Futaween

Three pairs of heels clicked down the sidewalk as Claire Thompson trailed behind two of her students. It was the last day of October and the usual scents permeated the crisp evening air. Dried foliage, autumn vegetables, holiday candy and semen. The occasion had been renamed Futaween many years ago, which was only too appropriate in this brave new world of ceaseless debauchery.

Once upon a time, young men went to college, vocational school or joined the military. Now, when they came of age, males were enrolled in Slave Training schools or the nearest Femboy Academy. Which one they were deployed to depended on a number of factors, from their body type and disposition to their mother’s wishes.

Mistress Claire was a professor at one of these institutions, a career she embraced with great relish. Like virtually all women in the modern age, she’d opted to become a Futanari and enjoyed the many privileges inherent with her enhanced anatomy. No doubt remained that the world now belonged to her kind.

Jesse and Charlie marched just ahead of her, their pace guided by the twin leashes that led back to Claire’s hands. Charlie was one of her many charges, but Jesse was more than just a student to her. He was also Claire’s collared submissive and live-in slave. Each student was assigned a dominant Futa guardian so they could learn their proper role in the world as they completed their secondary schooling.

Their education never ended, regardless of whether they were in class or at home. Each young man served as housekeeper, companion and sexual servant to the Futa Mistress who took him under her wing. On the surface, it may have seemed like a conflict of interests to let a student be bound to a professor in this way, but in a world where any university professor could bend her student over a desk and take him at will, it was no longer seen as particularly troubling. Besides, many of the courses were sexual in nature, for masculine subs and femboys alike.

Charlie belonged to another woman, Claire’s friend and colleague Elena. Elena decided to stay home this year to demand tricks from the neighborhood sluts and dole out treats to those who pleased her. Futaween was always a frenzied affair that kept her busy all night, so she’d handed over her obedient slave to Claire for the evening.

Elena was probably in a position to have more fun, but Claire didn’t mind escorting a couple bubble-butt sluts around town instead. There was almost as much pleasure in watching them get ravaged and slathered in cum as there was doing the ravaging.

Jesse was dressed as a femboy incubus. Purple rubber horns sprouted from the base of his up-thrust blonde pigtails. They matched the color of his lipstick, while the pink hair-ties matched his dyed bangs. A pink collar with yellow spikes led down to a layer of black latex covering his upper chest and back. From there, a purple set of demonic wings extended, leaving nothing but a bare midsection and some drooping metal bondage rings.

Clingy nylons covered his forearms and legs, but left his ass exposed and his cock and balls dangling in the cool breeze. A short purple tail was glued to the skin of his lower back. Jesse’s legs were consumed by rubber starting at mid-thigh, leading down into shiny heeled boots of midnight black.

Charlie was garbed in a demonic costume as well, though it hid much less of his body. The straps of a red leather bondage harness criss-crossed his form, leaving most of his skin exposed to the elements. Ironically, it was his face that was covered the most. All but his nose and mouth were veiled in red latex. The tight bondage hood featured twin black devil horns sprouting from his temples.

The red rubber covered his eyes, so he was relying on Jesse’s instructions and the tug of Claire’s leash to guide him where they were going. His arms and legs were decorated with torn nylons, leading to red leather gloves and a set of knee pads below. Charlie’s circumcised sissy clit hung out boldly as they sauntered down the block.

For her part, Claire had added some angelic adornments to one of her university uniforms. It was only fitting that a Futadom angel would lead the two demonic slut boys around on Futaween. She wore a white suit jacket with black leather lining the cuffs and open front. Draped below it was a tight, white skirt. The sleek suit hugged her thick curves gracefully, showing off her impressive cleavage and creasing around her strong thighs. The dual leashes, one purple and one red, were held firmly in the grasp of her black leather gloves.

A small circlet sat atop Claire’s head, holding a halo above her silvery hair. Sparkling blue eyes pierced through her thin, gold-rimmed glasses. It matched the large golden cross hanging above her bust, just as her white choker necklace complimented the rest of her outfit. Claire’s gleaming white leather thigh-highs might’ve been the most eye catching element of her ensemble, if not for her massive mounds and the thick length of cockmeat jutting out from the bottom of her short skirt.

It was a chilly evening to have one’s naughty bits hanging out, but that was part of the fun. It made things even more thrilling as you marched from house to house, looking for a door that didn’t say ‘Occupied’, ‘Busy’, ‘Tricked Out’ or something more lewd like ‘Fuckfest In Progress.’ It was commonplace to have such signs on the door for Futaween to indicate whether visitors should stop and ring the bell or move on to the next house. They were fun indicators, but in truth, not really needed. You could often hear the moans and wails of bitchmade males through the thickest of front doors.

As they made their way down the street, Charlie stumbled for the third time and lurched to the side, grabbing onto Jesse for support. The blinded bottom almost dropped the trio’s half-filled pumpkin bucket. The hefty orange container jostled and sloshed about with the treats they’d gathered thus far.

“Hey! Cut it out you clumsy bitch! You almost knocked me down again!”

“Sorry! I can’t see anything with this mask on...” Charlie answered meekly.

“No shit! It was a stupid idea. Why don’t you cut some eye holes in it?”

“Ummm, because I like sensory deprivation!”

“Pffft. Do that shit on your own time! This is Futaween and you’re slowing us down!”

“Boys! BOYS!” Claire shouted. She reigned in both their leashes, tugging on their necks firmly. “Whoever starts the next argument is getting a spanking!”

They continued down the walkway, looking for the next house with abundant Futaween decorations and a well-lit porch. Jesse glanced to the side and noticed Charlie’s upper chest jiggling ever so slightly as they walked. The beginnings of round, fatty tissue had started to form where a flat chest had previously been.

“So, you started hormones, did you?”

“Yeah. If you want to work at Femboy Hooters, it helps to have hooters.”

“Pfffft, I’d just strap on some falsies. Or maybe not. I bet they’d let me work there regardless.”

“You’re dreaming.”

Jesse’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He side-eyed the red demon slut to his left. “Fuck you! They totally would! And it’s gonna be a long time before those little bitties of yours can be called hooters!”

“That’s enough!” Claire announced, dropping Charlie’s leash. She yanked Jesse closer to the side of the road, pulling him towards the nearest parked car. She tugged his leash until he was in range, then bent him over the hood of the red sedan.

“I think twenty strokes should do” she informed him, pressing his back down with one gloved hand and preparing to strike with the other.

“Yes, Mistress” Jesse replied with a knowing smile.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

As Claire’s leather-clad hand lambasted his plump white tush, Jesse groaned and grunted pleasurably. Costumed onlookers, male slaves and Futa Dommes alike, looked their way as they continued down the street. The strangers laughed and enjoyed their little show, getting an eyeful before moving on.

This was a game Claire and Jesse played. They both knew that’s what it was. He was always breaking the rules and giving Mistress any excuse to discipline him. Jesse was the ultimate brat and they both loved it. As the twenty strikes came to a close, he only wished Mistress Claire had mandated more. Jesse had an exhibitionist streak and found public punishment thrilling.

SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK

“No more lollygagging or arguing” Claire insisted as she pulled Jesse back onto the sidewalk and took up Charlie’s leash again. She strutted down the suburban walkway, pulling her naughty demonic whores behind her.

A few minutes later, the trio finally spotted a house that was open for business. They stalked up the driveway and hurried to the front door, three pairs of heels clicking away. When they reached the entrance, Jesse rang the bell and they waited a few moments in anticipation. The door opened and two large women were revealed. One was dressed as Snow White and the other was a witch in jet black leather. Both women sported eager smiles and sizable bulges in the front of their costumes.

“Ooooh, a couple sexy demons and a beautiful angel! How nice!”

“Hello my pretties!” the second woman added in her best Wicked Witch impression.

“Trick or treat!” Jesse and Charlie shouted in unison.

“Oh my! I don’t know if we’re ready for another trick so soon. We just sent some young men limping home” Snow White informed them.

“True, but a treat should be no problem” the witch assured them with a nod.

Snow White reached to an end-table in the foyer, grabbing two extra large condoms from their Futaween bucket of prophylactics. Within seconds, both hostesses hiked up their skirts and applied the long, thick lengths of clingy latex to their massive cocks.

The two Futa Dommes stood in the doorway, caressing their impressive endowments with long, deliberate strokes. They started slow at first, but their pace increased as the sissy sluts on the porch offered enthusiastic encouragement.

Jesse turned around and bent over the porch’s railing. He thrust his ass back, showing off his demonic tail, his recently spanked ass and his rapidly hardening five-incher. Charlie set down their Futaween bucket before getting on his knees and entering a sexy pose. He opened his mouth and placed one finger on his tongue, just above its shiny metal stud. His four inch penis was rock hard below, sticking up and pointing at the pumpkin shell full of liquid goodies.