Malachi walked down the marble floor hallway toward his home office. His red robes were wrapped tightly around him like a monk’s kasaya. Malachi’s age was as uncertain as his ethnicity. His dark cragged face look worn, but not necessarily old. His blood might have carried the genes of Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Pakistani, and many other ancestors. His short, black hair was wild. His wealth allowed him to carry out his unique vision of the world. What that vision exactly was, he shared with no one.

Behind Malachi walked 5 beautiful women. They weren’t women, though. They were futanari. In addition to the normal anatomy of women, they also had a penis and functional testicles. Each one was dressed provocatively. They were part of Malachi’s harem. Malachi’s view of the world held that futanari were inferior beings whose purpose was to be used by other people in any manner they saw fit. Why Malachi believed this so strongly, no one seemed to know, and he would not speak about it often.

Anya, with her raven hair cascading down her back, led the others down the hall. She was tall, her body honed like a predator’s, with curves that could make a saint sin. Her eyes, a piercing green, held a calculating glint, a testament to her cunning. Her crimson dress slid down in a daring V-neck. The black trim accentuated the swell of her breasts. The right side of the dress was slit from the dress’s knee-length bottom to her waist, and there was no underwear beneath it. She was a survivor, a trait she’d honed in Malachi’s harem, where weakness was swiftly weeded out. Her laughter was husky, a sound that could fill a room or seduce a man, depending on her whim. She wore her power like a second skin, relishing the control she held over the others. Yet, even she wasn’t immune to the fear that lurked in the shadows of Malachi’s domain. In her 3 years in the harem she’d seen many futas be discarded, become cum-addicted, or just disappear.

Julie walked to the left, behind Anya. Julie was a vibrant and spirited 23 year old. Her shoulder-length blonde hair complemented her bright blue eyes. Whereas Anya was toned with sinuous tendons, Julie was thinner. Yet Julie’s bossoms and ass certainly had a respectable heft. Her tan, sleevless dress exposed the sides of her breasts. The bottom of the dress barely reached below her crotch. Julie’s large phallus was kept pressed against her abdomen to prevent it from swinging in the air for everyone to see. Julie had been in the harem a year and a half. She didn’t cause any upset. She pleased malachi as well as she could and hoped to endear herself by being obedient.

To Julie’s right walked Monica. Monica was Greek. Her short wavy hair was so dark that it was almost black. Her green eyes shrewdly scanned everything. The black lacey dress had strategic gaps, revealing tantalizing bits of smooth, perfect skin. She had entered the harem before Julie. She was very warry of Anya, whom she didn’t trust. Monica was not very ingratiated to Malachi. He always seemed to look at her as if he found some fault.

Behind Julie and Monica were sisters with 2 years of age difference, Nga and Yen. They were the youngest in the harem, always anxious and intimidated by the other 3 futas. They wore high fashion dresses that were designed to look as if they had been slashed to bits. The tight, thin dresses exposed much of their asses, hints of nipples and even glimpses of penis as they walked with small hurried steps in their high heels. Nga was the older of the two and a few inches taller. Both futas has uncharacteristically small chests. Nga was practically flat. This contributed to their inferiority complex. Yen walked close to her sister protectively.

As the group approached Malachi’s office, the white wall to their right was sparsely adorned with large, abstract paintings which seemed vaguely threatening. Many of them contained red splotches reminiscent of blood. Everything was brightly lit from above and also from the windows to the left. They overlooked a small courtyard, if it could be called that. It was malachi’s personal theatre of debauchery. Futanari in the cortyard were trapped there, essentially in a unique Hell. They fucked, masturbated and sucked themselves off continuously. The helpless people were completely addicted to futa cum, and it was everywhere. It covered the glass of the windows urrounding their prison. It covered the steps, chairs and benches. The ground was a 1 inch pool of semen; sometimes in glops, sometimes congealing, sometimes flowing. The smell of the place alone was enough to drive a futa to addiction in a few minutes. For this reason the windows were always kept tightly shut.

Julie glanced down as the harem walked behind malachi. At the far end of the courtyard a futa was sitting at the top of some steps sucking her penis for all she was worth, although her expressionless eyes stared straight ahead. Across the way a middle-aged futa with black hair was doggie-fucking a younger futa with short, light-brown hair. The younger futa jerked herself off desparately sa she was nailed from behind. Julie recognized her. She was in the harem when Julie first joined. She had been replaced around a month later, but Julie didn’t know what had happened to her until now. Closer to the group a futanari with her back to them was titfucking herself. Suddely her dick erupted and she shot cum all over her face. Some even launched over her head and hit the window. The windows on the first floor were almost opaque due to the cum coverage. The group was walking on the second floor with a clear view of the poor souls below them.

As they turned and entered the doorless office, the marble floor gave way to hard oak. malachi’s office was furnished in metal and glass. The windows on the left gave them a view from the end of the courtyard while on the right, behind malachi’s desk the park at the front of the building could be seen. Immaculately manacured, the law seemed to emit brilliant saturated palletes of color even on a dim day. malchi wouldn’t have permitted anything less. As malchi took a seat at his desk, the futas were left to find their own amusement, as long as they didn’t leave the room or disturb their master.

Anya eyed Julie who was still looking down at the orgy beneath the windows. Anya had grown to detest her. A sneer curled her lips. The last year of sharing Malachi’s bed, had allowed Julie worm her way into his favor. Julie, with her wide-eyed innocence, seemed to be oblivious to everything, but Anya was not naive. Everything about Julie was a lie, a mask she wore to hide her ambition. Anya suspected that Malachi was planningto make another change to the harem, and Anya being the oldest at 31 years old was a likely candidate for expulsion. Who knew what that might mean. Being cast onto the street would be a kindness compared to being thrown into the courtyard to become a perpetual slave.

Anya had been stymied when it came to understanding Malachi’s intentions or what he valued. Nothing any futanari did seemed to have an affect on him. Julie’s tactic of being a simple, obedient robot had seemed to have success, as far as success could be measured. malachi had never picked Julie to perform any especially demeaning tasts. This contrasted with his treatment of Nga and Yen. He constantly made them perform sexual acts on one another, which caused them obvious discomfort. Malachi seemed to seek out anything which casued anguish to a futa and make her endure it frequently.