Snow White with a Twist

So, your options are limited to spending a year in the Fucktoy Camps where your previously untouched tushy will be ravaged by an unending number of too-big-dicks for a year, or, swallow your boy-pride and play the role of Snow White while wearing a dress. After much deliberation you conclude that, while mildly embarrassing, wearing a dress beats anal-destruction-by-femcock hands down. Logic, you see, mamma raised no fool.

"I'll do it, Ms Miller, I'll play the part of Snow White," you say, mighty pleased with your powers of deduction. "if wearing a dress is the worst I have to suffer then so be it. I'm sure you know what's best for me."

"Glad to hear it Dougie, accepting the judgement of your significant betters is not only a rewarding experience but the key to a deeply filling life".

The girls nod along in agreement.

"You mean fulfilling Miss?" you ask confidently.

"Nope. Now run along with the girls to the preparation room, they'll prepare you for the trials ahead. Oh, and do be patient this time girls, the school board point-blank refuse to fund another coverup. I'm sure you recall the incident with the once young prodigy Ricky? He still wears XXX-sized diapers to this very day. A prolapsed anus is no laughing matter!"

A pro-what now? I really should have paid attention in biology.

"That was a whole two weeks ago, Miss, we've matured since then. We won't make the same mistake again." Becky says as she grabs your wrist and drags you off in the direction of what you assume is the preparation room. You obediently follow because gravity insists on it.

"Hey Becky, what's a prophylactic anus?

Becky rolls her eyes.

"Do you practise safe sex Dougie"?

"I can safely say I haven't." beaming with pride at keeping your virginity intact.

"Neither did Tommy."

"But you didn't answer my que...

"Shut up, Dougie."

"k, Becky."

Just as you start to feel dizzy after walking through an endless number of doors and hallways, Becky stops and approaches a mural of an admittedly stunning futa Goddess on the wall beside her. The monstrous size of her thingy makes your butt clench instinctively. She then reaches into her hair and pulls out a remote-controlled device. She taps her fingers on it a few times and then, as if by magic, the mural suddenly disappears from view, replaced by what looks like a vault door from your favourite game Fallout.

(Well, that's odd. Your anxiety agrees with you.)

Suddenly the vault opens up, revealing a dimly lit tunnel flanked by thick brick walls covered in a slimy purple substance, the faint glow at the end of the tunnel being the only source of light. Oblivion?

(Again with the odd, but this time with a large dose of scary accompanying it. Your anxiety pipes up; not the best combination huh Doug? Shut up anxiety.)

Becky, seemingly unaffected by the dark, dank surroundings, reestablishes her iron grip on your wrist and leads you off in the direction of the glow. Your destination, presumably.

A short walk later and you arrive at another door, prompting an introduction from Becky.

"Welcome to the preparation room, Dougie. Why don't you step through and tell me what you think." she says with a genuinely heart-warming smile, either that or a deeply ominous smirk. You can't decide which.

"Err, sure. Why not".

With some minor apprehension, you step through the door and take your first look at the place; tables, chairs, shelves, just another standard room you think, ceiling, walls, a replica of the gimp suit from Pulp Fiction.

(Huh! No, your imagination is getting the better of you.)

Upon further inspection, you find various handcuffs, ballgags and a Bob The Builder doll strapped to a Fuckbench 2000.

(Wait, what the shit!?)

"Errrm, Becky, I don't mean to be rude, but your preparation room is beginning to suspiciously resemble a sex dungeon."

"What? Nooo, that's silly. A sex dungeon would contain all manner of hideous whips, chains, Twister mats and weird stuff like that.

Your eyes immediately fall to the Twister mat in the centre of the room, which, unsurprisingly, has all manner of whips and chains adorning it.

"Oh, Hell no, lady. Not happening. Not now not ever."

You spin around, intent on making for the exit. You're fucking DONE playing Twister. You make it approximately 0.3 centimetres before you feel a dull thud on the back of your neck, prompting you to fall asleep instantly. While standing up.

Dammit.

You wake up sometime later cuffed to a chair, the ballgag in your mouth removing any hope of talking your way out of this.

Or screaming for help.

"Oh, hey Dougie, you're awake. Good. Now, before we get started, I want you to know that the girls and I went to a great deal of trouble setting up the preparation room for your arrival. We spent months getting it ready for the right boy, the perfect boy. Have you guessed who it is yet? Bingo! It's you, Dougie! It was always going to be you, the girls and I would have it no other way."

Shit.

"We're going to have so much fun! You'll see!"

You look across the room at Bob strapped to the Fuckbench 2000. He looks less than pleased at his and your predicament. You swear he looks back at you with pity in his eyes.