Yolanda Sanchez (Washington, DC, 2024 A.D.)

As he had every day for the past few months, The Professor woke up with his cock in Pillowtits Johnson’s mouth. He had found her in the midst of attending a Fuckpet Certification program on the campus of what had once been Vassar College and offered her a position as an Alarm Girl. He didn’t pay her directly, but he let her live in his house and, when he felt like it, sleep at the foot of his bed. She, in return, gave him a blowjob each morning at exactly the time he asked her to wake him. He could get a blowjob from any girl he wanted whenever he wanted these days, but the only way to absolutely guarantee that he woke up to one each morning was to have a designated Alarm Girl.

Pillowtits was more used to guys asking her for tit jobs, and was surprised to get The Professor’s offer when he tracked her down. But he liked the idea of waking up each morning to a reminder that this really was the world he had created, and she liked the idea of a place of a steady cock to serve. This Pillowtits did not work in a Congressional office, or idolize feminist leaders. She had been trained since childhood to be one thing, a devout Masterite cunt. Her tits, which bounced underneath her as her head moved up and down on his dick, were things of beauty, and they weren’t wasted. She had been instructed not to bring him to completion unless he requested it, and she had enough training to pleasure him indefinitely without bringing him over the edge, if he wished.

The difference today was that Slutqueen was sitting on the end of his bed, grinning at them. She casually reached out and slipped two fingers inside Pillowtits’ snatch from behind, making the girl moan pleasantly on his cock.

“Morning, Dad,” she said. “Happy Master Day.”

“Happy what now?” he asked, blinking.

She laughed. “I always forget how different your timeline was. It’s June 26th. The anniversary of when the Master appeared to Boudica.”

It definitely was not, it had been in early spring, but The Professor supposed Jesus wasn’t born in December, either. “And how does one celebrate Master Day?” he asked.

“Well, you give each other presents, for one thing.” She pulled her fingers out of Pillowtits’ cunt and stuck them in her mouth, sucking on them for a moment like a lollipop.

“I didn’t get you anything,” he pointed out.

Slutqueen removed her fingers from her mouth and said, “That’s OK, Master. You didn’t know. And anyway, you bought this house and stuff, so I can’t really complain.” She gestured around them. “But I have a couple of surprises for you.” She slapped Pillowtits hard on the ass and grinned again. “So don’t let her tire you out too much.”

*****

The Professor could have afforded a mansion anywhere, of any size, given his knowledge of the future of financial markets. However, now that he could fuck any woman he wanted, he found he mostly preferred being around other people, and he wouldn’t have known what to do with so much space anyway. So instead, he, Slutqueen, and the handful of other live-in girls they had accumulated were occupying a Georgetown brownstone.

Given Slutqueen’s advice, he decided to forego the ministrations of any of his other girls as he ate his morning eggs and bacon on the couch. He contented himself with watching his beautiful daughter engage in one of her favorite activities, riding the cock of another beautiful woman. She was always inviting one or another of her stable of well-endowed girls to stay for a few days.

What Slutqueen sometimes referred to as her “Sissy Project” had paid dividends. These days, there were approximately three cunts for every two men. Given the heavy demand, reassignment surgery had progressed to the point that fully transitioned trans women were essentially impossible to tell apart from a girl who had been born female. The Professor was fairly certain he had likely fucked several of these “new girls” without even knowing it. But others chose to become women in every way except they kept their cocks. These were his daughter’s favorites, he had noticed. And she, of course, always looked hot riding another girl’s dick. Though she looked hot all the time, so it was just a matter of degrees.

Afterward, Slutqueen ordered a car (she didn’t tell him the destination) and the two of them headed out. It was self-driving, as were most of the cars on the road these days. The technology was much more reliable and further along in this timeline, given the widespread demand to just fuck instead of having to drive. Usually, he took full advantage of this, but today the two of them relaxed in the back seat and listened to the radio. He could hear the faint buzzing of Slutqueen’s travel vibrators in her pussy and ass, keeping up her horniness level. He was sure many of the women they passed on the street had the same.

The radio announcer was discussing the upcoming Summer Olympics. Competition was intense for the spots on the American team, for the women’s events in particular. The Freestyle Deepthroating event was considered wide open after the defending champion received a ban due to a positive test for muscle relaxants. In politics, the First Cunt had announced an initiative called “Sluts in Schools,” in order to give girls in the inner city more positive role models.

The Professor looked out the window at the passing sidewalks. He would have considered most of the women they passed at least an “eight” by the standards of his original timeline, between genetics and the intense competition to attract male attention. Though they were all body types, races, sizes, and so on, none of them wore a scrap of clothing (except for the occasional kneepads), or had any visible body hair. He didn’t see any with breasts that he would have estimated below a C-cup, as any woman not naturally blessed considered implants and other cosmetic surgeries an absolute necessity. Several were on their knees in front of men, many with cocks in their mouths or other holes.

They passed numerous billboards advertising everything from vibrators to vaginoplasty. The government provided a set stipend to all women, and they were thus a major demographic of consumers. In exchange, all women were expected to strictly adhere to Masterite ideals, which had been universally codified into law. Schools taught Masterism as the unquestioned truth, Galder attendance was required for women, and refusal to service any man who asked could result in serving a sentence as a public fuck station. This was sort of a modern version of the stocks, in which a woman was sealed into a wall with her pussy and ass hanging out for public use. It was considered a duty by the men of the public to use these stations as thoroughly as possible.

However, this was very rare. Most Masterite values, after all, were pretty universally considered no brainers. If a woman said that she didn’t think her main purpose in life was to serve men, closely followed when she wasn’t directly serving men by making herself as fuckable as possible for when she was, most other women would think she was genuinely insane. Just like everyone knew the sky was blue, everyone knew that the only way for a woman to be happy and healthy was as a slutty, dripping wet cockhole.

The car headed into a neighborhood that The Professor wasn’t particularly familiar with, eventually pulling up to a nondescript apartment block.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“Do you know the meaning of the word ‘surprise,’ Master?” Slutqueen responded with a sly smile.

They took the elevator up to the sixth floor, accompanied by a thirty-something redhead wearing kneepads and carrying a bike helmet. She immediately dropped to her knees when she saw him and stayed there, her eyes looking toward the floor.

Soon, Slutqueen was knocking on the dented door to Apartment 243, a huge smile on her face. After only a few seconds, it quickly opened. The Professor was indeed surprised.

“You found her,” he said.

In the doorway stood the woman he had known as Judge Yolanda Sanchez. She had been the no-nonsense judge who presided over his trial, back before he had first changed the timeline. He vividly recalled her statements when his attorneys requested bail. About how he was a danger to civilized society and women everywhere. How she feared for her own daughter if he was ever on the street again. That was about the point that he first realized he was going to have to take drastic measures. She was in her forties, but she had “kept it tight,” as the kids said. Her tanned breasts were a pair of clearly fake, round globes.

He had tried several times to find her, but she of course had a different name now, and he hadn't been able to find any Sanchez that seemed like it was her, so Slutqueen had definitely come through with his Master Day surprise.

As the Judge (as he persisted in thinking of her) quickly apologized and sank to her knees, his daughter asked, “I take it I got it right, Master? I’m glad. It took a lot of legwork and even more cuntwork to track her down. But from what you told me, nobody deserves it more. I can’t believe what they tried to do you, it’s so crazy.”

“What’s your name, Cunt?” he asked the woman kneeling in the doorway, her eyes now downcast.

“Coñamuda Perez,” she replied immediately. Dumbcunt, he recalled. That worked for him. “Please, Master,” she continued quietly. “Please use me. Men used to want me, but…please, use me however you want.”

He almost felt sorry for her then. This woman could easily have been a MILF porn star in his original timeline, but in this one, many men seemed to consider her too old to be worth sticking their dick in. Ultrahot middle-aged women were now a dime a dozen.

But… only almost.

The Professor grabbed Coñamuda by the hair, pulled her hard to her feet, and immediately spat in her face. She made no move to wipe herself off. He then put a hand around her neck and squeezed.

“Thank you, Master,” she choked out.

Within a few moments, he had her bent double, her face pressed into her had-seen-better-days couch, while his cock rammed into her unlubed asshole. Slutqueen sat in a nearby easy chair, legs spread wide with one each propped up over each of the chair’s arms, while she slowly ran a couple of fingers over her clit.

“That’s right, Master, fuck my fucking ass,” growled Coñamuda. “Fucking tear it up, Master! Please, Master, please!”

Having been understandably distracted, The Professor didn’t notice when the door to one of the other rooms of the apartment opened. A girl in maybe her early twenties stood in the doorway, looking much like Coñamuda but at least 20 years younger.

“Shit, mom,” the girl said. “You look so fucking hot with a dick up your asshole.”

“My…my daughter,” gasped Coñamuda, though The Professor wasn’t slowing his pace. “Please Master, before you…before you come in me, I worry…”

He leaned over and hissed in her ear, “Yes, Cunt? Why are you worried about your daughter?”

“I’m worried she’s not getting fucked enough…” she managed. “What kind of future can she have if she’s not fucking men’s cocks?”

Shortly thereafter, The Professor had the girl held against the wall by her throat as he fucked her dripping pussy. The girl had apparently been edging in her room before they had arrived. Meanwhile, Slutqueen had Coñamuda kneel in front of her and eat her out. Neither woman had ever asked what their visitors’ names were, he realized.

“Thank you, Master,” the girl said, her voice very quiet and demure compared to her mother.

Coñamuda pulled away from Slutqueen’s pussy with a sigh. “No, honey, you have to speak up,” she said to her daughter. “And you have to show him how appreciative you are. Tell him how good his cock feels inside your wet cunt.” She turned back toward Slutqueen, shaking her head ruefully. “I’m sorry,” she said. “This is what happens when girls don’t get enough practice.”

“No, you’re good,” Slutqueen assured her. “You’re such a good mother.”

“I try, but…” Coñamuda sighed and went back to the pussy licking.

“Master, your cock feels great in my wet, slutty cunt,” her daughter Master, louder this time. “Come inside me, Master. Give me all your fucking cum.”

He couldn’t help but oblige. He took his hand away and the girl slid to the floor, his spunk oozing out of her pussy. She grinned up at him. “Thank you, Master.”

“She’s not bad, actually,” gasped Slutqueen, the not-Judge’s head between her legs. “Please, Master, may I come?”

“Sure,” The Professor said.

His daughter shuddered in the chair. “Shit!” she squeaked, one hand holding Coñamuda’s head to her cunt.

As Slutqueen lay back for a moment, breathing hard, The Professor grabbed Coñamuda by the hair again and pulled her to her feet. “I’ve got a question for you, Cunt. You, your daughter, your daughter’s daughter, and every descendant after them are going to be one thing: fucktoys. None of them will ever have any hopes or dreams beyond being a set of holes for cocks. How does that make you feel?”

“Master,” she breathed. “That makes me so fucking horny.”

*****

That was not, as it turned out, Slutqueen’s only present for that Master Day. The Professor hadn’t really been paying too much attention to the news, but it turned out that there was to be a gathering that day on the National Mall in celebration of Master Day. And not a small one, as it turned out. Their car wouldn’t have been able to get anywhere close, but it turned out that she (and by extension, him) had managed to finagle a spot as a guest of honor. He supposed the Promised Whore would be welcome at any Masterite event.

Still, he was not prepared for what he saw when he got up on a stage near the Washington Monument. Hot, naked women, as far as the eye could see, along with a few very smart and/or lucky men in their midst. At the far end stood, not the Lincoln Memorial he remembered, but the great bulk of the National Galder, an enormous, round, domed building.

Those women that could, he saw, were sucking and fucking in honor of the Master. The rest were rubbing their pussies as Slutqueen stepped forward and grabbed a microphone.

“Hi, everyone, Happy Master Day!” she called out. This was met with general moaning and groaning. “I’m happy to announce that there are one point three million people here on the Mall today, an even bigger crowd than last year! And of course, that’s just in person. I’m told that there are gatherings like this in every major city around the world. The estimate I just heard is that there are one billion cunts watching us right now.”

“I won’t take too much of your time,” she continued. “You all know me. The reason I’m here today isn’t to hand down more rules or anything like that. Instead, I’m here to celebrate with all of you.” Slutqueen’s free hand reached down between her legs, and her voice grew huskier. “I want you all to think now, about every woman who ever lived, every woman living now, and every woman who ever will live. All of them with cocks in their mouth, in their pussy, in their ass. All of them kneeling before men. Every woman who ever lived, not just a servant for men, but **** for it, horny for it, wet for it.”

The Professor pictured the women gathered in masses around the world, sisters, mothers, and daughters, masturbating to the thought of the subjugation of their gender. Each of them would barely need to be asked to fall to their knees and take his cock all the way down to the balls. They wouldn’t just do it, they would be thrilled to do it. They would consider his jizz spurting down their throats to be a spiritual experience. Every single one of them.

“I know you’re probably getting close now,” Slutqueen groaned out, her amazing tits bouncing as she rubbed herself. “Think about every woman ever, all of them, getting fucked. A set of fuckholes, ready to come. **** to come. Every woman ever, just a fucking slut.”

She turned to him then, lust in her eyes and juices dripping from her cunt, and held out the microphone. “Would you like to do the honors, Master?” she asked. “We’re all on the edge.”

He took the microphone and said, “You can all come now.”

The sound that followed was 1.3 million women, all orgasming at once. Around the globe, a billion more did the same.

Once Slutqueen was done bracing herself against a wall, knees quivering, she turned to him and quietly said, in a low, sex kitten tone, “A billion women just came thinking about how you turned their entire gender into wet submissive sluts forever, Daddy.”

And it was good.

Author's Note: That is the end of this path of "The Retcon." Thanks again to all the readers! My plan is do a couple of shorter alternate endings, and then work on other stories for a while. Once again, I encourage anyone with ideas for adding onto any of these storylines to write those down so we can all read them!