Dylan Martin was in the least awful circle of hell.
That hell was the Futareich, a militaristic, authoritarian war-state dominated by a genetically engineered superhuman third sex on the basis of an ideology of their own total supremacy. As a male, Dylan was at the lowest rung of that society, more or less enslaved.
Nevertheless, Dylan considered himself lucky. The least awful circle of that hell was almost certainly the Verstandshieb labor camp, his current place of residence. Well, it was more like his prison, really. Still, even though he'd rather be back home in Albion or in the University dorms in Paras than within the razor-wired boundaries of Verstandshieb, if he absolutely
had
to be an enslaved captive in the Futareich, better here than anywhere else.
Chalk clacked pleasantly against his chalkboard as he continued his calculations. He'd done math like this so often he didn't need to give it his full attention, so as he scrawled his equations he continued to contemplate his situation. He'd been a grad student at the University of Paras when the city had fallen to the Futareich. That was a day he didn't like to remember. Futa soldiers marching into the city unopposed. Mass rapes which his female classmates didn't particularly seem eager to avoid. Men, including himself, stripped, beaten, and loaded onto trains bound for the heart of old Vemar, the core of the Futareich. While he shivered in that train car, naked and afraid, apparently some Futa official read his name on one of the university's lists of exemplary students, and moved his name from one list to another. And so, instead of being sent to bash rocks with a pickaxe in the Bodenshieb iron production labor camp, Dylan was here, doing pretty much the same thing he'd done at university: Advanced Mathematics.
Verstandshieb was unique in the Futareich. Like all Labor camps, its purpose was to forcefully extract male labor on behalf of the State. Unlike the others, however, the labor extracted here was mental rather than physical. In practice, it really was almost like he was still in University. The grounds were set up like one, with long brick buildings built around a broad, open grassy space in the center. The Chief Warden even preferred to be addressed as "Professor" rather than the normal "Mistress".
"You forgot to carry a two, there," purred a soft voice in his ear. Dylan practically jumped, frantically turning to look up at the imposing figure standing disconcertingly close behind him.
"Um, Professor! I... uh, sorry, I just..."
"Calm down," she said evenly. "Everyone makes mistakes."
Sofia Braut technically had the rank of Lieutenant Colonel within the Hingmact, the largest branch of the Futareich's armed forces, but she didn't act, dress or speak like a military commander. For a Futanari she was practically diminutive at a mere six foot six, almost short enough to pass for a female. Unlike every Futa soldier or guard he'd seen, she wore a dress instead of a military uniform, an embroidered dark purple garment that covered her from ankles to neck, quite conservative in cut, though the way it clung to her curves was certainly provocative. That said, curves like hers would have been provocative in a burka. She had the body type typical of the Futanari. Toned, athletic arms, slim, feminine shoulders, massive, obscene, unbelievably large breasts, a tight toned waist, broad hips with a powerful yet well padded posterior, and finally thighs that could generate more force than a hydraulic press. A single slit ran from the hem of her skirt to the side of her hip, which, if she shifted her weight in a certain way, would reveal an intimidating glimpse of one of those terrifyingly powerful legs.
Oh, and of course somewhere under that skirt, between those thighs, lurked a monster. As of yet, Dylan had never glimpsed even a hint of the thing, thankfully. The camp guards seemed to take any opportunity to wave their Futahoods around, but Sofia kept hers completely shrouded in cloth and mystery.
"I'm sorry, Professor," he repeated dumbly.
Her auburn ponytail swayed as she shook her head slightly in exasperation. "You're plenty clever, Dylan, but you need to develop some focus." Her eyes scanned his chalkboard. "Are those the equations I set you on this morning? The solutions look plausible but the process looks... different than I expected."
"I figured out a faster way to sort the matrices," he explained, pointing.
"I see," she said, sounding moderately impressed. "I've never thought of that. Does that short cut always work?"
"As long as A is greater than zero," he clarified. Otherwise your denominator for this part winds up being zero, and well, that's bad. If you give me any problems where A is less than or equal to zero I'll use the old fashioned way."
"That's actually quite brilliant. Well done."
"I... well... thank you," he stammered. To his shame he felt a small ember of pride glowing in his chest at her praise.
He knew more about math than she did, of course. Her knowledge was broad, but not particularly deep. Still, she knew enough to ask engaging, challenging questions. To answer he had to think about what he was doing in new ways. Most days when they spoke he could pretend for a while that Sofia really was just a professor and not the chief demon of this particular circle of hell. But that wasn't going to happen today.
"Time to stop for the day," She said abruptly.
He glanced at the clock. "Really? But it isn't even four o'clock yet."
