Back to the Future, Part III (Washington, DC, 2023 A.D.)

By the time The Professor traveled once again to his “present,” whatever that meant at this point, he felt like he had been pretty thorough. He had gone to Ancient China, where he had attempted to change the course of Eastern Philosophy to include way more blowjobs. He had traveled to Elizabethan (Needycuntian?) England to steer Enlightenment science in a better direction, possibly also involving more blowjobs. And he had hopefully torpedoed the American Feminist movement before it got started. He was sure there was more he could do, but… honestly, he could use a break from the machinations, and he was eager to see the results of his work.

So he found himself blipping into existence back in what had been the storage locker he’d been renting for the various inventions he employed on his "missions" in the past. He could have been a billionaire with the right investments at the right times, but he was putting in a lot of work, and honestly that also seemed like a lot of work. So this suited his needs for now. He had time.

He was pretty much expecting it all to be gone when he came back, which wouldn’t have been too big a disaster (he’d rebuilt all this before, he could do it again). But apparently he had underestimated just how elastic the timeline turned out to be. Despite all his changing, somehow there was still a storage facility in this spot, and he had still rented a unit, and all his stuff was still in it. Or had it stayed the same because he’d rented a unit. He honestly wasn’t sure how to even test that theory.

The Professor walked past the indifferent attendant and out onto the street. It wasn’t so different than what he’d seen before. There were clothed men and nude women, most in good physical condition. A few of the women wore collars around their necks, and sometimes one of these could be seen being led by a man on a leash. That last thing was new, and he found it encouraging.

Gone for the most part, he noticed, were the tattoos and brightly colored hair he’d seen in his prior visits. Women’s own personal expression seemed to be less of a priority. One thing he did notice many of them wearing was knee pads. Thes were generally small and as inconspicuous as possible. Helpful, he realized, when one spends a lot of time on one’s knees.

Then a woman walked past who made him do a double take. He had seen quite a few hot naked chicks the past few months of his life, but she was one of the hotter ones. Dark hair, perfectly proportioned, a very cute face. She looked like she had the best tits money could buy. She carried a shopping bag and moved her hips in such a way as she walked in order to show off her ass to the best effect.

“Hey, Cunt,” he called out to her.

She didn’t hesitate, instead immediately turning to look at him. A split-second later, she dropped onto her knee pads in front of him, putting her shopping bag down next to her on the sidewalk.

“How can I serve you, Master,” she said as she looked up at him.

He considered this question for a moment.

Not too much later, The Professor found himself fucking the girl hard up against the wall of the nearest building. Pedestrians walked past them, for the most part unconcerned, and cars continued to drive by.

“Oh fuck, fuck me harder, Master,” the girl yelled. “Fuck me harder!”

He had been understandably distracted, but for some reason The Professor suddenly realized they were next to the shop window of a bookstore. The book featured in the largest display had a naked blonde on the cover with a huge smile. The title read, in large letters, How I Became a Fucktoy and You Can Too, and then in smaller letters, How to Land the Perfect Master.

The Professor’s attention was drawn back to the task at hand by some particularly pleasurable contractions of the girl’s vaginal muscles. He didn’t know how she was doing it, but she was clearly well-trained in this particular art. He wasn’t going to last that much longer, and they hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk.

“What’s your name, bitch?” he asked.

“Fuck!” the girl yelled again. “Sorry, I-I…I’m Slutbunny…fuck, right there, harder…”

“And what is your purpose? In life, I mean?”

Slutbunny tried to focus her eyes on him through her hair getting in her face. She seemed a little confused, which made sense. Most guys didn’t ask her philosophical questions in the middle of banging her against a wall, he’d guess.

“That’s…that’s a hard question, I don’t…”

He grabbed her around the throat, pushing her head back against the brick wall behind her. She grinned.

“Tell me,” he said firmly, continuing to slam his cock into her.

“I serve…and pleasure men, Master,” she choked out. Then her voice got very high-pitched. “Shit!”

He took a moment to take in how her fake tits moved as he fucked her, then asked, “What do you do for a living?”

“I-I have an FPF. My dad…I’m ahhhhh so lucky.”

Interesting, that bore more investigation. Later. The Professor felt himself getting close.

“So, what do…what do you think about women voting?” he managed to ask.

Slutbunny was also pretty far gone, but she again seemed confused. “I don’t…Master…I don’t understand. Why the fuck would women want to vote?”

“Never…mind,” he barely managed, and then he groaned as he shot his load into her pussy.

He immediately stopped fucking her and pulled out. His cum leaked out of her shaved pussy as she stood in front of the bookstore window, still breathing hard with her face and chest visibly flushed. He noted that she’d never even asked for her orgasm.

“Thank you so much, Master,” she breathed, a slutty, lopsided grin appearing on her face. Even how her messy hair hung in her face screamed sexpot. She leaned down and picked up her brown paper shopping back again, as cum began to drip down her inner thigh. Then she turned back to him and said, “You ask a lot of questions, Master. It’s…different.”

“And I’ve still got more,” he told her. “Do you live somewhere nearby? Maybe with wi-fi?”

“Oh, you wanna… yeah!” she said, managing to sound, at least, like he wasn’t putting her out in the slightest. “Yeah, I was just heading back from the grocery store. It’s right around the corner.”

He smiled at her. Slutbunny here didn’t even know his name, but she’d just invited him back to her place to fuck some more in about the tone someone might use to order at the drive through.

She turned and began to walk down the sidewalk, and he followed her. “My BDSM set up is at the shop right now, sorry Master,” she tossed over her shoulder. “I broke one of the struts because I pulled too hard when my friend Darrell…well, you know how it is. So if you’re into that, we’ll have to improvise. I think I’ve probably got some handcuffs in the closet if you…”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he told her.

*****

Slutbunny’s apartment was smallish and spare, and though some of her equipment might have been “in the shop” there was still a variety of apparatuses taking up a good deal of the space, only some of which The Professor knew the use of. “FPF,” he’d learned, stood for “Fuckpuppet Fund.” That is to say, her apparently wealthy parents had put money in a fund for her to live off of while being the best fuckpuppet she could be. The money, however, only went so far, and until she found a good Master of her own she couldn’t afford that much. She did have a decent TV, which The Professor now sat in front of on the couch. Slutbunny was between his legs, slowly and lovingly licking up and down his cock. She seemed very much in her element.

A news/talk program was on the TV, it was just what had been on when he first turned it on. A pepper-haired man in a suit on one half of the screen interviewed a nude, very attractive, middle-aged woman on the other half.

“House Bill 470 would not solve this problem, but it would establish a small monthly stipend for women who document that they are living healthy, submissive lives, and we think that’s a step in right direction.”

“And how are these stipends paid for?” the interviewer asked her. “Tax increases? That’s not going to be popular among the electorate.”

“The electorate knows that we in America, unlike the rest of the civilized world, don’t do anything to support the struggling women who just want to get fucked,” the guest insisted. “They're asking why that is.”

“Hey bitch,” The Professor said to the girl casually licking running her tongue around the head of his cock. “Did you go to school?”

She pulled away slightly, though she kept running one hand up and down his shaft slowly. “I have my full Fuckpet Certification, if that’s what you mean.” She went back to slowly sucking his dick.

On the screen, the female guest was saying, “Women made an enormous sacrifice for this country during World War II by entering the workforce en masse in order to keep the machinery running. And some of us have been there ever since, even though all of the scientific data shows it’s detrimental to a woman’s mental and physical health. I think it’s time for this country to give something back…”

The Professor and his host both looked up at the sound of a knock on the apartment’s front door.

“It’s open!” called Slutbunny.

The door opened and a smaller Asian girl with smaller tits walked in.

“Oh hi,” said Slutbunny. She turned back to The Professor. “This is my neighbor Dumbitch. She’s over here all the time.”

The Asian woman gave a small wave. “Hi. I just wanted to ask you… Oh, you’ve got a guy here.” She nervously pulled a stray hair behind her ear and dipped her head slightly. “Hello Master.” She looked over at Slutbunny. “Do you two know each other, or…”

Slutbunny kept her hand moving as she answered, sounding a little embarrassed. Or modest? “Oh, I, um, he just saw me on the street and asked to come back here.”

Dumbitch crossed her arms over her small tits. “Guys never do that to me. You’re so lucky.”

The Professor meaningfully cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both girls back to him.

“Sorry,” Slutbunny said. Then she took his cock back into her mouth, swirling her tongue as she did so.

“Um, Master,” Dumbitch ventured, taking a few tentative steps forward. “Would it be OK with you if I-I, y’know, helped? It’s just that guys really don’t pick me out of the crowd and if I don’t volunteer sometimes I get out of practice, and that’s…”

“You don’t have to convince me,” The Professor told her with a smile. “Go for it.”

She knelt next to her neighbor, leaned down, and licked his cock near the base. Then she took one of his balls into her mouth and started to suck.

“We think these are intractable problems,” the female advocate was saying on the TV. “Children who go to bed hungry. The homeless. Women who can’t just be sluts. But they’re not. Men can solve these problems if we just help them.”

“Well, that’s all the time we have,” said the interviewer. “Thanks to our guest, Cockslave Brennan, the President of the Women’s Sluttification Alliance, for her time, and be sure to tune in next week on CNN Tuesday Morning.”

“Hey,” The Professor said to the two women servicing his cock, “apparently it’s Tuesday morning. Shouldn’t you ladies be at services?”

Slutbunny snorted and pulled her mouth off his dick, just for a moment. “Yeah, I’m not really very religious.”

Dumbitch just shook her head while continuing to suck on his balls.

The Professor's orgasm snuck up on him. A few moments later, he found himself shooting his load into Slutbunny's mouth. She took all of it easily, not spilling a drop. Then she turned and passionately kissed Dumbitch. The pair's tongues moved over each other, sharing as much of his sticky, white cum as possible.

Both girls swallowed, closely followed by huge grins on each of their faces.

"Thank you, Master," Dumbitch said first. "I really, really needed that."