Utopia

This is part of a compilation of short stories, set an a hypothetical future where women are required to submit to any sexual advance unless already owned. Of course, everything is fiction and in no way condones non-consensual activity.

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Doctor in grocery store

15 years she had worked for her career. Four years of medical school. A five year residency. And a short six years as an attending. A career in its infancy yet the new laws matured - from appearing as mere ideas in niche media sites to being enforced in even less time. Her days, both then and now, consisted of grueling work at the hospital and intense hours of studying in her off time. Already, she was very respected in her sub specialty. However, in the year following the laws instatement, that began to shift.

She had been approached a few times on nights out with her friends. She certainly wasn't happy about it, but all it took was a few halfhearted blow jobs to men in their 20s who were just starting to test the limits.

Today, she had a presentation to peer clinicians, research fellows, and hospital administrators on up-and-coming therapies. In anticipation of her success, she decided to stop by the grocery store to buy a bottle of wine to celebrate with that night. she walked into the grocery store in her pumps, dress pants, and nicely tailored blouse. She used to dress in more revealing clothing, but in the past year she had begun dressing as conservatively and plainly as possible in the hopes of diverting attention. This strategy was sometimes successful. Today was not one of those times.

While she was leaning over, looking at a bottle of cab, she heard a voice. "Let's see that neck, bitch." All women had been required to get tattooed with their birthday right above their sternum and owned women with a tattooed collar around their neck.

She gave an exacerbated sigh. She didn't have time for this or she was going to be late. She turned slowly around to reveal her un-collared neck. She was horrified to see a dirty, older man with his hand already down his pants. She solemnly observed that he wasn't like those young boys who just wanted to cum and run. He had a menacing look in his eye. She averted her eyes in the hopes that he'd let her go. In doing so, she took in his appearance. An unkempt beard with chunks of dirt in it. Torn jeans, but not in the fashionable way she wore when she was younger. Worn down sandals.

"Bend over."

"I really need to go actually. I need to get to work."

"No, you need to bend over."

When she didn't move, he threatened, "I don't need to call the cops over here, now do I, honey?"

She certainly didn't want that. When the laws were first passed, stories spread quickly about what happened to women who didn't comply. In all cases, they ended up fucked one way or the other. And the cops had...tools in their position that the lay man didn't.

She bent her knees until she was squatting, still avoiding eye contact. He slapped her hard. "I know a stuck up bitch like you knows I didn't mean like that. I want to see that shitter pushed out so I can imagine just how my dick will ram into you."

Annoyance turned to fear. "Please, sir." Maybe the title would boost his ego and he'd back off.

"That's the spirit, cunt." He took out a knife and in seconds her clothes were in ribbons. Somewhere nearby a man cheered. She stood up and bent at the waist while an older woman avoided eye contact and continued to push her grocery cart by.

He immediately forced two fingers in her dry cunt and she yelped in pain. She tried to pull away but his fingers curled inside her. He clawed at her insides while her face was beet red at the crowd that was forming. He stuffed a third and fourth finger in and she somehow turned an even darker shade as she knew what was happening.

"Aww even the stuck up whore is no exception to the natural way of things. She's gushing." He made a show of pulling out his fingers and examining the wetness coating them, before wiping them in her face, smearing her makeup. Laughs scattered around her. He took his foot out of his sandal - dirty and unkept - and lightly kicked her cunt, just hard enough that she screamed as she fell to the ground. That same foot pressed against her back, holding her down.

"This sure is a nice bottle of wine," he said as he held up to examine. "A nice warm up." She froze. But was thankful as he pressed the neck of the bottle into her pussy. She had been sure it was going up her ass.

But she felt something warm against her asshole. Something thicker that the wine bottle neck. "Well less of a warm up and more of a partner." And he laughed with a few of the men watching. One 70-something man masturbating nearby.

And he shoved his thick cock into her un-lubed ass. She bit into her arm to stop her scream but the tears came down her face. Her ass hurt like hell but her pussy ... it ate up the wine bottle and she found herself rubbing against it. Grinding back meant helping her abused into her ass but also the bottle into her pussy. That bargain was becoming more and more worth it.

"These women are all the same. Filthy whores." He clearly had figured out what she was doing. "So you remember who's in charge here..." he slammed the wine bottle in further, in time with his own thrust, so her pussy was forced to expand around the full thickness of the bottle's body. Her clit pressed against the cold concrete and she screamed as her body buckled beneath him like a fish. And a gush of liquid erupted from her abused cunt.

He pulled out and she felt cum drip out her ass.

"Pathetic." And he smiled, leaving her laying on the concrete. Some of the more timid men came up to grope her as she lay in a shameful coma. Or even run their hands through her squirt. Eventually everyone went back to their shopping.

She got up and tried to walk away but the store worker glared at her. "You have to pay for that" pointing to the wet wine bottle. By the time she left the store, her meeting was over. Nothing to celebrate now.

So, she didn't drink the wine that night in her apartment. But as her cunt ached in memory of her assault, even as her cheeks flared, she found another purpose for it.

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Young, tattoo w birthdate

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Father teaching son