A Futa-Town Tale

Saturday - midnight.

Eyes wide with surprise, Sam could barely believe what he was witnessing. Feeling his heart pound within his chest, while his breath simultaneously caught in his throat, he realized he was in fact, swooning. He felt dizzy, yet thrilled, and utterly compelled to keep watching.

Standing silently in the middle of the midnight forest clearing, was a sexy young femboy roughly the same age as himself. Illuminated by flickering flaming torches and surrounded by slowly drifting mist, the beautiful waif slowly slipped off his ceremonial white robe, letting it fall to the leaf-littered ground. Otherwise naked, only a string-like gossamer thong secured his petite cock and balls, clearly revealing their outlines. Indifferent to his surroundings, his fine features displayed only stoic acceptance of his impending fate.

A moment later, a tall, dark-elf priest walked forward from the surrounding shadows, materializing like an implacable wraith. Placing an intricately tattooed hand on the femboy’s shoulder, he guided the innocent youth, positioning him beneath the outstretched bough of a giant overhanging oak tree.

Sam knew what he was feeling was wrong; that he shouldn’t be excited in the way that he was. But the knowledge wasn’t stopping his highly hormonal, eighteen-year-old’s libido from whipping his arousal into a frenzy, along with his unwitting erection. Without thinking, he opened his own robe, slid down his boxers, and took a hold of his rapidly stiffening cock. Continuing to stare, he began stroking it slowly.

Accompanied by the ethereal-chanting of further dark-elves, semi-obscured in the blackness, the femboy stepped up onto a large buttress-root and turned back to face the black-robed priest. At the other’s silent command, he extended his neck and allowed a thick rope-noose to be slipped over his head gently, his long blonde braid to be deftly untangled, and the expertly tied knot to be pre-tightened beneath his left ear. Likewise, he made no protest when the elf-priest leant forward and started kissing him passionately, pressing his tongue into his complying mouth.

Sam swooned again at the terrible sight, trying to reconcile the heady mixture of blatant eroticism, and impending horror. He had to deliberately slow down his own ministrations as the elf-priest slipped aside the femboy’s thong and began stroking his now semi-erect cock.

As the rope above the sacrificial offering’s head began tightening, pulling him up onto the balls of his bare feet, the elf-priest finally broke their fervent kiss. As the first gasping choke escaped the doomed one’s lips, he leant down and wrapped his mouth around the fully hard cock, continuing to pump the shaft as he sucked it hungrily.

Overcome by the sight, Sam’s eyes rolled up in his head as a sudden realization crystalized in his otherwise befuddled mind. He wasn’t just turned on by the macabre spectacle of impending death, but was actually imagining being hanged himself in the femboy’s stead. “Oh Gods!” he gasped at the shameful epiphany. Urgently, he managed to look back to the TV screen, just in time to see the femboy suspended in midair, his rigid cock spraying cum across the elf-priest’s chest.

Sam’s orgasm arrived like a freight train. His body stiffened and shuddered, supported by the recliner lounge in which he sprawled, cum erupting from his cock in several thick jets that splashed up along his stomach and chest. “Oh fuck,” he moaned, his body eventually relaxing, his breath panting.

“Oh fuck, indeed,” said a female voice in the dark beside him.

Sam nearly cried out in fright as he struggled to pull his bathrobe closed, desperate to conceal his pitifully exposed state. He scrambled to find the TV’s remote as panic-induced adrenaline surged through his body in one painful wave after another.

“Hey! Hey! It’s okay!” said the female voice, trying to sound reassuring.

Utter despair, as much as the words, caused Sam to cease his exertions. What was the point? He’d just been caught red-handed and knew there was nothing he could ever say to rationally explain such a predicament. Shame bore down on him like a physical weight.

“Gods, I didn’t think you’d have a heart attack,” the voice continued.

With tears starting to well in his eyes, Sam turned to see his twenty-one-year-old sister, Nicole, illuminated like a specter in the glow of the TV.

“Are you okay?” she asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

Sam couldn’t answer. Instead, he looked down at his lap to ensure his robe was in fact closed, even as it stuck to the wetness on his stomach. Finally locating the illusive remote, he picked it up in his left hand – which wasn’t covered in cum – and pointed it at the screen.

“No, wait!” said Nicole, not wanting the movie stopped just yet. She stared at it herself, equally transfixed by the ongoing scene. “I haven’t seen this one in years,” she offered.

Sam barely registered her words as he sat the recliner back up straight. Cheeks burning red, he stared down at the loungeroom carpet, waiting for his sister’s inevitable verbal chastisement to begin. But instead of screaming her disgust, she simply made another glib observation that he couldn’t quite absorb.

“I guess they only show it after midnight.”

Confused by the lack of reprimand, Sam’s fight or flight response finally took over. Clutching his robe tightly around himself, he stood up and rushed for the stairs, desperate to secure the immediate sanctuary of his bedroom.

Sunday morning.

Lying in bed, black depression eclipsed all other thought in Sam’s restless mind. Unable to stop dwelling on what had happened the previous night, he now found that the mere thought of the fantasy film’s ‘sacrifice scene’, sickened him to his very stomach. How could he have been so stupid? How had he not heard Nicole come down the stairs? How long had she watched him? How long would it be until she told their strict parents what she’d caught him doing?

Not for the first time that morning, tears began welling in his eyes. Glancing over at the clock, he saw it was almost nine. He’d already declined his mother’s invite to breakfast an hour ago, offering a fictional headache as the excuse for his absence, but she wouldn’t let him malinger in bed for much longer. Gods, the thought of seeing Nicole again was truly unbearable.

The sound of gentle knocking on the bedroom door, interrupted his sullen introspection. Looking over, he saw it open slightly and fully expected to see his mother’s face appear. Instead, it was Nicole, her voice sounding cheerful and inquisitive. “Knock, knock?”

Mortified by her presence and unwilling to answer, Sam quickly rolled onto his side, deliberately presenting his back. A moment later, he heard the door close and desperately hoped that she’d gone away. Instead, looking back over his shoulder, he saw her standing inside the room. Worse still, he heard the door’s lock click. Not knowing what else to do, he simply faced away again and laid his head on the pillows.

Apparently unperturbed, Nicole walked over to the bed, carrying a large, hardcover book under one arm. “Hey, Sammy,” she said pleasantly, before sitting down beside him. “I figured you’d be upset about last night, and I don’t want you to feel bad.”

Sam blinked, blindsided the unexpected words. Did she really mean that?

“You shouldn’t feel ashamed, is what I mean.”

Slowly rolling back over, Sam cautiously assessed his gorgeous sister’s face, still unsure he could believe what she was saying.

“Oh baby, no,” she said, seeing his moist eyes. “You haven’t been crying, have you?”

Wiping at his eyes, Sam took a good look at his sister. With her blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her sapphire-blue eyes sparkled unobscured above her freckle-dusted nose. Unable to detect any obvious duplicity, he relaxed ever so slightly, letting his eyes flick down to the rest of her body. Despite the hour, she was still wearing her revealing summer pajama set. The very same one that their mother had forbidden her to wear in front of their father. The pink satin hugged her athletic body while accentuating her large breasts, all the while failing to contain her firm round butt cheeks. On any other day, his mind would be constructing an extremely lewd, and particularly detailed fantasy. But not today.

Realizing he’d just checked her out, a smile crept onto Nicole’s face. The thought of her cute younger brother doing so didn’t bother her at all. In fact, she was rather proud she had that effect on the teenager. “Did you hear what I just said?” she eventually prompted.

Sam swallowed hard before responding. “That I shouldn’t be ashamed, even though you caught me jerking off,” he replied, deliberately minimizing the details of the experience.

“Oh please!” snorted Nicole. “Everyone’s been caught doing that at least once.”

Sam appeared shocked. “I haven’t,” he replied, before looking away sheepishly. “Or hadn’t, at least.”

“Really?” she asked, sounding equally amazed. “Not even by mom?”

Sam shook his head.

Nicole shrugged nonchalantly. “Then you mustn’t be doing it enough.”

Hearing his older sister openly talk about masturbating, color rose in Sam’s cheeks. But the brief moment’s levity disappeared just as quickly as the intrusive memory of his shame replayed itself in his head.

Nicole saw his expression darken. “What I meant was,” she continued, “you shouldn’t feel ashamed about what you were watching.”

Sam found himself rendered mute. Had she not actually seen what was on the TV?

“That hot-AF femboy getting hanged,” she clarified.

Sam’s chest suddenly pained, as if he was on the precipice of an anxiety attack. “That’s not what I was...”

Nicole cut him off by reaching across and gently cupping his cheek in her hand, then lent down to place a quick kiss on his lips. Pulling away, she smiled as she spoke again. “I know what I saw, Sammy. And like recognizes like.”

Once again, Sam struggled to accept what he’d just heard. “You ... liked it, too?” he finally managed, his mind reeling as much from her quick kiss as her possible understanding.

“I did,” she winked. “It’s called Erotophonophilia. Sexual arousal, caused by the death of another human being. And I’m rather impartial myself.”

Sam understood next-to-nothing of what she’d just said, but he caught the meaning. “You enjoyed watching him hang?”

“That’s what I just said, silly,” she chided. “More so the way he didn’t try to stop it.”

Sam practically gasped, the previous weight that had seemed to crush his chest, suddenly lifting. At the same time, the headache inducing tension in his neck began draining away.

“Do you feel better now?” she asked, continuing to smile down at him.

“Yes,” he replied softly, feeling a familiar dizzying thrill pass through his body, just as it had the night before.

“I thought you would,” she said, stroking his cheek again. “A fetish like that can really torment someone, if they don’t understand why they like it. And as I said, I didn’t want you feeling bad.”

“Shouldn’t I?” he asked, a sliver of doubt creeping back into his mind. “Don’t you?”

“Fuck no!” she laughed, before offering a little more insight. “But I haven’t given a shit what people think for years.”

Sam’s brow creased regardless. “But, isn’t it... wrong?”

Nicole dismissed his misgivings out of hand. “Tell me, have you ever thought about killing someone?”

Sam recoiled at the very thought. “Of course not!”

“Do you feel anything when you see someone being hurt?”

“You know it makes me sick seeing people suffer.”

“Okay. And would you have enjoyed the movie if that femboy was being dragged to the noose against his will?”

“No.”

“Then congratulations! You’re not a psychopath.”

Something about her words made immediate sense to Sam. He knew that he wasn’t a bad person.

“And think about this,” continued Nicole. “If showing people dying was really so bad, why do so many old paintings show executions? Disciples being martyred. Beheadings and hangings, most of them public. How many books and movies contain a virgin sacrifice? People are secretly fascinated by these things; they just won’t admit it.”

Sam considered her point and couldn’t find fault. “It’s just, I’d never seen something so... gratuitous, before.”

“I thought you might be a newbie, which is why I brought this,” she said, holding up the book. It was titled ’Fatal Fables’.

“What is it?”

“Remember all the twisted kid’s fairytales? The old parables, where the main characters actually die?”

“Sort of,” he replied uncertainly.

“You know, the one with the witch in the gingerbread house? Or the mischievous fawn, who tricks a bride-to-be into letting him chop off her head? The elf-princess and the dragon?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d forgotten all about them.”

“Trust me, I didn’t,” she said, smiling wide. “This is a naughty graphic-novel that takes inspiration from them. My favorite is the witch, and the village girls.”

Taking a moment to re-appraise his sister, Sam could see Nicole’s obvious excitement. There was no missing her stiff nipples poking hard against the satin fabric of her pajama top. He felt his cock start to swell in response.

“Shuffle over,” she prompted, swinging her legs up onto the bed and reclining against the pillows beside her brother.

Sam happily accommodated her, breathing in the scent of her sweet vanilla perfume.

She placed the graphic-novel in his lap. “Here, you hold it,” she said. “Turn to page thirty-two.”

Doing as instructed, Sam found the desired story’s title page. It was a full-page ‘portrait’ illustration, showing a very sexy girl sitting cross-legged on an oversized oven-roasting tray and surrounded by an assortment of vegetables. Naked and coated in oil, she steamed as if fresh from cooking, smiling and winking at the reader. Sam was genuinely impressed by the illustrator’s comic-style, watercolor artwork. The title above read, ’The Hungry Hag’.

“Cannibalism?” said Sam, somewhat taken aback. “You think about eating people?” he asked, not entirely sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Eww! No. That’s gross,” answered Nicole. “And it’s called gynophagia, by those who do. But I do like cannibal cooking as the means of death?”

“Really?”

“And the more cooperation the better. Seeing someone embrace the inevitable, even participate in their own preparations. Now that’s fucking hot, that’s why I like this story.”

Sam’s mind flashed back to the previous night. Was it cooperation, like the femboy’s, that made his orgasm so intense? Especially when he imagined himself being hanged in the same way?

Nicole turned the page and pointed to the first set of comic panels. They showed a group of girls wearing revealing peasant dresses, running and laughing, making merry in their quaint village square.

“I like the way nobody’s even been enchanted,” said Nicole. “It’s an open conspiracy. The local witch wants to eat the occasional juicy woman, and everyone accepts that that’s okay.”

The next set showed two of the girl’s parents, informing their buxom daughters – a blonde and a brunette – that they’d been chosen to visit the witch. Both appeared pleasantly surprised, but certainly not concerned.

Nicole pointed out the girl’s cheerful faces. “They know that none of their friends have ever returned, but they’re still happy to go. Even the parents, and they definitely know they’re going to die.”

Sam nodded his understanding, while appreciating the beauty of the girls in the artwork, who had been drawn with a comic artist’s typically misogynistic appreciation for the female form. His cock responded in turn, and he knew he would have to ‘adjust’ himself soon, lest it become uncomfortable.