Take a Hike

By 'others,' only two of the futa here actually went to the front of the house, Crystal and Mary.

"This is it?" Julie looked around. "What's everyone else doing?"

"I was tanning, but then nobody else seemed to move, so..." Crystal yawned, looking at her flank and estimating how much time she'd need to tan her back to make everything match.

"It's fine, Julie. This is enough for a send-off." Rosie insisted.

They took their positions. Rosie stood at the top of the steps leading down the front porch. Julie was on the ground just past them, Crystal two steps to her right. Mary was between the two of them, on the other side of the walk.

This was one of the only times they'd spend any length of time in front of the house. A car driving by now would surely be confused as to what was going down.

"Rosie is the next of us to attempt the walk." Julie said, holding her chin high. "May she make it across. May she be blessed with good fortune and safe travels. May she be in our thoughts while she is traveling. May those she might encounter appreciate her... generous gifts."

Tugging at the straps of her backpack, wearing nothing but her boots and her smartwatch, umbrella at her side, Rosie walked down the porch steps and to the rough dirt path leading to the two-lane highway.

Once Rosie walked past Julie, she swung her hand and clapped it against Julie's right buttock. With the next step, Mary slapped the left. With the last step, Crystal spanked Rosie's right buttock hard enough to leave a small red hand print that would not immediately fade.

Rosie never broke her stride, and continued her march towards the desert highway, opening her umbrella and holding it at her shoulder.

Julie watched her walk away longer than she meant to. By the time she turned back around to the house, the others were gone. Julie immediately found them necking in the living room on the slightly broken and itchy couch.

"Did someone get sent out?" Called a voice from the second floor.

Julie walked back to the stairwell, still obstructed by the two futas fucking. They didn't appear to move much since the last time she saw them, other than what was necessary to continue coitus.

At the top of the stairs was another futa, short black curly hair under her personal choice of clothing: the bandana. She was in her stocking feet. Her veiny cock hung free between her legs.

"Sorry, Julie, I couldn't get down with them there." She apologized.

"No big deal, Tonya. I think we might want to discuss a no-sex-on-the-stairs rule." Julie said without looking down to the couple.

"Sex on the stairs is fine, within reason." Tonya observed. "But if I tried to get past them, that could have been dangerous."

"If they get jizz on the stairs, it might still be dangerous." Julie countered. "Do you have any laundry up there?"

Tonya turned to her left and looked into the rooms above. "Some. Want me to throw it down?"

"Sure."

Tonya slid out of view on her socks and slid back with an armful of socks. She tossed them down. Julie caught maybe two of the ten or twelve that were thrown and picked up the others.

The one thing this house could really use, Julie thought, was a laundry chute. She carried the socks downstairs, guiding herself with the lantern, and dropped them into a hamper filled exclusively with white socks.

No better time to start this than now, she thought, now that the dryer is back in play. They were able to make do drying their bed sheets on the clothesline (and they DID mess up sheets pretty fast in this house), but they simply didn't have enough clothespins to hang this many socks.

She upturned the hamper into the washer and poured in some bleach. It might cause the red stripes on some of them to fade, but this was all they had right now for detergent.

As it was... this wasn't the Red she was worried about right now.

--

Rosie did what she had done many times before. She walked.

Walking nude was not foreign to Rosie. She had long forgotten the feeling of silk, linen, velvet... even her once-beloved spandex had not touched her skin in a long time, except her fingertips as she peeled it from a future sexual conquest. The only fabric she still wore was cotton, and only on the feet. If her feet could be as strong as her resolve, she would walk around barefoot everywhere. As it were, there had to be compromise where the environment directly met the soft flesh.

Unlike most of her sisters at the farmhouse, she didn't tan into a glorious golden color like a perfect piece of toast. She simply reddened like a boiled lobster and got a very ill feeling. Her ancestors did not come from the harsh deserts, but from eternally cloudy skies over wavy emerald hills and gentle glens. Thus, her abundant use of sunscreen and the parasol. Some called it an umbrella, but it was a parasol, despite the fact that it was completely opaque and designed for use in the rain. Didn't matter.

After all, it'd be crazy to open an umbrella in the desert.

Some days when she traveled the road, Rosie could go for miles without finding another human soul anywhere in sight. Today, she experienced all three of the most likely results of a passing motorist seeing her.

The first reaction was a semi-trailer that really must have taken that mythical wrong turn at Albuquerque. She hardly ever saw trucks that size rolling down this tiny two-lane highway like an adult trying to use the children's slide. The truck did nothing to acknowledge her existence, merely rolling past her like she was a No Passing Sign. The slipstream from this speeding truck blew pebbles and dust into her back and hair, and the gust of air propelled the umbrella out of her hands.

She cursed and ran to catch it before it hit the ground. She successfully retrieved the umbrella, but silently cursed herself again for being so impetuous. Running was the easiest way to get hurt out here. If she put her whole body weight on a loose stone or slipped on some sand, she could be injured. It might not be serious, but it very easily could be. She was now too far to turn back with anything but a superficial wound. Walking was the wiser option, even for recovering the lost parasol.

Not long after that, the second form of motorist contact happened. A blue sedan buzzed by her and blared its horn as it passed. For these Australopithecine that somehow had earned a driver's license, it was a natural reaction to lean on their horn at the sight of a posterior they they found sexually satisfactory.

No matter how many times this happened, it never failed to scare the absolute hell out of her. It caused her to sweat as adrenaline was released into her bloodstream, only to burn out pointlessly in her veins. It soured her mood for the next few minutes, but she fantasized about them looking back in the rear view mirror and seeing her huge flopping penis that surely puts everyone in that car to absolute shame, even if you somehow conglomerated them all together like clay and made one big one.

Rosie kept walking, enjoying the relative peace and silence of the gentle wind and the sandy rocks shuffling under her boots.

Feeling a bit parched, Rosie stopped for a moment. She closed her parasol and set it flat on the ground. Setting the parasol down while open was begging for a rogue gust of wind to carry it off to parts unknown. Rosie slipped her backpack off and put her hand inside, retrieving a bottle of water. The branding label was still there, but this was simply filled from the municipal water source that serviced the farmhouse. She was led to understand that this particular brand of bottled water was nothing more than bottled tap water in the first place. The only thing refilling the bottle changed was that it no longer cost two bucks.

Rosie unscrewed the cap and took a few big swigs, her gulps momentarily rendering her unable to hear the approach of the third kind, by far her favorite encounter with a driver.

Looking down from her drink, Rosie found herself standing in front of a lovely red convertible, idling its powerful engine. Maybe should check under the bottle cap to see if she was a winner after all.

The soft top of the convertible was in place, so the driver exited the vehicle to talk to Rosie across the soft top. It was a young African-American woman, not the kind of person Rosie would have assumed to be driving a candy-apple convertible like this. She was slender, with nicely shaped eyebrows and teeth that would surely make a beautiful smile, once Rosie gave her the opportunity. Her hair was straightened and just kissed her shoulders. She was wearing a silk blazer, miniskirt and stockings, as if she was late for an important meeting.

"Are you OK?" She asked, holding one hand out across the car.

Rosie glanced down at herself, unspoken permission for the woman to look at her as well. "I'm fine."

The woman started to remove her blazer. "Do you need help?"

Rosie held out her hand. "You can keep your garments. I am out here like this by choice."

She slipped it back on. "Why? What happened to your clothes?"

Rosie shrugged after a sip of water. "Didn't need them where I'm going."

"Where are you going?"

Rosie pointed to the road ahead. "Thataway."

"Well, let me give you a lift. I can't leave you out here like this."

"You are very kind. Thank you." Rosie accepted and sat down in the passenger's seat, the driver putting the backpack in her underused trunk. Once the car began to move again, Rosie pressed a button on her smartwatch and stopped her pedometer.

"Can I know the name of the woman who has rescued me from absolution?" Rosie crowed dramatically.

"Jessie." She said.

"I'm Rosie. Or Red. You can call me whichever. I must say, I hitch around here sometimes, but I've never had the privilege to be rescued in such a beautiful car. How did you come across it?"

"I..." Jessie hesitated. "I have a good job, so I can afford the occasional extravagance like this."

"I hope my sunscreen doesn't mess up this leather."

"It's fake leather. I didn't want real leather."

"Are you an animal lover?"

"That wasn't why. Real leather is just a pain to maintain."

Rosie hummed. "I wouldn't know. The only leather things I own are my work gloves."

"What are you doing out here like this?" Jessie looked shocked. "It's dangerous for any woman to walk around naked, much less a futa."

"The dangers posed to hitchhikers are exaggerated, like most of what the news wants us to be scared of." Rosie shrugged. "Besides, I have contingencies in my bag."

With her left hand, Rosie rubbed herself from the base, gently encouraging her erection.

"Are you just... going to jerk off in my car?" Jessie asked.

"I'm sorry." Rosie released it, letting it wobble as the car took some minor bumps in the road. "Your voice is really sexy, I couldn't help myself." She lied. She probably could have helped herself, but she chose not to.

Jessie felt her face flush. "Oh." She piped shortly.

"This is so embarrassing. I'm absolutely rock hard, and it just won't go down unless I have an orgasm."

Jessie stared ahead at the road. "I know."

"Oh, you've had a futa partner before? Most women are afraid to..." Rosie's sentence stopped as she heard an unusual sound. It sounded like someone was cutting the strings from a miniature violin, each broken string making a tiny high-pitched twang.

"What is that noise?" Rosie looked around the car for a source until she looked over at her driver. Between the driver's legs... there was something very big pushing up her skirt, the pantyhose laddering and snapping thread by thread. The tip was almost high enough to cover the logo of the car's manufacturer imprinted on the steering wheel.

Rosie immediately dropped her haughty act. "Oh, my God, you're a futa?!"

Jessie didn't respond, but she was helpless to hide it.

"This is amazing! You have to meet my friends!"

"What? Who are your friends?"

"It's where I'm heading! It's why I'm naked! It's everything about that."

"So there's a reason for this other than exhibitionism?"

"There are two houses we live in. One's a mile behind us, one's about four and half in front of us. We live in either house depending on mood... or if you want to use the pool. We're all futa, by the way. We have this thing we do called the walk, where we walk naked between the two houses. My bag is filled with stuff I might need for the journey, water, sunscreen, and a satellite phone for emergencies. But during the walk, we have the game. We see how far we can get between the houses before someone picks us up. The longer, the better. Just like us futa, eh?"

"How many times have you done this?"

"I can't even recall. Dozens of times."

"How haven't you been picked up by the police yet?"

"There is no police presence here. None. I've never seen a police officer. Never seen an emergency vehicle. That's because people only drive through this part of 412. Unless there was a crime out here, they'd never go out this far into the sticks."

"Is this one of those games people play when you get bored in the middle of nowhere, like hitting the big hoop with a stick?"

"On the contrary. I think we came out here to the middle of nowhere so we could play this game. But what brings you out to the middle of nowhere anyway?"

"I..." Jessie had never driven this long with an erection. She hoped she was still making sound driving decisions. "I'm afraid of flying."

"So you're driving your convertible through the desert to get somewhere?"

"Something like that."

"I know you mentioned you have, like, a job and stuff, but when you come and meet us, I think you'll want to stay."

"I'll meet your friends. I'm always happy to meet another futa."

"Me, too, Jessie." Rosie looked out the window to the scenery. "Me, too..."

--

Jessie pulled up to an off-white farmhouse a small distance from the road, obscured by a strip of trees. The paint was pitted and chipped from years of neglect, and the wood was dull and needed to be sanded. A few faded blue shutters hung crookedly to the sides of windows. Some still had glass, some were clearly just the wooden grille with nothing inside it. Some curtains were up, some appeared to be old beach towels, probably held up on the inside with clothespins or staples.

"Is this building condemned? What happened here?" Jessie asked.

"Pull up to the side of the house, so nobody sees your car from the street."

didn't seem to be a driveway as she would recognize one, so she simply drove onto the intermittently grassy, pocked earth and stopped alongside the house.

"I can't wait to introduce you." Rosie practically bounced out of the car and circled the hood as Jessie slowly stepped out and locked her car. Rosie grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door, but Jessie didn't budge.

Rosie was held back by Jessie like a dog pulling at its leash tied to a tree. She turned her head, seeing Jessie's apprehension. "What's wrong?"

Jessie looked at the house suspiciously. "Is this a cult?" She asked.

"It's not, I promise."

"But that's what a cult would say."

"True, but they'd probably say, 'we're not a cult, we're this or that.'"

"Do you have a leader in possession of revealed wisdom?"

"We don't have a leader at all. We determine the rules we live by together as a group. It's very egalitarian."

"Is there a set of beliefs you have to accept to participate?"

"No. We have Christians, Jews, atheists... whatever."

"Do people here take hallucinogenic drugs to achieve a higher plane of consciousness?"

Rosie glanced off. "A few of us smoke weed, but... not often. It's expensive. We live pretty frugally."

"Are people highly disincentivized from leaving the group, or become persona non grata when they do?"

"Not at all." Rosie shook her head. "Not everyone lives at the houses full-time. Some come by on weekends, some come for a week on vacation, or certain times of the year."

"If they go... are they discouraged from talking about this little thing?"

Rosie hummed. This was the first question where the answer wasn't 'no.' She had been doing so good!

"Well..." Rosie started like a descending note from a saxophone. "We don't want someone who doesn't understand what we're doing here to ruin everything."

Jessie processed that. She could hear a little bit of moaning from the house, through an open window. "You guys have nonstop sex?"

"We have as much sex as we want, with whoever we choose."

"Can someone turn down an offer of sex?"

"Of course! Goodness..." Rosie looked surprised. "It doesn't happen a LOT, but... maybe I'm busy, or I'm watching the news, or I'm already having sex with someone else."

"Who owns this place?"

"Nobody seems to know. But squatter's rights and all... these two houses have apparently been here for years."

Jessie looked around the house again. She didn't step forward, but neither did she step back towards her car. It was right behind her. She could just jump back in and leave and continue her trip east.

"Alright." Jessie said. "Let's go meet the family."

Rosie pulled in her hand towards the side door. At that very moment, a futa walked through it. She had black hair shaved into a mohawk, a spiked dog collar around her neck, platform boots with numerous buckles... and of course, nothing between the two.

"Hey, Red." She said. "Who's the textile?"

"'Scuze me?" Jessie squinted.

"This is an initiate, Maggie." Rosie jumped in. "Why else would she be here?"

"Oh." In contrast to her punk-style form of 'dress,' the woman apologized. "I should not have assumed."

"That's fine. No offense taken." She said, glancing down her Maggie's thick hanging cock. Unsure if this was a faux pas, she blurted out, "What amazing boots those are."

"Yeah, they're pretty great." Maggie said, turning about. "Anything to keep my feet safe from Simona, right?"

She walked off. Jessie asked nobody in particular, "Who's Simona?"

"You'll meet everyone in time." Rosie said. "See... if this was a cult, we'd have a uniform. And we're anything but uniform."

"You DO seem to have a dress code."

"Once you start... you'll never want to live any other way."

--

Rosie SWORE to her that this wasn't a cult. But Jessie was beginning to have her doubts as her 'induction ceremony' began. It was apparently one of the only ways a person was allowed to be fully dressed in the house. Jessie wondered what would happen if they called a plumber, and what he would be allowed to wear. They did have a reputation for exposed butt cracks...

Jessie stood in the center of the living room, the other futas of the house sitting or standing around, all looking at her. So much nude flesh, so many eyes staring at her but keeping their distance... it felt like being surrounded by curious yet feral cats.

Maddie, a futa with thick brown hair cut into a shoulder length bob, and of no relation to the similarly named Maggie, had taken the floor for this ceremony. She stood beside her and spoke out to the 'crowd.'

"We hope to introduce a new sister to our home. Let us welcome her, but let her show herself to us."

Jessie looked around at the numerous eager faces staring at her. "I guess that means... get undressed?"

"Please."

Jessie stripped off most of her clothes, watching as one futa, wearing nothing but heatproof gloves, started to bring them out of the house and towards a stack of wood that resembled a future campfire. "You're not going to burn them, are you? Why not use them for something?"

Someone gestured for the gloved futa to stop. She looked down at the gathered articles as though their use was a great mystery.

Jessie shrugged. "I don't know. Cut them into strips and make... silk jizz rags or something?"

The futa considered that, and walked off to get a new tool for that task.