. I think my body did plenty of fluid reclamation, but no real digestion. There needs to be something other than cum and piss inside you for that to take place. I didn't feel hungry though - that particular nervous subsystem had become thoroughly confused. The rich matted mess of smells started blending into a kind of platonic ideal of sweat. I got used to the idea of being permanently coated in a film of cum, sweat and stray pubic hair, every part of my skin feeling like I'd been bathing in old chip fat. I distinctly remember losing all sensation in my arms...and then simply giving up on blinking. Even my lizard brain responses had been torn in half by them.
Even without the internal injuries I had sustained, I'd start to starve in a few days. I didn't see any particularly emaciated people around me though, so perhaps they would have relented and fed me something with nutritional value sperm and piss. Luckily for me, Maria found me before that happened.
When Maria arrived, I was being used as absorbent furniture for the Futa near the bar. I was on my back, on a large couch. One particularly overweight Futa was lying on her belly with my head under her crotch and her dick down my throat, admiring the view of the room in a slightly offset 69 position while slowly grinding her mons against my jaw. She was chatting with her friend, who had my legs bent back into a seat and her dick in my bowels. Neither was trying to fuck me in earnest right now. They'd scan the room for something particularly alluring, and then masturbate with my body until they came inside me together. I had long since lost the muscle strength needed to keep any kind of pressure inside of me, so the main challenge was breathing through the tiny gaps between my face and the larger Futa's thighs, especially as more and more of them got filled every time she came.
Maria had filed away the address that Sasha gave me just in case, and pulled it back out again when she didn't find me at home on Sunday. Worried, she decided to lie to the police, claiming that I was her property and therefore, having been stolen, needed to be recovered. As expected, she was assigned two officers full time to the issue: any crime that can be rendered as "a Futa can't have sex with someone she wants to have sex with" automatically falls just below murder in seriousness. The police had been gathering evidence against this particular group for some time, it emerged, and Maria had given them the perfect excuse the raid the building.
The first thing I hear was a high pitched whine followed by two loud bangs. The thighs of the Futa down my throat, it turned out, had shielded me from the most of the effect of the flashbangs, so once she pulled out of me I could see and hear quite clearly, although I was in no state at the time to make sense of what I was seeing. It was chaos. No-one could really move anywhere quickly. Very little of the floor was not flesh, and what was bare concrete was soaked with bodily fluids. The Futa close to a fire exit rushed it, and a few managed to get out, but the rapid appearance of the police at that door too showed that homework had been done. Eventually things settled down. The naked Futa were lined up against the wall and cuffed one by one, with some offenders well-known to the police pre-emptively fitted with chastity cages that looked large enough to transport a small dog.
I, and the rest of the victims, simply didn't move. We couldn't. Once the shouting had died down, Maria entered shortly behind the Inspector, and scanned the room for me. I'd never been to happy to see her in my life. She called out my name, hopped from mattress to sodden mattress to get to me, and lifted me up into a bridal carry, splattering her blouse with the filth I was covered in in the process. "Oh my god, look what they've done to you! I...I hope this doesn't hurt, I can't see that many places that aren't bruised...oh Jake, my little teddy, I'm so sorry I let you talk me into leaving you alone." She started sobbing. I'm told it was very touching scene. All I could do was lay there like the invalid I was.
Recovery took two small bouts of surgery to repair my insides and two weeks of recuperation in bed, followed by a solid month in adult diapers, absolutely no penetration within that month, and six months of therapy afterwards. Doctor's orders. Maria visited me every day in hospital. At first she was nervous, worried about whether I'd go back to normal. She chatted and chatted about nothing, mostly to handle her own nerves. It got better once I was well enough to put my arms around her.
She started molesting me shortly afterwards, around three days before I left the hospital. She "discovered" that I had a penis as well, and played with it as if it were her latest toy, even letting me penetrate her from time to time. She stayed with me in my flat, and fell asleep with me in my bed, becoming remarkably more clingy and possessive than before. As the doctor requested, she kept her spunk purely outside my body. She tried painting me with cum a few times, but that brought back bad memories that were still fresh for us both, so in the end she'd head out to the student bars every evening, bend whoever was already on one of the sofas over it and sulkily dump her nut into them while stealing their beer and nachos.
It did actually take several months for me to recover, especially mentally. The difficulty was that one cannot be a functioning member of society without being ready to have a foot of Futa cock rammed up your ass at a moment's notice, and while fear is a turn-on for many Futa, it wasn't for people like Maria. I wouldn't be "cured" until I was able to offer her the same affectionate consensual submission that I was beforehand.
There were a lot of emotions to work through. A lot of processing of hopelessness, helplessness. An effort to tap back into that part of me that loved being of service to other people, that found a Futa's rough touch reassuring and comforting, a guarantee of having a place in the world. The trouble was...I didn't want to die. I still don't want to die. I don't want to have my insides mulched just so they can hear me scream. The bad Futas had been arrested, my therapist said, and were safely behind bars. What happened to me was important, but not common. I shouldn't define my identity based on it.
What ultimately worked for me was taking part in a support group for Futanari prosecuted for maiming other Futa's Private fucktoys. I saw the remorse in their eyes, the realisation that they'd denied one of their own the sexual satisfaction that was their right by birth. But more than that, I saw the realisation that they'd broken something that would never entirely be fixed. Sure, there were more men and women to fuck, but each person is different. And now that person would never be the same again.
Eventually, I told Maria that I was ready to take her length again, as a final recuperation step before being able to return to work. She broke down crying all over again. I think she was genuinely terrified of the idea that she might not be able to fuck me without seeing fear in my eyes, that she might actually have to hold me down for the first time. She made deeply passionate and possessive love to me that night. The morning after, she marched me directly to the town hall and registered me as her private sex slave. I think she realised that lying about having such a bond was the only thing that allowed her to rescue me. I had one flashback when she filled me with spunk for the first time in months, but luckily she was looking past me, and didn't notice it in my eyes. I still get them from time to time, but provided I'm swaddled in the arms and impaled by the cock of my owner, lover and long-time friend, I can sleep soundly most nights.