City of the Meek [Fiction][Free Use][FMFF+][Male POV]

Free Use is such an interesting fantasy. It would never work IRL but it works *soo* well in fantasies. I tried my hand at the genre in a little short story. It’s not the typical reddit content, and it’s a bit long maybe, but I hope you’ll enjoy it. I certainly did writing it. I might pick up the same world building in future stories. Now, without further ado:

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John all but stumbled out of his apartment building, crashing though the door. Today, he had to fill the unforgiving minute. He stopped briefly, putting the jacket of his almost-sharp suit back into place with a few tucks, then hurried onward.

It was Saturday in Zalabrough City, and as such, the streets were crawling – literally, in many cases. Most work was forbidden on a Saturday, and in a city that was created around almost unrestrained desire, that meant a little rock ‘n’ roll, a lot of drugs and untold amounts of fucking.

As if magnetic to cliché, he passed a well curved woman crawling over the sidewalk, wearing nothing but a leash and a chain dangling between clamps on her nipples. The man that led her, a tall guy that somehow looked like he woke up from a 20 year coma in a skate-park, shot a smile towards John. An odd contrast to be sure.

“Brother, would you like to help me punish my—,” the guy started, but trailed off as John brushed past him and rounded into the main street.

No time for games, no matter how interesting the premise might seem.

Yolk Street was a central hub for business during the week, bustling with activity, occasionally carnal. Today, it was bursting. High rises framed the horizon, the smooth architecture subtly phallic. Most of the windows were reflecting the noonday sun, and of those who shone with light, some had little humanoid shadows pressed against the glass. Business was strictly closed, but it was considered cheap for employers not to offer their building for office sex during the weekends.

The balconies and terraces further down told a similar story. Looking like parties at half a glance, one could almost instantly make out the distinct shapes of services rendered or sluts taken.

On the ground level, it was a mad flurry somewhere between orgy and festival. Pockets of loud music bled into each other, almost drowning out the sound of celebrating voices, loud moans, and louder screams.

John couldn’t make it half a block before a long-legged curvy woman slid over to block his path. She was sort-of-naked, bits of her covered in black tape. It made a cheap collar around her neck, framed the undersides of her breasts and accented her hips and thighs with stripes. John almost missed a step when he noticed her cunt being taped shut. Clever. She tried to press her badge into his hand, stopping him.

“Hey cutie, join the party,” she pleaded, spinning to stick her ass out and brushing her hands down her sides before giving herself a two-handed little slap.

She was about to to show him where there wasn’t tape, but John had already pressed on.

Taking her badge would have meant claiming her, for as long as he held onto it. His own badge was blue, marking him as a second class citizen. First class, of course, was reserved for government officials, which had it’s own complicated set of rights, but mostly meant playing an entirely different game. Second class meant that everyone below that, the sluts, were free for him to use. A slut could not deny you her holes, unless their badge was currently claimed. You couldn’t just claim them for an extended period of time, of course, just for what was aptly written into law as a “one-time need fulfillment”.

It was a good system, and people got creative with it fast. He saw more than a few badges tossed into the crowd high through the air, overexcited sluts hurrying after them to please the first person the badges would touch.

Something ahead had drawn a crowd that was blocking off the street, so John took a path through what is a diner during weekdays, now repurposed as a special kind of all-you-can-eat, with sluts strapped to the counter through pre-made holes in wood. Here, the moaning actually drowned out the music.

There wasn’t only female sluts of course. Though most of it was quite traditional, with women being free to be used by men, anyone could get any badge. Aside from a guy tied to the counter whose dick was obviously the center of some sort of bet, he passed a few groups of people dressed in ways that left their behinds accessible, their cocks out and fully erect. They’d take something to stay hard through the entire festivities, something that a doctor would not recommend. Then again, what’s one more drug for a night out like this.

There was a fair few second classer women as well. His wife had been one, back when she still lived here. When they were still together. Even though things hadn’t ended on the best of terms, the memories of their exploits had always been sweet. Now they left a sour taste in his mouth, even as he repressed them. How could she let this happen? What was she thinking?

John hurried on, squeezing himself through the crowd faster and a little more recklessly. He spilled a few drinks, not that anyone had any shortage of that, and he was sure he accidentally gave a slut deep-throat with an ill-timed shoulder bump. Never matter. He had to stop what was about to happen. And he could. He just had to hurry the fuck up.

Lost in worries and loosely formed plans, he almost got rolled over by a giant inflatable ball, a naked women curled up at it’s center, vacuumed in place. She had both her holes stuffed, and the pocked of air in front of her face shrank and expanded frantically with her breathing. A scruffy young man holding a tablet was rolling her onward, tapping excitedly and announcing her orgasm count, to which the crowd parted and cheerfully slapped the ball. John rudely shot between them as he marched on, semi-jumping over a red badge that was rolling over the ground.

It came to a halt at the feet of a broad-shouldered, middle aged man that didn’t wear a shirt under his leather jacket. He picked the badge up with a wide grin, turning to show it to his friends.

Red badges were the rarest in Zalabrough City. There was all kinds of colors. Teal, for example, signified “vanilla”, a rigidly defined term here. There was yellow, which meant “leave no marks” and, of course, red. Red meant “no limits” and permitted almost everything short of manslaughter.

The new temporary holder of that red badge was already topless, slinging a pretty girl in a short-cut raincoat over his shoulder. She wore nothing else bar some heels that were clearly not meant for walking and the familiar sight of almost-healed bruises on her butt cheeks.

John wished the guy a good time. People were generally respectful enough to keep their more … acquired urges a bit away from the public, so on weekend festivals, soundproof booths had been set up for the occasion. Some of the older ones had an impressive amount of claw-marks inside.

He tried to bury the version of himself that had those memories somewhere deep inside, if only to keep himself from panicking. He needed to be sharp, efficient, persuasive. Despair was not an option. He cut through the performing area of a uni-cyclist who’s unicycle didn’t exactly have a saddle, prompting a few angry shouts, and finally rushed down the train station steps.

‎
The festival was always a bit nauseating to John. He loved this city, even though he wasn’t born here. Nobody was, as citizenship required informed consent, but this was his home more than any place else. Even though there was almost always some completely mad party going on that he somehow always had to wade through. Today, he found himself uncharacteristically annoyed by it. He was simply in too much of a rush.

Thankfully, the station was almost empty. Breathing cool air and being able to hear the echoes of his own footsteps was doing wonders to slow his heartbeat. He waited, resisting the urge to pace up and down the platform like an impatient child. Distraction found him before it became too much of a problem.

The young woman that approached him announced herself with the loud clicking of broad heels, from which long legs didn’t quite disappear under a colorful plaid skirt that was too short to even being to cover anything, showing off the fact that she wasn’t wearing any panties. A tight white tank top wrapped neatly around an impressive chest, yellow badge pinned to one of the shoulder straps. She hurried towards John with a concerned expression, yelling through the echoing train station.

“Help me, please,” she called out, heels tumbling to a stop in front of him.

John gave her a look.

“I need your help. Please,” she repeated.

When he didn’t reply, she pulled her shirt up, letting a firm pair of well rounded breasts bounce free, metal bones through her nipples reflecting the cold train station light.

“You have to help me,” she reiterated, “there isn’t *any* cum on these yet.”

John pried his eyes away a second later than he would have liked, then gave her a look.

“I’m busy,” he said flatly.

“Waiting for a train?” The playful sense of urgency disappeared from her voice as she dropped her character.

“Why aren’t you at the party?”, he deflected, trying not let his eyes wander back down. This was as pretty a pair as he had ever seen, but he didn’t want to encourage her.

“Why aren’t you? Oh that’s right, busy.” She moved to pull her top back down, but hesitated when she noticed that John did let himself look, intended as a goodbye. That put some warmth back into her voice. “Although, you do look like a successful multitasker.”

“I—”, John started, then hesitated.

In a city like this, you learned not to feel bad rejecting people, if you had that privilege. John couldn’t help feel a bit guilty about this one, though. She seemed like fun in all the ways he could think of, and he *was* just standing there waiting for a train. She didn’t know that her youth and easy humor reflected something John was trying hard not think about right now.

She capitalized on the delay, nonchalantly grabbing is hand in hers and running it over her firm breasts, puffy nipples traveling excitedly under his fingertips. As a slut firmly below his class, he could have just ordered her off. Slapped and spanked her into submission. Pretty much almost anything that left her no worse off than soiled and disheveled. Instead, John found himself frozen, somehow stuck finding the right thing to say to reject her. He even found his hands exploring. Squeezing. Fondling.

She leaned in closer, slipping a hand ‘under’ her excuse of a skirt, the softest moans accompanying her breaths.

He looked for a way to tell her he’s not interested, but the rising bulge in his pants made that sound about as dumb as claiming he was busy.

“You could be busy squeezing me against the nearest wall,” she whispered in a shaky tone, “taking my plug out just long enough to drive yourself up my tight little ass until it forces me onto my toe-tips.” She pronounced every other word with a needy exhale, doing the bulge in his pants no favors. “I know your type. Once you start you won’t stop until you …mmff… have taken *everything* you want.”

She was nuzzled against him now, his hands still exploring, their gazes locked. Her soft moans slowly descended into wild ones, escaping through the side of her lip-bite while her body erupted into little shakes. She started to whisper more naughty things, but was cut off by the arriving train.

Despite the fact that she seemed a well aimed finger-flick away from orgasm, he lifted her by her hips to make her stand up properly, then left her and boarded the train, raging bulge and everything.

‎
The train wasn’t too crowded. He let himself sink into the first empty seat he found, leaning his head back against the softly vibrating glass. Trying to organize his thoughts, he let out a long sharp breath, but found himself trapped in a mess of little still-frames of all the things he would have done to this girl on literally any other day. He could play horny sluts like that like instruments, and she had definitely made him hear the music. A tune he would gladly sacrifice a hundred times over to get where he was going in time.

Adjusting his tie for no particular reason other than to have something to do, he scanned the train.

A few people reading books, checking their phones, or fucking quietly in various sitting-positions. A woman in a fluffy black dress, absently playing with her dog tag on a collar, teal badge holding her auburn hair up on a pin. Yes, perfect.

“Excuse me,” he called out loudly, finding her among the few people that turned to look. He motioned her for her to come walk over, and she rose to join him without hesitation.

Close up, John couldn’t have guessed at her age. She had a young yet mature quality about her, from the wide hips supporting her slender frame, to the freckles that framed her too discerning eyes, to the self-assured half-smile her face seemed frozen in. That smile widened when she raised an eyebrow at the bulge in his pants.

“Do you need someone to take care of this?”, she asked, deep silky voice in a playfully meek tone. Instead of waiting for an answer, she was already leaning on his knees to slowly sink onto her own, seeking and maintaining eye contact.

There was something untamed about that smile of hers. With a slight purse, her full lips practically begged to be put to work. Watching her start to undo his pants, he couldn’t help but smile back at her. This strange woman had an uncanny way of putting him at ease.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again after a few seconds, rolling his eyes back when her fingers peeled his hard cock free of its confinement. That first touch was like breaking the seal to a mood he had tucked away for later, warm and comforting. John wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination, leaving her to hold a thick straight shaft she could fully wrap both of her small hands around.

She bit her lip as it hardened further in her grip, eyes breaking free of him to take stock of her charge. She just looked at it, cocking her head from side to side, lazily moving her wrist up and down. After a long moment, she sank to drag her tongue up the underside of his shaft.

John brought his hand under her chin to stop her, positioning her face to look at him again.

“Please,” he said, “mind the suit, Pet.”

She responded by letting his cock bounce free, hooking her fingers under his pants and boxers to pull them a bit further down his lap, then brought her hand back around the base of his erection.

Another lick came from where her thumb held him steady all the way up to his fremulum, a few tongue circles concluding the greeting. She couldn’t stop smiling, even as she started to wrap her lips around him, slowly sucking her way downwards.

A warm shudder washed over John, which prompted a full-mouthed giggle from his slut of choice. He leaned his head back against the window, closing his eyes, letting his racing thoughts vanish as if they burned up in the heat of her touch, floating down the car like little pieces of ash.

She worked his cock like she was trying to win it. Her lips rushed up and down with firm suction, a tight grip massaging whatever didn’t disappear into her mouth with a little upwards twist, fast and determined. It was like she demanded his pleasure, and it spread through him in full agreement.

Her other hand found his balls, kneading them with a delicate precision. John didn’t moan a lot, but had he not been on a train right now, she would certainly not lack feedback.

He opened his eyes to watch her work, and if she was pretty before, she was mesmerizing now. Her full chest, barely hidden by the wide cleavage of her dress, jiggled softly with the bobs of her head, neck muscles tensing to the same tune. Her freckled cheeks maintained a studious bend inwards as she sucked, full lips—that where somehow still smiling—leaving and reclaiming a wet trail where she jerked him into her mouth with her fist. Her eyes were closed now, giving her a look of serene concentration that was hard to reconcile with the force of her movement.

He started throbbing in minutes. She just simply *belonged* on her knees on a cock. Then again, few people that applied for a slut badge didn’t. Words formed from a moan as John opened his mouth.

“You’re way too good at this!”, he breathed quietly, “Can you keep it going for four more stops?”

Their eyes met again as she opened hers, a wide grin trying to form around his glistening, rock-hard manhood. She peeled her hands off him to rest them on the skin his thighs and continued her work hands-free. Slower now, if not by much, swallowing him whole with ease, then releasing him again. He just relaxed into the pleasure, the skin of his entire body starting to crackle with little sensations.

Every time she slowed down a bit in response to his throbs and twitches, her mouth felt that much more intense, a sweet warm and wet torture that they could have both ended in the space of a heartbeat. It was an intimate dance between strangers, where he held back and she let him.

“Mind if I take this end?”, a voice that suddenly invaded his space inquired. He let his eyes open to find a bushy-bearded construction worker gesturing at the woman that kept disappearing him between her lips.

Great! He forgot to ask for the badge.

With his wide triangular build and his untamed beard, he could have looked a bit like a pirate, if it wasn’t for the iconic purple boiler suit. The city didn’t exactly *need* construction workers, considering that hard labor was completely outsourced to machines, but some of the men liked that kind of workout, so a few firms took a few contracts. The women clearly agreed, judging from the flock of them that would usually find all sorts of pressing concerns near a construction site.

Refusing the guy now would mean to let the moment slip away, so he closed his eyes again and nodded.

“Be my guest,” he simply replied, the clicking of buckles and the sound of a rustling dress not far behind.

The eventual rocking and muffled moaning did nothing to slow the pretty little slut down, however. If anything, it made her more eager, like she was trying to pass on the extra pleasure.

When the train’s speakers blasted the familiar jingle before announcing his target stop, he ran his hand around the back of her neck, holding her down deep.

He finally let go of the immense tension in his pelvis, his cock trying to throb against the tight confines of her throat, strenuously stretching her out. His whole body tensed, crawling with anticipation. One of his hands clawed into the seat-leather next to him, the other pressed her face against him harder, which in turn caused her to start pushing her fingernails into his skin. Then he started exploding in powerful spurts, her stuffed throat trying and failing to swallow. He suppressed a groan when the sensation of release completely overtook him, making him actually quiver as he splashed coat after coat of freshly milked cum deep against the inside of her neck. When he was all emptied out, he slowly relaxed again. Only then did he release the her head.

Despite having turned a bit red, she ejected him slowly. When he opened his eyes to look, she was looking right back at him, the eerily intense clam of her gaze now interrupted by thrusts from behind. He found himself a bit disappointed at the waterproof makeup.

She grabbed his cock just before it fully left her mouth, taking a few more deep mouthfuls before sticking it back into his boxers to avoid any stains. Good girl.

“Good girl,” he repeated out loud.

His brain started to work again. With it came the worries and the sense of urgency he had so expertly been distracted from.

She cast another smile behind her shoulders when the man who railed her from behind plucked the badge from her hair. It hesitantly started to uncoil, falling in waves over the freckles that peppered her shoulders. She looked at John again, giving him a wink of all things! He wasn’t sure who had been using who here.

He left as soon as the doors hissed open, putting his pants back on in stride.

The government district was never closed for business, which made sense given the nature of a lot if its functions. That meant no festival, so instead of an ill fitting medley of songs, John found birdsong trying to fight through urban noises of traffic and crowds.

The streets weren’t busy, but not exactly empty. People in mostly office-appropriate outfits hurried about, disposable coffee mugs or phones at the ready.

A women in a long but tight-fitting teal dress that had one strap torn was wobbling down the street carrying her shoes. She passed someone getting railed against the hood of a car, bottom half of her pants-suit missing, her limbs wrapped around whoever was thrusting into her. It produced a steady rhythm of metallic thumps and someone on the opposite side of the street was yelling at them to keep it down, phone pressed against his suit-clad chest. It was a much nicer suit than John was wearing. Too nice a suit would make people less charitable.

The Ministry of Sluts stood up ahead, rows of windows stretching far into the sky, continuing long after the rest of the skyline had given up. Where it wasn’t glass, it was a deep metallic red, making the grey-ish blues around it seem especially ordinary. The big twin double-doors of it’s entrance were blacked out, a cute little hint at something untoward going on inside.

That must have seemed clever before the full depravity of a day in this city had become apparent, John supposed.

He hurried inside.

‎

The Ministry’s atrium stretched wide and equally as high, rows of balconies hinting at the activities on the upper floors. Downstairs, the rich furniture bathed his eyes in red and gold, printed columns and glass displays telling the story of their founding and culture, interwoven with rows of cushy round couches. A few people lounged there, filling out documents or letting their eyes follow the hospitality staff while they waited.

John couldn’t blame them. The whole point of the hospitality staff was to make sure you went about your business clear-minded, and they were excellent at both revealing who needed to be taken care of and taking care of those needs. Whatever negotiation advantage the Ministry lost there, they made up with saving on unnecessary paperwork. As such, they hired only from the finest the city had to offer.

A massive desk sat between elevators doors in the center of the room, the words “LIBERTATEM·AB·OPTIONE” written in bold curved letters above it. As John approached it, the nervousness started to bleed from wherever he had tucked it away at.

A tall curvy young woman on the other side greeted him with a smile, wearing the same tight but revealing uniform that the rest of the hospitality strode around in, dark red with a broad-mesh fabric that helped accent her features.

“Welcome to the Ministry of—”, she stared, but John immediately cut her off.

“I am here to veto an approbation,” he blurted out, a little more forceful than he had liked.

The woman gave a slight shake of her head, blinking. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m sorry. It is quite urgent. My name is Jo—”

“I have already scanned your badge, Sir,” she cut in, practiced professional smile returning as her fingers flew over a touch-screen with quick taps. Then the smile vanished again. “Oh. Oh dear. I will slot you in for the next free desk, Sir.” She eyed him with a sympathetic expression, then added, “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” he replied, heading to one of the sofas and letting himself fall into the cushions. Relaxation would not come, however, so he almost immediately sat back up again. He tried his best not to shift in his seat, arguments repeating in his mind in preparation. This would work. It had to.

When his name was finally called, he rushed towards the elevator as calmly as he could.

Long moments later, he found himself at a nondescript office door at the end of a long corridor of office doors, knocking. He went in at the same time as the reply came.

‎
“Come … in?”

The room on the other side was surprisingly like a government office. A plain desk with plain office materials and a plain little palm tree, a plain leather sofa on the other side. Printed texts and pin-up pictures lined the wall in grey metallic frames.

He noticed that the woman in those pictures was the woman that rose from the desk, albeit in much more provocative clothing. Now, she wore a long sleek grey dress with a suit jacket over her shoulders, wearing her blonde hair in a non-nonsense bun. She was barefoot, her shoes resting at the foot of the sofa. Tablet in hand, she walked to lean against the front of her desk, motioning for John to sit as she presumably tapped through his case-file.

“Hello John,” she began, her deep clear voice radiating a well-practiced familiarity that came from repeatedly dealing with strangers’ concerns. “My name is Maya. How are you today?”

“I am here to exercise my 15th tenet right,” he said more calmly than he felt, dispensing with the pleasantries right away.

“I am well aware.” She tapped on her tablet a few more times. “You want to motion against someone’s citizenship.”

“My daughter,” he clarified.

“Your daughter,” she said at the same time.

A long pause hung in the air before Maya continued on.

“And what are the grounds for your motion, John?”

“I …” The question struck right into the heart of his worries. “It’s just not the kind of life I want for my daughter. Both her parents lived here, and she wants to belong, I guess. I told her not to come. Told her I would veto it if she tried. But she thinks she is all grown up now.”

“Technically she is.”

“She’s still my little girl.”

His case worker raised an eyebrow at that. Damn. He had studied the laws in case this would happen. He was here to make a legal appeal, not an emotional one. He swallowed, trying again.

“As a second class citizen I have the right to motion this on the grounds of a potential emotional conflict.”

“You have,” she admitted, tapping around on her tablet. “Although I regret to inform you that her train already boarded an hour ago.”

That hit John like a brick. An hour ago? It was supposed to be in the evening. He was barely able to pluck a question from his racing thoughts.

“She hasn’t been approbated yet, though, surely?”

“Yes and no. She’s in this very building finalizing her paperwork.”

In this building. The Ministry of Sluts. Her paperwork. Getting her badge. John felt sick, memories of his adventures turning on themselves as they swapped actors.

“Can I see her? I could talk to her? The motion could still be registered before her badge is delivered.”

She gave him a reassuring smile, sliding the tablet onto her desk without looking.

“We could do that, John. Or …”

“Or?”

“Or you could stop being such a hypocrite.” The warmth suddenly disappeared from her voice, her eyes staring not at, but into him. “Who do you even think you are?”

“I am her father,” he said before choosing to form the words.

“They *all* have a father. You’re a handsome guy, John. You have an energy about you. How many impressionable young sluts have you lured into whatever little fantasy you wanted to work out of your system? How many father’s little girls have you helped soil, never even having to ask permission? I’m not asking to know, as I have the badge contact trace, I am asking so you can get your unprincipled pretty little head out of whatever misconception you have it stuck in.”

John tried to cut in with a reply, but he didn’t have one.

“This is the Ministry of *Sluts*,” she continued, “and you barge in here without an appointment, sounding like a Mono. Is that what you think of this life, that we are sinful depraved abominations? Because you certainly have an odd way of living those convictions.”

John started to rise, determined to go find his daughter on his own. He had no reply to anything this woman said, but he had to try, didn’t he? No, security would throw him out before he made it down the hallway. He settled back down as she went on.

“There is something we could do,” she offered, in a much warmer tone. “All that anger you feel, that frustration at your failure, your helplessness…”

His what? She slid open a drawer on the side of her desk, her gold badge suddenly in her fingers. She disappeared it into the drawer, fishing out a red one.

“Why don’t you take all that out on me? It’s not my fault, but we can pretend it is.”

Putting the freshly printed red badge into her other hand, she reached into a drawer again, pulling out a slim black leather collar. She turned around, jacket dropping to the floor as she faced away from him.

“You don’t have to leave here like this, with all that confused, pent up emotion, John.”

She wrapped the collar around her neck, fixing the buckle, then slowly peeled the straps over her dress over her shoulders.

“You don’t have to leave here a mere man. You can leave here a god. Free. Powerful.”

The dress eventually slid down her back. She jiggled her round butt to shake it free, exposing the well defined curves of her figure. Stepping free of the discarded dress, she turned around, fully bare.

“Punish me for my sins, John. Punish me for all the sins. Pin me to the floor and let. It. All. Out.”

She tossed him the badge and leaned back against her desk, sticking her chest out, smiling a provoking smile as she lightly swayed her shoulders in a taunting slow-motion jiggle.

John sat holding the red badge in both hands, staring at it. Scenarios involving his daughter pounded against his skull from the inside like a hailstorm. He did feel helpless. He did feel rage. Trying to to let on to the tears starting the swell behind his eyes, he eventually looked up at a naked Maya, who grinned defiantly.

“If you break me, maybe I’ll tell you your daughters badge color.”

John rose, pulling his belt out of his suit-pants with a clenched fist.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/mbt0rg/city_of_the_meek_fictionfree_usefmffmale_pov