Futa New World Order CH 1

This story is somewhat inspired by the Futadom universe, and is perhaps a loose sequel to the FT virus series. While nothing I write is simple, I will say don't think too hard about the mechanics of it all. At the end of the day it's just erotica!

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Things just weren't right. This was not how the world was meant to be, and no amount of cultural indoctrination would ever convince Mark otherwise. Of course, it wasn't called 'indoctrination', but rather the 'new reality', as if that helped. He was twenty-five years old. Everyone in this classroom was supposed to be finishing their education, getting jobs, starting their lives. His entire adolescence had been spent looking forward to this part of the future. There was so much he had planned to do. But well...

“Men have to accept that times have changed, and we have changed. Not just women, but men as well!” his New Reality course teacher was reminding them, as she constantly did, drilling it into their heads with the effectiveness of a propaganda reel. “Holding on to the past makes no sense in a world where the past is gone.”

As always, Ms Wood sashayed her way to the front of the classroom, drawing the reluctant eye of every guy in class, starved for any distraction at all after endless hours of 'new reality' learning. In these rooms, the windows had been removed to prevent 'distractions from learning', as had the clocks. Plus, none of them wanted to draw Ms Wood's ire by being caught doing anything but paying the most obedient attention.

Not that it was hard to get their attention when she was, if anything, a prime example of the new-female. Her whole body had evidently changed after the outbreak, although they were forbidden to talk about the outbreak. 'There had never been any virus, no, this was merely an evolution! The next step in human development. This was totally natural! Things had changed, and changed for the better!' the propaganda told him, unbidden and unconsciously, repeating in his mind.

Ms Wood was easily eight feet tall, and the entire Re-Education Institute had been built with women her size in mind. The males were an afterthought. Doors and ceilings towered above them. Even the chairs were too large for them, and they found their shoes constantly barely grazed the ground, as if to drive home a point that barely needed to be made. It made them feel small in every way that mattered.

Her hips were as thick around as most boys' shoulders, and her thighs pressed together invitingly, looking utterly, mind-numbingly soft. Her breasts, however, were if anything more ludicrously plush. Each was larger than any boy could have ever imagined seeing outside of the most specialist of pornography before the 'evolution'. They constantly threatened to jiggle free of her scandalously low-cut sweater, and Mark had no doubt that every boy in that class had spent long sleepless nights plagued with visions of those tits they could not hope to escape, as he had had the same problem.

“Let's look at some statistics from the New Government's latest investigation.”

No doubt, Mark rued, the New Government had come to conclusions that fitted perfectly with their new-world views. Mark ground his teeth, feeling the hours of his life tick away. He wouldn't give in, though. They would never convince him that things had simply changed forever, and that he just had to accept it. There were still people out there who were working on a way to fix things... there just had to be, Mark told himself, although he wasn't sure he still believed it anymore. After all, what could be done to fix it at this point? Even if a cure was found, how would they get the New Government to distribute it?

“Men who identify as holding any pre-evolution views are 87% more likely to suffer from depression, and 94% more likely to be lonely,” she stated, pointing out statistics as she reached up to the screen with her wooden cane, her shapely pear-shaped rear became gradually more visible as her deliberately low-cut skirt was equally deliberately keeping every vulnerable boy's attention as she flooded their minds with an endless stream of – what he hoped very much were – false statistics.

“Worst of all, though,” she said, dropping back down, causing her butt to jiggle enticingly for the room full of desperate teen boys, “guys who fail to accept the simple truth – that this is just how things are now, and they need to grow up and accept it – 99.8% of them spend their lives alone.”

With that, Ms Wood turned to the class, and as the front of her skirt visibly throbbed, each received yet another reminder that the world they had known had been drastically changed. Ms Wood sported a massive, 11 inch cock, which was far from the largest even among the all new-female staff. Of course, no men remained on the staff, as they had been deemed too likely to teach 'subversive', old-world material.

Her tiny skirt did an awful job of covering it, and as usual, her cockhead poked out prominently, it in fact being a good way of gauging how aroused she was – an important thing for boys who wished to avoid being 'kept after class' to be keenly aware of.

“So, as I'm sure you boys are aware by now, you are in this class because you have failed to demonstrate that you have not only learned, but accepted, this simple premise. Indeed, as you will have noticed, some of your classmates have 'graduated'. You would be amazed how easy it is to GRASP it...” and at that, she wrapped her hands around her cane and began to slowly stroke it, in a none-too-subtle gesture which Mark had still not determined was intentional or subconscious on her part. He couldn't decide which was worse, as he forced himself to look away from her, no matter how tempting it was.

However, looking away did no good. All that could be seen on the walls were endless indoctrinal texts, or propaganda posters disguised as helpful tips. 'Good boys know to swallow everything,' said one, as a boy held up a textbook to disguise the gap between his face and a teacher, and despite the implication of learning, there was no doubt as to what was really happening behind it.

“Once you accept that simple truth,” Ms Wood continued, stalking between their desks like a hungry predator, her drooling cock-head bouncing hypnotically and leaving dollops of clear pre-cum in a trail behind her, “once you accept that the world has changed, and that you are the last people who have yet to accept it, you will find graduating from this class is very easy.”

Her words were poison, but he refused to rise to it. Mark knew why she did it. She was always trying to provoke the boys in her class. Anything to give her an excuse to hand out a punishment. Everything in him wanted to scream at how unjust it was, but he forced himself not to.

The class was a sham, an excuse, a way to punish and indoctrinate guys who refused to accept the new world as it was. The boys who cracked, who gave in, who accepted it, suddenly found themselves getting passing grades on every test – when despite spending many hours after class with Ms Wood, even though it was obvious they had spent none of that time studying.

As it was, he was forced to read a half-dozen books a week by new-female authors, write two or even three essays, finish a dozen assignments in total. Even without the pressure, his base reluctance to even engage with the material, even if he had completed the work flawlessly... he knew Ms Wood would never give any of them a fair grade. There was no point to it. It was all just a rigged game. Just an excuse to force them to read it, to memorize it, even if they didn't agree with it. It still got into their heads. They were forced to think about it constantly in their free time, even discuss it with each other, however regrettably and ruefully.

Anything less, and they might not be able to answer her countless questions, get perfect scores on her pop-quizzes. That earned you a frowny face sticker next to your name – and again his throat tightened at the gall of it, yet another juvenile system designed to wear away at their self-esteem – and a seemingly-arbitrarily-few number of those inevitably led to punishments.

Boys who bucked against the system, tried to rebel against it, well... there were several names that had simply disappeared off of the poster one night between classes, and that guy just didn't show up the next day. In Ms Wood's words, if any boy dared to even ask what happened to them, they had been 'transferred'. Mark didn't dare to even imagine what that truly meant.

By contrast, of course, above the dozens of frowny face stickers, was the occasional golden star. Given out so rarely for any valid reason, Mark hated himself for how genuinely proud he felt for having three up there he had earned on merit. Any little victory, he supposed, however slight, was still a victory. A gold star cancelled out a frowny face. An almost juvenile, but brutally simple system, and very effective.

Mark was no idiot, he knew why they did it. Putting it in such juvenile terms was all a part of the strategy. It was supposed to make them feel small and weak, childish even. Accepting that was just a way of making accepting the new truth more palatable. Accept enough little things and the big things no longer seemed so outrageous, after all. Knowing the reasons did little to help, however, when their effect was the same regardless.

Of course, some guys had more gold stars. Some much more. Indeed, it was incredible how generous Ms Wood was with them to the boys who were 'showing progress'. When he risked a glance at the poster, Mark saw one name in particular stand out. Roger had been moved to the front of the class – to be closer to Ms Wood of course. He had, after a long after-school night of 'punishment', suddenly seemed to show a remarkable improvement in his grades. He went from twelve frowny faces, the reason he had been kept so late, to days later having over a dozen stars.

Indeed, Mark had been told he was spending almost every night after class getting some 'private tuition' from Ms Wood, and as a result seemed to have earned at least one new star every morning after they arrived.

Roger had sat next to Mark for months. They hadn't been friends, exactly, but as close to it as you could expect. It was hard to really trust anyone at the Re-Education Institute, when the guys were so heavily incentivized to report any subversive discussion. In that time, though, Mark had begun to see it. Roger went from reading the books out of spite, to lingering on the pictures. Pictures of massive, busty, bodily women sporting mind-bogglingly large erections. Mark had seen it in the other guys before. The ones who had cracked.

Mark should have done something, he told himself. Reached out to him. Tried to reassure him. There were moments the guys knew they could talk with, perhaps not total liberty, but far less chance of being overheard. Places they knew the microphones and cameras would struggle to record their voices or read their lips. He could have done something... but he didn't. He hated himself for it. He hated them for making him not want to. He hated them for making him care more about saving himself.

'From what, though?' that nagging voice in the back of his mind asked again. He wasn't sure when that voice had begun, but he wished it would stop. 'Saved yourself from what? Having to spend the rest of your life here?'

Not too far away, behind a chain link fence, Mark could see the world outside of this place. They made sure the guys were always in rooms where the rest of the world could be seen. A constant reminder of what had been robbed of them. Both a promise of a reward for their surrender, and a reminder that outside of these walls, the rest of the world had changed.

These walls. This place. These women. This hell.

Cars were driving by. Planes flew overhead. New-women walked by, taller, thicker built than women used to be... occasionally with 'males' on their arms. Men weren't normally allowed to be in public without a new-female. Of course, Mark doubted many of them out there would want to be.

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Ms Wood's cane struck Mark's desk with a deafening bang. He and every other guy in the class sat upright, at attention, as they had become so well trained at doing.

“Mark...” Ms Wood said, voice dripping with satisfaction, “were you paying attention?”

“I-I was, Ms Wood,” Mark lied, knowing he had been caught, but unwilling to accept the inevitable.

“Is that so?” she asked, and turned to face him, her cock leaving a trail of slime across his desk as it came to rest on top of his notebook, leaving a steadily growing pool of slimy arousal he would now be forced to deal with for the rest of the day. “In that case, you can recite for me the exact wording of the Institutional Code I was quoting.”

Mark knew it was a trap, knew that even if he got it absolutely correct he was still doing exactly what she wanted, knew that either way he couldn't win.

“The, uh...” he began, as the smell of her cock hit him at last. The classroom was never quite free of it, but up close like this, it was inescapable.

Mark swallowed, and forced himself to read from his notes, even as her cock seemingly deliberately entered his eyeline. “The Re-Education Institute has a duty to protect its males from subversive thought, both from without and within,” Mark repeated, forcing down the urge to watch her masturbate so openly directly in his field of view, “and as such can take any measures necessary for their protection, up to and including the violation of the rights granted to males under the New Governmental Charter on the Rights of Males.”

Having practiced this material for hours, he could repeat it in his sleep, but he was determined not to make a mistake. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night and found himself repeating the words in his sleep, and in those moments, he felt very cold. Very alone.

“Very good...” Ms Wood oozed, and her cock did likewise, as she began to brazenly stroke it through her skirt.

She had turned what was a regrettable but manageable cumstain into him now knowing he would need to beg the supply office for a replacement notebook. No doubt the new-girls there would find any number of ways to take advantage of him just to get it, if they gave it to him at all. He would also have to transcribe his notes over once again, which would cement them into his mind even further. A small tear formed in the corner of his eye at just how unfair it was.

“Very good indeed, you're cumming along...” Ms Wood groaned at that, the sheer sexual suggestion of her sentiment, “quite nicely, Mark. Some day soon you might get to graduate. It's only been... hmmm, remind me, how long have you been here?”

“Nineteen months,” he replied, that tear now dripping down to be lost almost instantly in a pool of his tormentress's ejaculate.

“Nineteen months, you poor thing...” she remarked sarcastically, as her masturbation became, if anything, even more blatant.

“It's for your own good though, you boys have to be t-taught... that it's useless to hold on to a w-world that no longer exists. You boys need to accept reality...” Ms Wood said, as her grin broadened, utterly drunk on power. The wet, slick noise of her dripping cock was echoing in the utterly silent room, as every boy was part of a quite literally captive audience.

“There's only one problem...” she said, and sighed almost reluctantly, as her masturbation slowed to a stop.

Ms Wood pointed a finger to Mark's utterly ruined notebook and, still visible through the dribbling pre-ejaculate, were the words Mark had just read aloud.

“The duty”, she said simply, and the room – previously quiet – was now utterly silent.

“M-m-miss?” Mark asked, knowing she was waiting for him to do so.

“The Institute has THE duty to protect its males from subversive thought,” she repeated, emphasizing the word.

Mark racked his brain, summoning images of the page he had copied from. Had it been the textbook? Had he copied someone else's notes? He couldn't remember anymore. It had been a four hour stint of studying these toxic tomes. That was part of their plan, he knew. Keep them so exhausted, so tired, that it became impossible to think of anything but what they wanted them to think. They wouldn't even be able to question it.

“I'm afraid you're wrong, Mark... you know what that means,” she said, and sauntered over to the sticker poster.

Tearing up openly now, Mark watched as, with seeming impunity, she pressed a frowny face sticker carelessly into the row next to his name – as if she were not condemning him by doing so.

“Oh my, so many frowny faces...” she said, tracing her fingers under his name, “I'm afraid, Mark, you'll have to be punished for this.”

Mark had known it was coming, from the moment her cane had hit his desk. Yet he had held out hope. For some reason, he had still hoped. It didn't matter. The words didn't matter. All they wanted was a surrender. If Roger had said it, she wouldn't have cared. Roger could have babbled any nonsense and she'd have given him a star for it, no doubt. He wept, and felt like a child for doing so, weeping over a sticker. It was so much more than that, and he knew it was just their game to make him feel so childish, but he couldn't help it, and it simply made him weep more.

Deep down, he knew, hope was their worst weapon against them. They wielded it against them like an awful treat. Dangling it in front of them only to pull it away every time, and every time they did, the boys came that much closer to no longer hoping at all.

Ms Wood was walking back through the seats again, causing uncomfortable squirms in every boy she passed. Whether they were trying to inch away from her massive, wide hips or threatening, swaying cock as she passed... or whether they were just sporting massive erections of their own, was hard to say. In most cases, likely both.

“Sadly, I'm afraid Roger here,” she said, running her pre-cum slickened fingers possessively through his hair as she did so, causing the poor guy to practically shiver in his seat, “will be joining me for an all-night study session.”

“Tomorrow night, then, you'll stay after class,” she said, and Mark received sympathetic looks from a few guys outside of her eyeline.

“Unless, of course, you can earn yourself a gold star by being a good boy between now and then...” she added, in a mocking baby-talk tone.

“Oh I know!” she remarked with glee, “You could always join Roger here after class!”

“Willingly,” she added, squeezing Roger's shoulder, making the poor guy jump slightly.

“I'm sure I could find plenty of ways to help you earn a gold star,” she said tantalizingly, and swayed her ass back and forth once more as she returned to the front of the room.

Mark stiffened, in more ways than one, at the offer, in spite of himself.

“You just let me know if you'd like to have a little... study time. I'm sure Roger wouldn't mind company under-” she paused, pretending it was a mistake, “I mean AT my desk, while I'm working.”

“Or maybe we could schedule you some one-on-one tutoring,” Ms Wood suggested, once again stroking herself openly in front of the class, as no doubt many of the guys trapped in there with her wished they could do in kind.

“Some of the girls in the tutoring club have been asking if I know any boys who would be deserving of their special... attention.”

Ms Wood was practically panting now, evidently close to orgasm at the thought of a guy being left in their clutches. Mark stewed, wondering if she was truly considering condemning him to that fate as she pleasured herself. Maybe that was what was getting her off, he thought darkly.

“Oh but maybe you'd prefer to learn from me directly,” she moaned, feverishly stroking herself as she groped her breast. At the front of the class, Roger was utterly transfixed, although none of the guys in class were doing much better. Her repeated normalization of this behaviour had left them not quite accepting of it, but at the very least so conditioned to it that it was depressingly easy for them to simply stare.

Ms Wood collapsed into her massive chair, stroking herself at a jackrabbits pace, groaning and moaning with utter depravity. At last, those titanic breasts of hers freed themselves from her sweater, thick pink nipples dancing as their supple mass swayed hypnotically in front of the engrossed males, conditioning them through deprivation to associate those giant breasts with her massive dick.

No doubt elated to have their undivided attention, she drove herself into a sexual frenzy, before finally the unavoidable conclusion arrived. Groaning with pure bliss, she rocketed cum across the room, making absolutely no effort to avoid staining the trouser legs or shoes of those unfortunate to be caught in the blast. Indeed, she seemed to be doing her best to tarnish the boys in her class as much as possible.

The scent of her cum flooded the room, and it was only then that their true suffering began. The pheromones of new-females was enough to have a male jittery and on-edge as it was, and the classroom constantly smelled of Ms Wood's own scent. However, new-female cocks, and those massive swollen balls brimming with their cum, were truly a grave threat. The scent had a way of getting lodged into a boys brain, driving out any and all thoughts the longer they were exposed to it. It made thinking, and their cocks, correlationally hard. New-females knew that, of course, and used it to its fullest extent.

Making a half-hearted effort to tuck her barely-drooping cock back under her skirt, Ms Wood stood in front of them again at last.

“You can let me know if you want to spend some alone time with me, Mark. I'll be waiting...” she offered with a smile, and slapped her desk with her cane. “Class dismissed.”