Boys Night Out

Sam Towles and his buddy Ralph Griffin made their way down the sidewalk. Two average guys out for a midweek binge. They weren’t totally inebriated, but they would have had a hard time walking heel to toe in a straight line. “You’d think,” Sam said, careful not to slur his words, “that I could pick up some tail; after all, it is my birthday. But no.” They came to an intersection where Sam steadied himself against a street sign.

“It’s not for lack of trying, buddy,” Ralph said. He wasn’t quite to the point of fighting a slur. “Let’s call a car. It’s time for this bar crawl to end. We’ve got work tomorrow, or actually, later this morning.”

Sam took a deep breath which seemed to clear his head a fraction. He tugged at the blazer he was wearing over casual pants and white, knit shirt. “One more, for a nightcap,” he said. He looked down a side street and pointed. “How about that joint?”

Ralph looked. “No, man. That’s a Futa bar. You know, chicks with dicks.”

“So what? They won’t let us in? Won’t serve us?” Sam said.

“As a lawyer, I’m telling you that would be against the law,” Ralph said. “As your friend, I’m telling you that a couple of straight dudes are going to get a chilly reception.”

Sam hooked his arm around his friend’s elbow and pulled him in the direction of the bar. “Well, as a hot-shit commodity broker and all around stud, I say come on,” he said, “we’ll be a couple of homo’s until we’re inside then I’ll nail some of that Futa pussy. I can overlook an overgrown clit long enough to get my rocks off.”

Ralph gently removed his arm from Sam’s embrace. “Wow,” he said, “you really don’t know anything about gays or the Futa crowd.” He sighed. “Okay, one drink and were out of there.”

The place was nice but nothing special. It was dimly lit. There were a dozen stools at the bar, plus tables for another twenty or so patrons. Sam and Ralph sat at the bar leaving a stool between themselves and muscular guy in workout gear who sat with his back turned.

A female bartender approached. “What can I get for you gentlemen?” she asked.

Ralph held up two fingers. “Two scotch, doubles, neat, something from the top shelf.” He pointed with his thumb at Sam and said, “He’s paying.”

“Asshole,” Sam grumbled. “It’s my birthday.”

Ralph sniffed. “Well, if I have to wait on you to chat up some Futa, you can pay for the drinks.”

When the drinks arrived, both men turned to assay the room. With the exception of one man, everyone at the tables were women, presumably, both natural and Futa. Most Futa presented themselves as women; it was usually hard to tell the difference. Ralph sipped at his drink and then waved his glass at the table area. “Picked one out yet with whom you will grace your presence?” he said in a lightly mocking tone.

Sam made a noise as if he were about to cough up something. “They’re all paired off. Their kind should have stayed in the closet and been content with making their own unnatural dykes. But no, now they’re in places like this, trying to mate up with our women.”

“Jesus, Sam, take it easy,” Ralph said. They had been talking softly, but as Sam had spoken his tone had grown darker, louder and more insistent.

“Aw fuck it, man,” Sam said. He stood and pulled a money clip thick with bills from his pocket and threw it on the bar. “Here, pay, I have to take a piss.” Sam had made the turn from an amiable, if somewhat aggressive, drinker to a belligerent drunk. Head down, he went to the end of the bar, turned a corner and went through a door with common signage showing that this restroom was for both men and women.

The room had a half-dozen stalls and beyond that were four urinals. On the opposite wall were four basins set in a faux wood counter. The doors on the stalls were stained wood with stainless steel fixtures. The black and white tile floor looked ancient. The place was clean with a hint of a sweet smelling antiseptic cleaner. Sam stopped at the first urinal, unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and unleashed a stream of processed alcohol urine. He heard the door to the room open and close. He half expected Ralph to join him, but the looming presence of someone far taller passed him and stood at the next urinal. There were no partitions between the urinals, and so he got the full effect of the Futa who stood practically shoulder to shoulder with him. Actually that was more like his shoulder to the Futa’s bicep. Sam was a man of average height, about five feet nine inches tall. He shifted his eyes and turned his head a fraction to look. The Futa had to be at least six and a half feet tall. She had short, spiky, dark hair with a lock that fell over one eye. With a sickening stomach he realized that she was the supposed man sitting one stool over from him at the bar. Had she heard him? How could she not have?

Sam’s eyes felt as if they might pop out of their sockets from the effort of looking at her while not looking at her. Her breasts were immense. They filled her broad chest and stood out as if defying gravity. The white tank top she wore would have hung loosely on his frame. On her it looked like a crop top. The material barely covered her prominent areolae and nipples. Those nipples had to be bigger than his thumb. She was showing side boob, bottom boob and all sorts of cleavage. More of her breasts were exposed than not. She had six-pack abs and a waist that looked tiny by comparison although it was probably as big as his. She was wearing a pair of cutoff denim jeans that rested on a glorious ass. Her legs and arms bulged with smooth muscle.

Sam watched out of the corner of his eye as she unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts. She dipped her hand inside and drew forth a mind boggling cock. Inches of thick cock arched out of her jeans, more inches lay across her palm and even more inches drooped downward almost touching the back of the urinal. As a thick stream of piss shot into the urinal, she turned to Sam and said in a cool contralto, “It’s usually considered rude to stare at someones cock in the toilet.”

“Yeah, no ... I mean I was ... but no,” Sam stammered. He turned away so quickly he slammed into the partition of the stall on his left.

“Take it easy, dude,” the Futa said. “I wouldn’t want your pretty face messed up before we have our date.”

“Date?” Sam said in a voice an octave higher than normal. He slid to his left. If he could just get past the damned partition, he’d make a break for the door and not stop running until he was a hundred yards down the street. That was when he felt a hand grasp the collars of his jacket and shirt. He felt the material twist and then he was lifted into the air until the toes of his shoes merely brushed the floor. His feet and arms waggled about uselessly as the Futa carried him to the row of basins. His waist hit the counter top, but the Futa didn’t stop her manhandling until his face pressed against the mirror.

“Yes,” she said, “just like you, I’m here with a couple of friends looking for some fresh talent. Isn’t it lucky we found one another?”

“Uhhnnngg,” Sam said with his jaw pinned against the mirror.

“Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” the Futa said, “I’m going to put you down and you’re going to take your pants off, because really, you want to be able to spread your legs as wide as possible. You’re not going run unless you want our sex play to be much rougher. Frankly, you don’t look the type.”

Sam found himself back on his feet a second later. He tried to rub the soreness out of his reddened face. In the mirror he could see the Futa’s expectant look. His hands went to his belt. “You know,” he said, “someone could walk in here any second.” He slowly unzipped his trousers.

She said, “Don’t worry. One of my friends is watching the door while the other one is entertaining your friend. Sophia is devastatingly beautiful. By now, she’s probably well on her way to convincing him to suck off that cute little foot-long penis of hers in front of the crowd. She’s such an exhibitionist.”

Sam fumbled at his clothing. He dared not turn around. He could bring himself only to glance in the mirror from time to time. And what he saw there was both amazing and terrifying. The Futa’s cock had thickened into the classic shape of a man’s penis, one of monstrous size. He couldn’t help but gawk at it in the mirror. Its sheer rutting power was mesmerizing. So much so that he was surprised to find his pants, shorts and shoes lay next to his sock-clad feet. When had he done that? “What ... what are you going to do?” he asked, although he was pretty sure he knew damn well what was about to happen.

The Futa cupped her hand and ran it up the length of her cock’s cum-tube. What had to be at least ten ounces of clear fluid flowed over her cock-head. She used both hands to spread the oily looking stuff over head and shaft. “Don’t worry,” said the Futa, “haven’t you heard that Futa pre-cum contains relaxant and numbing properties?” Her massive tool disappeared from the mirror. “Personally, I think it’s a myth.”

Sam felt her cock-head slam into his ass. Out of reflex, he spread his torso across the counter and widened his stance. What the hell am I doing? Do I want this? Well, I can’t exactly fight my way free, she’d beat me to a pulp with her little finger. But I’m acting like a virgin trying to make the best of...

The feeling of The Futa’s cock-head pushing through his anus was like nothing he could have imagined. His breath left his body in a loud, “Oof!” The experience wasn’t so much pain as an overwhelming feeling of fullness. His ass felt as if it were a rubber band stretched to it’s utmost. And he had to pee ... he had to pee so badly. But not really. He had a gay friend who, after too many drinks, had revealed an embarrassing amount of personal information on how he loved prostate sex. That was why the full bladder sensation. The Futa’s cock had to be massaging his prostate as thoroughly as any doctor ever could.

“How’s that feel, little man?” the Futa said after raping his ass for a full minute. “Nice and hard yet?”

“Wha...?” grunted.

“Grab your cock,” she said. “I bet it’s as hard as a rock.”

It wasn’t easy, but Sam managed to create enough room between himself and the counter to get his right hand between his legs. And damned if she wasn’t right, he really did have one hell of a boner. I’m dead drunk and I’ve got a hard-on like a schoolboy dating a sure thing. It must be this witch behind me; feels like she’s shoving a baseball bat up my ass. But so help me it feels amazing. His hand raged up and down his dick. He was suddenly desperate to come. And then it was there, his orgasm rushed out of nowhere and overwhelmed. His dick seemed to load and then fire a painful gush of semen. That happened eight or nine times and then he shot blanks as his orgasm rolled on for an achingly long time. He’d never ever shot shot so much semen. He’d never ever had an orgasm last that long.

“Oh look, the big boy made a piddle,” taunted the Futa. “Let’s see if I can do better.”

Sam had to bite his lips to keep from crying out. She had gone to double-time in his ass. Her massive cock raged in and out. After what seemed an hour, but was likely little more than a minute, her breathing became ragged. When she moaned, “Take this fucker,” it felt as if his insides were going to burst. She was filling him with hot cum like an outrageous enema. She withdrew her spewing cock and he felt a wash of cum surge over his balls and flow down his inner thighs. But she was nowhere near through. A rope of thick, white semen twisted over his head and landed high on the mirror. He ducked sideways, and it was a lucky move. Another bolt of cum slammed lower onto the mirror where he had stood a second before. The Futa stood with her legs spread, both hands racing up and down her cock-shaft. More cum leapt from her dilated cum-slit and landed on the counter, splashed in the basins and rained onto the floor.

When the awesome display of sexual power ended, the Futa pointed at the dispenser on the wall and said, “Get some towels and clean me off.”

Sam moved. Shuffling his feet made his ass ache and forced more thick cum down his legs, but he was afraid not to comply with the female of Amazonian proportions. The towels he pulled from the dispenser were far thicker and softer than the ones he was used to finding in a public toilet. He tore off a handful of sheets and approached the Futa’s drooping penis. Five minutes ago he would have been revulsed at the thought of handling such a thing. But now ... He left three sheets of cottony towel in the palm of his right hand and used it to support her cock. He used more sheets in his left hand to gently wipe away the mixture of clear pre-cum and cream-like white cum from her magnificent dick. Its skin was so soft and pliant. It was hard to believe this thing had felt like a raging monster up his butt. He found himself wiping down the same areas twice and three times.

“If you handle it anymore, then you’re playing with it,” the Futa said with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered. He backed away and stuffed the now sodden towels into a trashcan. When he turned back the Futa had performed some sort of anatomical or wardrobe miracle. Her cock was nowhere to be seen. Her thrusting breasts, relatively tiny waist and long, muscular legs left her merely awe inspiring.

The Futa peered at him closely for several long seconds, and then with a twitch of a grin said, “See you around.” She left the room.

Sam sighed in relief and approached the counter. His ass didn’t seem to hurt as much as it had. There was a pool of cum in one of the basins. The stuff was too thick to drain quickly. He couldn’t resist. He dipped the tip of his pinkie in the pool and lifted it to his tongue. It really did have a cream-like taste and texture with a hint of salt. If someone had served it to him during a meal, he wouldn’t have thought twice.

Sam shook his head hard enough to blur his vision. What the hell was he doing? He grabbed more towels from the dispenser. He cleaned his ass, his legs and his ass again ... several times. When he got around to picking up his pants, he sighed. “Of course,” he muttered. They were soaked.

Sam left the restroom. He strolled the length of the bar as casually as he could manage. His clammy, wet pants clung to his legs. It had been impossible to wipe them completely dry. The Futa who had reamed his ass hadn’t resumed her seat at the bar. He wanted one more glimpse of her, but he was too humiliated to turn his head to see if she had taken a table.

Ralph was bent over the bar, slowly turning a whiskey glass in his fingers. He turned his head at Sam’s approach. “What the hell happened to you?” he asked as he looked at the sodden state of Sam’s pants.

“From what I hear,” said Sam, “it was a variation on what happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me,” Ralph said. He downed the last thimbleful of liquor.

“Oh really. Then why is there a glob of cum in your hair?” Sam said.

Ralph’s hand shot to the top of his head, but his fingers were dry when he lowered it. “Fuck you,” Ralph said. “Let’s get out of here.”

They left the bar and moved down the sidewalk. Frank dug into his pocket and pulled out Sam’s money clip and a phone. He handed the clip to Sam and began the process of calling for a car.

“Why don’t you wait until we’re at the next corner,” Sam said, “because ... you know.”

“Are we going to make it to the next corner?” Ralph asked. “You’re moving pretty slow.”

“Fuck you,” Sam said.

“Fair enough,” Ralph said.

They finally reached the intersection and Frank finished his call for a ride. They stood waiting in silence until Sam said, “Think we’ll ever go back there?”

“Not for a long time, dude,” Frank said.

“Yeah ... guess so,” said Sam. There was regret in his voice.

“I hear there’s a nice Futa restaurant on the other side of town,” Ralph said as casually as if he were remarking on the weather.

“Yeah?” Sam said.

“Yeah,” Ralph said.

The Futa Mission (revision of opening scene)

The Futa sits canted on the black metal folding chair. Her arms are twisted behind her back. Her right arm stretches over the backrest, while her left arm is in front of it. Her wrists are locked together by a zip tie. Despite her painful and awkward position, she looks magnificent. She is nude except for her high heels and a gold chain with its pendant at her throat. Her breasts thrust outward seeming to defy gravity in their curved beauty. Thick red hair frames her oval face with its high cheek bones. Her sapphire blue eyes watch the second hand on a clock on the wall as it ticks to the top of an hour. She shifts her gaze onto a man across the room.

Cut to: A large, black helicopter races mere feet above the ground across a desert landscape. As the camera pulls in we see that there is no pilot.

Cut to: The interior of a control room lit mainly by the glow of a tall bank of computer monitors. A sergeant in battle dress sits casually at a console, his fingers twitch at a joystick. Behind the sergeant stands a man in a suit. His face is unseen.

Man in suit: The timing’s off, Sergeant.

Sergeant, laconically: The maintenance boys were a little late, and the met. boys were wrong about the winds aloft, but were moving now, sir. It’s balls to the wall.

Man in suit: That’s an apt phrase, Sergeant. If my agent doesn’t make it because of your “boys,” I’m going to nail somebody’s balls to the wall of your oh-so-nice break room.

The sergeant doesn’t reply, but he does sit up straighter and pushes at a control (presumably the throttle) which is already as far forward as possible.

Cut back to the room containing the Futa: A man sits in a padded leather office chair; behind him is a utilitarian metal desk. He holds a semiautomatic pistol in his lap. His eyes are locked hungrily on the Futa because her cock is arising in jerks in tune with her pulse, which is much slower and steadier than what one might expect. The Futa is barely over five feet tall, and her cock is at least as large as her forearm. A drop of pre-cum emerges from her cock-slit and oozes down her pencil-thick cum-tube.

Futa: Can you help me?

The man’s eyes jerk upward from her cock to her eyes. He frowns and his head slowly, reluctantly moves from side to side.

Futa: Please, it’s been hours.

The man’s eyes move back to her twitching cock. More and larger drops of pre-cum emerge.

Futa: I can’t help it, you know. It’s just our nature. It’s really painful.

The man’s face twitches nearly imperceptibly in sympathy, but nothing else.

Futa, pleading: Please? I’m tied into this chair. I can’t move.

No response from the man as he is watching her pre-cum fall to the floor, making a puddle.

Futa, pleading, with a hint of promise: I can make it worth your while.

The man shows a bit of interest in his expression as if it happened involuntarily.

The Futa speaks quickly, as if to exploit a bargaining chip: Futa’s have a cock, but they also have a pussy. It’s the best pussy you’ll ever have. I’ve got rippling muscles in spaces where regular women don’t even have places. And tight? You won’t believe.

The Futa shifts in her seat and spreads her legs. It is easy for the man to see her glistening pussy lips.

The man licks his lips and stands. He looks as if he’s mesmerized. He puts his gun on the seat of his chair and approaches the Futa.

Futa in a grateful whisper: Thank you. This will be a relief to both of us.

The man reaches the Futa and bends over her throbbing cock as if unsure how to proceed. He blinks his eyes as if he’s becoming aware of what he’s about to do and decides not to do it.

The Futa’s eyes are intense as she watches the man. She shifts in her seat and her cock, quivering with tension, moves as if to position itself for the man. The Futa’s eyes half close in concentration. A blast of cum erupts from her cum-slit. It hits the man squarely in the face. His mouth, nose and eyes are covered in thick semen. He jerks backward as his hands go to his face. The Futa stands. Her heel slams into the bottom of the chair’s seat closing it. The Futa, as her cock spews a prodigious amount of cum, steps toward the man, spins through 540 degrees of rotation and launches two feet off the floor. The side of the collapsible, metal chair hits the man’s skull. He goes down. The Futa moves to the metal desk and turns her back to it. Her cock, now merely half hard is leaking cum. She bends at the knees until the top of the chair’s back is a few inches below the overhanging top of the desk. She surges upward, slamming the chair into the desk top. She winces in pain, but then repeats the action until the plastic tie around her wrists snaps. She briefly rubs at her wrist. She grabs the gun to check that the clip is full and that there’s a round in the chamber.

Cut to the fish-eye security camera view of a hallway: A door opens, The still naked Futa comes into view. She sweeps the hallway with her gun. The sound of a helicopter is prominent in the background. She sprints toward a set of double doors.

Cut to exterior shot of a rooftop with its helicopter landing pad: The helicopter, flying only slightly higher than the rooftop’s edge, is closing in. Security men, armed with rifles, are scattered around the edges of the roof. They turn to look at the helicopter.

Cut to interior of the control room: On a large central screen we see the views from the helicopter’s cameras. A forward view shows the security men as they turn. The closest man lifts a radio to his mouth as he peers at the helicopter.