Futareich Ch. 03

"R - right," he stammered. "Brain in a vat and all that. I'm afraid I only took a few classes in philosophy as an undergrad, Professor." He laughed nervously. "And those I just scraped through. I'm not exactly an expert on the subject."

"Well, I have read about it extensively," Sofia continued. "In fact, back when I was an actual professor at the University of Vemar, I formulated a three-teired epistemological system that was fairly well received in scholarly circles at the time. Would you like to hear about it?"

"Certainly," he replied, allowing himself to relax slightly as the conversation continued to shift away from his imminent rape.

Sofia flipped over one of his calculation sheets and jotted down a few figures on it, saying absently, "The first and lowest tier of knowledge is Theoretical. Allow me to demonstrate. "She pushed the paper across to him. "Solve this.," she commanded.

Dylan looked at the paper, taking in what she had written on it. It was a fairly simple geometrical problem. He was supposed to calculate the difference in volume between two hypothetical cylinders. Easy enough. He picked up the pen and started to work it out. He remembered one of his teachers in high school had assigned a similar problem to the class, but with cubes instead of cylinders. The point was to demonstrate how the difference in volume between two different sized solids was unintuitively much greater than the difference in their surface area. That couldn't be the case here, though, as the dimensions Sofia had jotted down determined two very different sized objects, the larger being more than an order of magnitude greater in surface area to begin with. He finished in about a minute, jotted down his answer, double checked his figures, and then pushed the paper over to the waiting Superintendent.

She didn't even glance at the answer he'd written, staying focused on him. "Theoretical knowledge," she said, tapping the paper with her fingernail, "Is abstract, disconnected from physical reality and consciousness. The self interacts with the Theoretical at a distance. Of the three forms of knowing, only the Theoretical can be perfectly conveyed from one person to another using language, such as writing, speech, or math, as these too are abstractions, and the only things an abstraction can encompass with complete accuracy are abstract things. It elicits no emotion besides the slight tension of curiosity and the satisfaction that comes from resolving that tension by 'figuring it out'. For example, when I gave you that problem just now, you felt nothing but a slight sense of satisfaction when you solved it. You now know the difference in volume between those two hypothetical cylinders. I suspect you may feel a few different things as your knowledge deepens to the second and third level.

With a languid lack of haste, the camp supervisor turned and took two long steps away from the desk. "Now, on to the second Tier of Knowing," she continued. She paused for a moment for dramatic effect. Finally, she said, "Knowledge of the Second Tier is direct sensory perception. The impressions that come from sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. Observe."

She reached downward, fingers gripping the divide in her skirt, slowly pulling it back. Terror gripped his heart as he realized she was about to reveal what she had so far graciously concealed from his delicate male gaze and ego. His terror only deepened as she pulled her skirt aside and he beheld the beast that dwelt betwixt her powerful, muscular thighs. His eyes traveled down and still farther down, to a point well below her knee where the head of the monstrosity hung flaccid, like the head of a sleeping dragon. As his gaze fell upon the improbable organ, it twitched and began to swell.

"I've been waiting a long time to see that look on your face, Darling," Sofia cooed. She let go of her skirt, allowing it to fall. The fabric was quickly lifted up and aside by the rising pillar of flesh, throbbing in time with Sofia's increasing heart rate. She stood, legs spread wide, shoulders thrown back, her round breasts pushed out, hips thrust forward, massive, obscene phallus jutting out from her groin upward at a forty-five degree angle, the insane power of her erection lifting the organ's immense weight. It was bigger than Greta's, bigger than any guard in the camp. The biggest cock in Verstandshieb. Beneath the monstrous pillar of meat hung her balls, like two hand grenades in a smooth, hairless, gallon-sized sack.

Gone was the polite affectation of a friendly yet stern teacher. The creature before him was a Futanari among Futanari, a vengful goddess of sex and destruction, a predator who's prey was cornered and helpless. The smell of her thickened in the air, the not-quite-unpleasant odor he couldn't describe, that gave him the feeling of impending peril.

She placed one hand on top of the shaft of her phallic leviathan and with some effort pushed it downward from forty five degrees to ninety, leveled at Dylan like a spear. Then she took a slow step forward. Then another.

Dylan quickly scrambled backward, half a step, but was checked in his retreat when his lower back came up against Sofia's desk. He had no time to scramble sideways as the dominant Futa swaggered forward, the enormous blunt head of her cock coming ever closer. Slowly she pushed it forward directly into his own, clothed groin, stopping just at the threshold where the pressure of her enormous, spongy cockhead was causing him pain. The head alone totally overwhelmed his entire package in terms of size. He knew if she leaned forward just a little, his manhood would literally be crushed beneath the might of her Futahood.

"You comprehend, yes? This is second tier knowledge. Not so detached now, are we, now that our 'cylinders' are no longer hypothetical?" She pushed her hips forward a fraction of an inch, making him whimper. "Look at the difference between us. Feel it. Did you really think you could defy me? Did you think you could outsmart me, befuddle me, fool me, thwart my designs, resist me in any way? Perhaps in your boy brain you think that logically the size of one's reproductive organs would have no effect in a battle of wits? That is First Tier thinking, boy thinking. Look at my cock. Can you oppose me? Hmm?"

He shook his head violently. "Please," he whispered, "Please, please..."

"Ah, but Second Tier Knowing isn't enough for you, is it? The Practical Sexual Education Seminars provide all the Second Tier Knowledge a boy could possibly need to know his place in the world. You have witnessed the might of the Futa and still you defy! And so I have no choice but to deepen your understanding to the Third Tier."

"I'm sorry," he pleaded. "I swear I'll never do it again!"

"You certainly won't," she growled, leaning forward. "Not when I'm done with you."

She spun him around, bending him over the desk with a soft yet powerful hand on the back of his neck. He tried to fight her as she efficiently pulled off and discarded his clothes. His resistance was weak, his body shaking with fear, all the strength had gone from his limbs. Then in a matter of a second and a half her own dress was flung across the room. Her body descended onto him, the warm, heavenly softness of her bosom rolling onto his shoulder blades like liquid. Her mouth descended on his neck, kissing softly, playfully, then biting hard enough to leave a mark. She nibbled at his ear, and whispered. "Although it may sound strange, I want you to know that I think you're clever, and beautiful, and I respect you. That's why I've been looking forward to this so much." Then she bit his ear, savagely, painfully, and said, "Now get fucked."

Her upper body lifted off him, her hands gripping his hips tightly. Her stance widened. He felt the enormous, blunt tip of her spear of sexual subjugation push against his ass. Even hotter it was than the feverish warmth of the rest of her body, nearly burning. He felt the wetness of her precum as it dribbled from the monster's cyclopean eye. For an eternal minute she held it there, pressed against him, rocking her hips back and forth. Then she gripped him hard and started to push. With agony and humiliation beyond words he felt himself give way to her, inch after inch of her massive spear impaling his ass, destroying him.

At last her hips touched his, the entire, brutal length of her cock embedded within him. "Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck that's good." For a moment she held herself inside him, enjoying the overwhelming victory of her body over his. Then slowly she began to pull herself back out of Dylan's violated ass, building tension to deliver her second thrust.

"Knowledge of the Third Tier," she rasped. "Erases... the boundary... between the knower... and the known... Destroys... the illusion... of the self... the deepest and highest form... fuck!" Her second thrust was much less gentle, slamming into him with something of the superhuman force of her lower body. The pain made Dylan's vision momentarily turn to white. She chuckled throatily, pulling back again. "You know what? I don't think I need to explain. I think you understand."

She fucked him powerfully, viciously, and with destructive intent. Not callously, as if she were only trying to get herself off. No. Each of her thrusts was delivered as a blow against his body, ego, and sanity. She wanted to fucking destroy him, destroy him with fucking, and he was powerless to resist. There was pleasure too, in the maelstrom of agony. He came several times, though he later forgot the number of times. His orgasm and pleasure seemed insignificant, were insignificant.

As the brutal fuck wore on his pain began to fade, and for the first time in his waking life, he stopped thinking. His mind was full of her, of her power, of her cock. His existence was pure experience, the quickening sound of her breath, the feel of her as she stooped to press herself against his back, the pounding fury of her thrusts losing their rhythm, surging toward climax, a high, feminine moan, and then his whole body was flooded with wet heat, so hot it nearly scalded him from the inside. With a great, long heave backward she withdrew, leaving him feeling empty. Then the hot length of the underside of her shaft slid up his spine, raining the hot dregs of her climax on his shoulder blades, the back of his neck, and his head, soaking him in her sticky whiteness.

Finally Sofia's pleasure ebbed, her wild moans ceased, her bucking hips halted, her cock softened. She looked down at the ruin she had wrought on poor Dylan, the boy who had dared defy her, now broken and semen soaked, feeling intense satisfaction and perhaps just a tinge of remorse. Gently she picked him up and carried him into her private bathroom. Into the shower she went, turning on the hot water.

As his brutal dominator gently washed him, the husk slowly came back to life and became Dylan Martin once again. He was standing in the shower, hot water pouring down on him. Sofia was standing in front of him, practically holding him up. His vision was full of the mesmerizing sway of her massive breasts as she slowly ran her hands over his body. He looked up to see her looking down on him... concerned? But as soon as she saw his eyes, she smiled wickedly. Her mouth opened, descended toward his.

He did not resist. Her tongue plunged invasively past his lips, dominating his mouth. She leaned down on him and sucked the air out of his lungs until he nearly passed out, then finally pulled her mouth away, leaving him gasping for air.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. The slightest downward pressure sent him to his knees, as if his body were hardwired to obey her will. Once more, her Futahood filled his vision and overwhelmed his senses. The sheer size of her mighty phallus made him feel small, impotent, and insignificant. The sight of her thick, semi- erect scepter arcing over his head still filled him with a thrill of primal terror, but his guiding passion was not fear, but awe. He opened his mouth, not because he wanted to submit to her, but because he could no longer imagine not submitting to her.

Sofia hefted her giant cock over his head. Taking a half step forward, she lowered her voluminous scrotum onto Dylan's upturned face. Holding his head in place with one hand, she twisted her powerful hips back and forth, rubbing her giant balls all over his face, utterly dominating him. His entire world was the smooth softness of her sack, the blazing heat of her skin, the throbbing of her two giant, swollen testes. One of her two enourmous jizzmakers rolled into his mouth. He gently sucked on it, worshiping his dominator's goddess-like virility with his whole heart. Sofia moaned deep in her throat as his mouth encompassed her ball. Releasing her grip on the back of his head she brought her hands to the thick, erect shaft of her cock and started to stroke.

Dylan lost his sense of time as he knelt in the steamy shower, worshiping his Mistress's balls. He could have been there minutes or hours, he couldn't have said. Eventually he felt the object of his oral ministrations begin to clench, pulsing powerfully. That was when Sofia stepped back, pulling her nuts from his lips. He looked up at her in trepidation as she took two full steps backward, enough to bring the preposterous length of her flesh-spear down toward him. His heart raced. She pointed her huge Futa cock right at his forehead like an executioner's rifle. Her hands were stroking feverishly up and down the length of the wet shaft, her monumental bosom heaving. She moaned, tossing her head. He closed his eyes.

With a cry of delight Sofia let loose the deluge of her virility all over her submissive boy slave. The seminal bombardment was both hotter, more voluminous, and more pressurized than the stream of hot water coming from the shower head. The first shots of the explosive ejaculation stung his skin with the force her balls blasted them out. His face was covered in an instant, his hair soaked, his nostrils plugged, his mouth filled. He swallowed to avoid drowning. Her cum was salty and surprisingly sweet. He hated how much he liked it.

That was only the first spurt of her deluge. Gush after gush washed over him, stinging, scalding, clinging to his skin. When she was finally done he was coated in an inch-thick layer of hot, white goo from the top of his head to his thighs. Then she grasped her deflating cock, wringing out her urethra onto his upturned forehead, white goo pouring out to mingle with the ocean that already coated his entire body. Even this amount, the mere dregs of her orgasm, was more that tripple any load he'd ever shot in his life.

Kneeling there in the shower Dylan felt the heat and volume of Sofia's semen all over him, and he understood what it meant. The completion of a ritual of his humiliation, the assertion of ownership he could not contest. His ability to feel shame was pretty burned out by that point, but deep within him, a single coal of humiliation still smoldered impotently. He knew in the marrow of his bones that he was weak, pathetic, inferior, and that she was glorious, powerful, and dominant. And there would never be anything he could ever do to change that.

After a solid minute of admiring her handiwork, gazing down at the broken, semen covered boy who had once defied her, Sofia Braut finally stepped aside, allowing the stream of shower water to fall onto him. It was quite a while before he was clean.

---

Tiffany Martin hurried through the door of her mother's flat, slamming home the bolt. "Mom!" She shouted, voice carrying a slight edge of hysteria.

Elenore Martin bustled into the room, apron clad with wooden spoon in hand. "Tiffany? What ever is the matter dear?" She asked, concerned.

At 41 years of age Elenore was the most sought-after widow in the whole town, a plumply pretty redhead who was an incredible cook. She'd been considering re-marrying a few months ago, but after the fall of Paras she'd been... distracted. Her only son, Dylan, had been studying at the university there and so far she hadn't had any word of him since.

Her daughter Tiffany had just turned 18 last week. She had her father's brown hair but her mother's face and eyes, and a slim, fit runner's build with just enough curves to make all the boys take notice. Elenore worried about her daughter, sometimes. She might be too beautiful for her own good.

"The Futareich is attacking!!" Tiffany practically shrieked at her mother.

Elenore recoiled. "What! Really?"

"Didn't you hear the explosions?"

Elenore blinked. "Why, I assumed a car had backfired or something. Are you sure?"

"I saw them landing on the coast," the younger woman insisted. "We need to evacuate inland. Its only a matter of time before we're overrun!"

"But what about the coastal forts?" Asked the mother. "There are thousands of men stationed on the beach with artillery cannons and machine guns. How could the enemy possibly attack?"

"I was near the coast when it happened," Tiffany explained hurriedly. "The whole beach was hit out of the blue! They weren't normal artillery shells, more like some kind of large rockets. The explosions were small, and I don't think any of the men were actually caught in the blast, but the blasts dispersed knock-out gas. Well, the men had been issued gas masks but no attack was expected today because no battleships were in range to shell us. A few men were able to get their masks on in time, and are still fighting, but its only a matter of time. We need to go, right now! If we don't-"

A knock on the door cut off the young woman's panicked tirade. She swallowed, looking nervously at the door.

"Oh, who could it possibly be at a time like this!" Exclaimed Elenor, bustling toward the door."

"Mom, don't open it!" Tiffany hissed. But it was too late.

The first thing the two women saw when they opened the door was an enormous pair of breasts. These mountainous mounds of feminine flesh were closely contained within a smart, tight military uniform. The boobs were the first thing they saw because the Futa soldier standing on the threshold of their home was more than seven feet tall and her monumental bust was at their eye level. The Futa stooped, ducking her head beneath the doorframe, stepping forcefully into the room. Elenore had no choice but to move back to make room for her. Both women stared, shaking with terror at this massive woman-shaped monster that had forced her way into their home.

The Futa tucked a scrap of paper into her pocket, regarding the two women with a friendly, albeit disturbingly predatory grin. "This is 342 Dibbinshire Lane," she said absently, reciting the address. "Which meansyou must be Elenore Martin, 41."

Elenore was totally transfixed by her piercing blue gaze. She nodded, trying to work some moisture into her mouth. "Yes, that is correct, m-m-Madam?" she stammered.

"When you address a member of the Master Sex, the correct term is 'Mistress'," said the Futa. Her eyes flitted to the younger of the two females. "Andyou must be Tiffany Martin, 18. I'm so glad I caught you both together, that really does save me trouble.

Tiffany swallowed nervously, hands gripping her skirt. "M-Mistress?" She stammered. "Um, why.. That is, if you wouldn't mind, h-how do you know our names?"

"My name is Greta Miterbiet," stated the Futa. "Until recently I was a guard at Verstandshieb Labor Camp. I made a promise to a boy there, that I would come and see you when I came to Albion." The corner of her mouth curled slightly as she regarded the two women.

Tiffany quailed beneath the Futa's gaze. Boys looked at her that way sometimes, and usually it just made her feel gross. Unless the boy doing the looking was really attractive, then it made her a little excited. For some reason, Tiffany's body was responding as if the Futa looking down at her was more attractive than any man in the world. Well, she was pretty, but she looked like a girl! Also, she was a genetically modified rape monster bent on world domination! Tiffany was so confused! And yet, with every moment that passed, she found herself getting less afraid, and more turned on...