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Not from those first early weeks of college, before I became a futanari, had I studied so much. I gave myself a crash course in world events and current politics. I was sorting it out, trying to separate the spin from the BS. I went with my guts. There were things the Republicans said that I agreed with and things the Democrats said I liked. I would marry the two. Make something... Centrist. Populist. I just wanted to make a world where everyone had the opportunity to be happy. And not just here in the United States. This far into the twenty-first century, and there were still parts of the world suffering. Africa was a mess, the Middle East and Central Asia embroiled in conflict, parts of Latin America suffering heavily. I wanted to change all that. The world needed to unite. Futanari were the key. I had daughters everywhere in the world. I didn't even know how many children I had, but they were coming of age. They were the destiny of humans. Through my progeny, mankind would be reborn. The futanari needed a world worthy of them. I cleared the secure part of the airport and descended the escalator. It was early afternoon in the capital. I was tired and sore from my flight, and also satiated. I was used to flying—after traveling to Japan, I got over that fear of causing an orgy and just embraced the wild fun—and started a anime good dozen daughters from LA to D.C. I reached the baggage claim where more than a few chauffeurs with tablets that had peoples names on them waited. They were all men in suits looking professional and anonymous, all cut from the same mold. Though their hair and skin were different colors, they all had similar build and looks. One held a tablet with my name: Becky Woodard. I approached it, my carry on bag slung over my shoulder. “Hi.” “Let me take that, Miss Woodard,” he said. I handed it over and he hefted it with ease. “This way.” I nodded my head. I was used to this sort of service. I wasn't even shocked to find the nubile, naked girl in the back of the limo when he opened the door. She couldn't be much older than eighteen, her breasts small mounds, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement. Black hair contrasted with the scarlet blushing across her cheeks as she saw me. “H-hi, Becky,” she said. “I'm an intern from your campaign. Um, my name's Jen.” “Jen...” I said, savoring her name, the fatigue from my flight melting away at her squirming beauty. She had that innocent quality about her. A virgin. I loved virgins. “What a pretty name. And how did you get involved in my campaign?” “Oh, well, your daughter, Lola, hired me,” Jen said. He jammed the piece of steel into Dominion’s back, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “I only want to please you, Marcus. We talk about it, and those conversations always end with us having incredible sex." It felt normal to sit around in front of our niece since that was our attire for most of this trip. “And I love your juicy pussy.” I pressed my forehead against hers. But what I don’t get is why. They sensed… darkness. Her tits were big and heavy, with large dark areolae, the skin already puckered in arousal. I had gone to her games, not because I wanted to support her, but because dad works all the time and at the time I wasn’t allowed to be home alone. “I need to leave, I’m sorry.” “I would recognize that sound from a mile away,” Rick said. After the Right to Die Act of 2143 it is your right anime once you reach the age of fifteen to die however and whenever you choose. "This is going to be difficult." I casually adjusted my cock in my slacks and boxers, hoping my daughters didn't notice. “Fuck” I gasp.

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Sigurd may have accused me of being soft-hearted, but there was no profit in maimed slaves. Eventually, Kiersten shook herself out of her misery. “I’d like to talk to that slave girl of yours,” she said. “My slave girl?” I asked, confused. They were all “my” slaves in a sense, but I hadn’t yet claimed any of them as my personal property. “That one over there,” she said, indicating Emmy. The girl was a way’s away, still sitting sullenly and gazing out over the beach. “Or are you allowing all of my warriors to carry weapons now?” “Ask her yourself, she’s not my slave.” “What?” Kiersten asked, confused. “She’s a free person. We captured her when we took this town, but my warriors respected her skill enough to name her villein and let her go free.” “So you even let some of your enemies go free if they kill enough of your own?” I shrugged in response. When put like that, the tradition did sound ridiculous. “Honorable combat only though, so don’t get any crazy ideas,” I replied. “Must be some warrior,” Kiersten said sarcastically. “You have no idea,” I responded, quite serious, “Anyway, go talk to her if you wish. I have other things to attend to.” Later Dwindling sunlight shone through suddenly into Camille’s eyes, easing the suffocating darkness. Cool, fresh air blew across her face as the akatus rocked gently back and forth. The light was quickly replaced as a shadowy figure interposed itself between her eyes and the sun. “Another dead one!” called Riita as she gazed into Camille’s sightless eyes and glanced at the broken shaft of an arrow above her left collarbone. Riita shoved another body aside, searching out the buried source of a pitiful mewling sound. Behind her, Sindre and Yngvar casually tossed a lifeless corpse into the water and stooped to pick up another. There were still dozens more left on the pin-cushioned death ship. As the sun sank low in the sky, the chirps and buzzing of the night creatures drowned out the cries and moans of the wounded still lying on the beach. Efforts to recover the wounded would continue thru the night, albeit at a significantly reduced pace. The limiting factor in this case anime was the number of Clan guards. I sent half my warriors to sleep, and more than half of the remainder were tied up in healing duties or other tasks. That left only about forty warriors available to guard the Arkadian workforce. I authorized only two Arkadians per guard in order to minimize the chance of any captives escaping. As a result, most of the activity shifted into Zavala itself as light slowly gave way to dark. The heathy Arkadian captives were corralled into the square and placed under guard for the night. The injured were jammed into Zavalan houses, many of which still held villagers wounded in the battle to capture the town. Most of the healthy Zavalans worked on, but the children and a few others were once again locked in the old warrior hall for the night. Mindful of what Sigurd had said about the possibility of a plague, I spent much of the evening inspecting the houses of healing. Houses of healing? Houses of death? Warehouses of wounded? What should they be called anyway? I mused. I went first to the old Zavalan manor house. Whatever was to happen next, it was not a matter of forgiveness. “Dude I’ve never smoked before,” He says. My friend's eyes lit up. “Inevitably?” Maria gave Ronja a look and Ronja shrugged. So, immediately I left her left boob off and took the right boob into my mouth and began to suck it very hard. I was watching John, so I didn’t notice until too late, Rob moving over, spreading his cheeks as he sat on my face, telling me “Eat my ass, bitch.” I finally pulled out and it was amazing to watch my cum drip out of my mother in law. “So she’s going to be okay?” Salvador asked me gravely. “This used to be a land of green, the prettiest world you’d ever seen, of trees and grass and weeds and flowers, but it all wilted in the final hours.” "I then will offer you an alternative, though it's not really." The girl shot me a dirty look. John went to community college and anime now he has graduated with a degree in management.


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