Nifty thrives on donations. Authors thrive on appreciation.
To donate to Nifty, visit http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html To express appreciation, email me at sexyamie@hotmail.com
+++++
I woke up in a stranger's bed. A man's bed, by the smell of it--body spray and ripe sweat.
There was a man in the bed. Not me. I don't count--not anymore. A muscular guy, sound asleep, snoring lightly, his hairy armpit exposed, the sheets twisted around his legs.
I touched my face near my mouth. It was covered in makeup and dried cum. This man's cum.
I'd spent the night taking loads from this beast, giving him all the pleasure he wanted. The only pleasure I got in return? A dick up my ass. And the satisfaction of watching his face as he shot a load inside me.
My own words haunted my thoughts. Words from the past. The stupidest thing I'd ever thought to say. The line so on-point that it turned me into the face, literally, of the pink collar movement.
"The purpose of a woman is to please a man."
I had no idea how much I would regret it. I thought I said it in defense of my own masculinity--my identity as a straight male. Ha.
Here I am, my face lacquered with cum, with another two loads swimming up my gut trying to make me pregnant. And what would make my day is for this guy to make me his girlfriend. It would save me from taking three or four loads from men I don't know every single day.
Would you believe that one year ago, I was a straight man? Mostly straight, anyway. Straight with a kink, I guess.
Now I am the poster child for pinks. And there is no going back.
+++++
It's 2035, and the human population has exceeded 11 billion about 70 years earlier than expected. Earth is running out of the things we need--fresh air and clean water, specifically--to support us.
So we needed to slow our reproduction. The easiest technique: limit the number of males allowed to reproduce. It's worked with cattle for centuries: keep one bull plus as many heifers as he can impregnate. Choose the best male and castrate/kill the rest.
Problem is you can't just kill men. Like President Harris said, if we're human, "we have to maintain some sense of dignity."
Is that what this is? Dignity?
The government gave me and all men a choice. First, you can get a castration. Basically you continue your life as it was--minus your balls. You can fuck anything you want--you just won't want to. You won't have a sex drive.
A surprising number of men opted for this. I guess they've become pussies. No way was I ever going to lose my balls. No fucking way would I let them chop me like that.
Second, you can become a homosexual. You can keep your balls but only if you use them to fuck men. If you get caught fucking a woman, you get the death penalty. No questions, no trial--you get the axe, not to your balls but to your neck.
I did hear about some guys who tried this. Bi-curious guys who thought they could get away with it and maybe sneak in some pussy on the side. The punishment was absolute. If a girl reported she'd had sex with a homosexual, that was it, end of story, they would put you down. No trial or anything. Some pretty vicious ex-girlfriends took advantage of the law to put down their sketchy ex-boyfriends.
I'm no fag, so going gay was never an option for me.
Last, you can apply to be a breeder.
That's the one you want. Only 6% of all men will be deemed fit and masculine enough to be breeders. You get to keep your stones and your sex drive. You get to fuck anything that moves. You're encouraged to reproduce willy nilly--you're fighting the good fight.
That was my only option. I can't give up sex--I'm way too horny for that. I'm not going to cut off my balls. That's what omega males do. And like I said, I'm no faggot. So I threw my hat in. I applied to be a breeder.
+++++
I knew the risks of applying to be a breeder. If you don't make the cut, they--the Sexual Authority Commission--would choose your status. No appeals and no complaining.
The SAC, despite the name, were not a funny bunch. It was their job to discourage men from applying. So they set the consequences of failure impossibly high.
The first consequence? You would lose everything you owned. You'd wake up with your balls chopped off and not a penny to your name. You'd be an outcast--incapable of sex, no means to care for a family, not even a place to sleep that night. It was an effective deterrent, but it created a new problem: a homeless mob of worthless men with no resources nor any desire to live. It was depressing to see, these homeless, pathetic men with absolutely no future. The people demanded an end to it. They couldn't stand to watch.
The second attempt at a deterring consequence was harsher: death. Simple idea, really: if you're not man enough to be a breeder, you're not man enough to live.
It somehow was not enough. Too many men were proud enough to apply but stupid enough to think they would pass. Men were being killed off at a rate that was astonishing. Again, the people didn't like it. Sure, these were pathetic, puffed up men, but they were members of families too. The people, again, said no.
Around the time when I had to apply (I had just turned 18), the third consequence went into effect. They needed something that would discourage men from applying... something that was literally worse than death.
They found it. They would select the finest men to be the breeders. After that, the vast majority would be castrated. They would live their pathetic lives, though they could keep the lives they had, still get jobs, etc. But the real deterrent? A small percentage of applicants, the lowest of the low, the men deemed total failures would be transformed into something new, a genre of person that was nearly everyone's worst nightmare.
They would get what is called "the pink collar."
Colloquially, anyone with the pink collar started is known as a "pink." What is a pink? It's a man who is forced to function as a woman. We receive hormone therapy. We learn how to wear makeup. We're given entirely new wardrobes, skimpy stuff specifically designed to lure male attention. Finally, we're trained on how to make men happy. Yeah. That's right. How to get men off in the best way possible.
Did you notice the "we" there? Well, it's true. I got the pink collar. I should have seen it coming. I didn't.
What is life like as a pink? I'd rather you did not ask. But since you're already here, I'll tell you. The law requires that I look and act, as best I can, like a woman. At the beginning, when we were out and about, we had to wear a pink collar, thus signifying our craven, fawning, servile status. So long as I don't have a boyfriend, I have to spend each day out and about in the city. If a man propositions me, I, legally, immediately, have to say yes. My cock and balls are permanently sealed under pink plastic. I can only legally refer to my ass as "my pussy."
On average, I would say I suck three or four dicks each day (usually to completion, usually in my mouth, but wherever the man wants to cum) and take two loads of cum up my as-- inside my pussy, I mean. It's the reason I always have to be ready, and willing, to take a man inside me, either in my mouth, my pussy, or both, until he cums.
The pink collar worked as a deterrent. It worked so well that the number of men applying to become breeders actually went below the number that was necessary. So SAC suspended the pink collar program. Which means I'm part of a brief, cursed generation that showed the public the worst of what could happen when the government plays with male virility.
They changed the collar law after they ended the program. Now we just have to be ourselves. You don't need to be a spy for the CIA to recognize us. There isn't any mystery. We are obvious--outcast, feminized men who look like they just sucked a dick, because, well, we probably did.
I live my life as a pink, pleasing men, hoping to perform sex so well, dance the sexiest lap dance, give the deepest, hottest blow job, work my pussy till he shoots his hot load all the way up inside me, that I can find a breeder boyfriend. One who will keep me, do whatever he wants to me, fuck me all day long but keep me off the streets.
The only mystery... the part that I still do not understand...
...is why I love it so much.
+++++
My latest-hope-at-a-boyfriend woke up to the smell of the coffee.
I thought making coffee might increase my chances. Coffee and a blow job.
He stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep. He grabbed a cup, started pouring. He saw me watching him from the corner of his sleepy eye.
"Jesus Christ," he mumbled.
"How'd you sleep, baby? You were exhausted when we finished." I winked at him.
He stumbled out of the kitchen like he hadn't seen or heard me.
I pursued him. "Anything you want me to do for you, baby? I can do anything you want..." I had not asked for sex this hard since I took my high school girlfriend's virginity.
"You can get the fuck out of my apartment."
Maybe this one was not going to become my boyfriend.
I stifled a little hopeless disappointment. I slipped into my miniskirt, zipped it up. I put my light cardigan on over my lacy garnet bra. I picked up my purse. I made my way for the door. As I turned the handle, he spoke up.
"Wait."
A second chance? Had the cup of coffee fixed the grumps?
"Come here."
I walked towards him, faced him. He didn't look at me.
"Get on your knees."
I fell to the floor and looked up at his unshaven, handsome face.
"Blow me."
This was my moment, my time to shine. I slid his cock out of his sweats. It still smelled like lube and my... my pussy, but that was fine. I worked it until it was hard. I drove my head down his shaft vigorously, just as I discovered he liked it last night. I turned my mouth into a warm pussy for him. He thrust into me, meeting my strokes in rhythm. I must have been doing a good job, because in less than two minutes, he began coughing out a huge load of hot jizz right into my warm, waiting mouth.
I gently suckled him, cleaning off his cock as he recovered. A couple of minutes later, after he'd softened and I'd eaten all of his jizz, I looked up at him hopefully.
He spoke again.
"OK, now get out."
Coffee and a blow job indeed.
+++++
It was cold. Late morning, maybe 10:45 or 11am. On the streets of New York City, borough of Queens, somewhere near the intersection of Liberty and Rockaway, I looked for my train, the A train to Nostrand. I needed to get home, get a fresh set of clothes.
I looked like shit.
I daydreamed about my fake fur coat, the one that barely covered my ass, the one that still left my legs on display, my prize asset--the one that won the eyes of the boys.
I was still in my outfit from yesterday. It was cute. Short denim skirt. Flowery cardigan over just my bra. It just wasn't enough for this cold.
And I just looked like I'd had the hell fucked out of me.
Because I had.
I found an empty subway car--excellent. I collapsed into a plastic orange seat, closed my eyes, happy just to ride it out till home.
Fuck it, I thought. I might just stay in today. See if they catch me. What's the worst that can happen? A stint in jail? Either way I'll be getting fucked.
I sat quiet as a mouse, and undisturbed, too, till a pocket of young thugs hopped on board.
They were maybe high school age, or maybe college. Either way, they were not in school today. Their energy was foreign but familiar... it was the energy of a pack of rabid, horny young men. The subway used to be full of these guys.
These fellas... they were dangerous. They had almost certainly skipped out on the SAC test. I thought about myself--that I had gone through the ritual, played by the rules... and as a reward wound up with this body, this plight. What a stupid, femme, beta idiot I had been.
I kept my head down, hoping they wouldn't notice me. I listened as they boasted.
"Man, Freddie says he's fucked, like, 20 of `em! Said pinks were more fun than bitches. He said they really get into it."
"It's like fucking a guy!"
"Is it? I mean, they've got tits. They dress slutty. They are, literally, the lowest men out there. They're young and they can't say no. And they're forced to be women, and you're saying they're like guys."
"Have you fucked one?"
"Sure as shit have."
The guys stirred. I tried to keep from moving, or even twitching.
"And?"
"It was amazing."
The guys breathed collectively, like they were getting hornier from the story.
"This bitch... she was sort of new to the job. She was tiny, like 5'3". Puerto Rican. My god could she work a cock."
The guys sighed in synch.
"She kept calling me `papi,' asked me to fuck her deep, but all in Spanish. I guess I was bilingual that night."
The guys laughed at the joke.
"Best thing about her--she was horny all night. She's caged up so she can't get off. That just makes her horny enough to fuck whatever comes along. I saw her, I claimed her, and I fucked her stupid. That easy."
"That easy?"
"That easy. But here's the fucked up thing. She liked it. She wanted it. She wanted to get fucked."
These guys were getting horned up. Nothing's more dangerous and unpredictable than a pack of horny men.
"No fucking way!"
"The ones who got the pink collar, they fucking want it. Who else would put themselves up for that?"
I didn't like where this was going.
I'd get off at the next stop, catch the next train or just walk home from there.
"You're saying that a pink wants to get fucked by men? Like a horny bitch?"
"At least faggots get each other off!"
The train started to brake. I set my eyes on the nearest door. I would have to walk towards them, but not too far.
"NEXT STOP, UTICA. UTICA AVENUE, NEXT STOP."
They hadn't seen me yet.
The train came to an abrupt stop. I grabbed a pole, walked forward briskly.
"What about you, baby? Do you love getting fucked?"
Were they talking to me?
I clacked along in my heels towards the door. 10 feet from freedom.
They rose like a pack, cutting off my exit. I couldn't have said no if they'd given me the chance.
But that wasn't their intention.
I cut them off before they even had to ask.
"There's a Best Western about five blocks away."
Had that really just come out of my mouth? The manager of the Best Western and I had a deal: I could use a room at his hotel in exchange for unlimited lap dances and blow jobs. He would cum in my mouth while I looked him in the eyes.
"Now this bitch knows how to party. Walk in front of us, baby--I want to watch you wiggle that ass."
+++++
OK, obviously a brand new story with a different kind of setup. I am absolutely dripping in my panties as I write, so it worked for me. Did it work for you? Drop me a line at sexyamie@hotmail.com -- let me know if you're turned on and I should keep writing.