Light Penetrates

Jules sat and waited with his hands folded in his lap, eyes cast down at the ground.

There had been no chairs in the room, it was one of those places not designed to be stayed in, so they'd had to push one out from next door for him. The lights were low, hazy; everything only half-seen. There were a dozen soft hums and clicks, liquid gurgles and latex creaks. A soft and indeterminate place, and the longer you spent in it, the more you tended to dissociate. At least if you were somebody like Jules, and not one of the people it was made for.

Occasionally a muffled voice came either from one of the neighboring rooms or murmuring came from one of the sealed cubes where parts of bodies jutted like sights in some clinical and lecherous menagerie. Lips wrapped around slick gags that pushed the mouth out and wide enough for Futa cock, shaping faces into aquiline plateaus of fleshy pinks and browns around dark voids where alien tongues flapped anonymous and isolated. Rear-ends turned either supine or prone, slick with oil, elastic holes winking and already slightly agape from prolonged use. Tubes connected to their caged clitties collecting impotent loads pushed out through communal use.

The idea of being a pen male, to some extent, still made Jules shudder. They had done a lot to remove the stigma and the risks, but he still remembered how they had been looked at for most of his life. Males with some fundamental brokenness. Some inability to integrate or some unesirability so deep and unchangable that it was essentially terminal. A marker of troublemakers, sex-addicts, properties of a household that had fallen in stature. Even with the improvements, it wasn't something any man aspired to. You'd still rather be a slave to a good home.

A Futa came lumbering casually into the room and gave him a queer look before walking down the line of cubes and marking a clipboard idly. As she reached about midway down one of the rows, she stopped and set the clipboard up on the shelf of bodies, then reached into a dark nook and pressed something unseen. With a click, the cage she was nearest unhooked and its black latex prism slid free into her hands. She held it up, male and all, at eye level with a sort of disinterest. Reaching out, she popped the gag free from his mouth.

"Please," It breathed after popping its jaw, "Fuck me! My pussy is so hungry for you."

Jules hadn't been sure what he'd expected the man in the box to say, but it hadn't been that. The Futa snickered to herself and tucked the cube under her arm before grabbing the clipboard again.

"Not likely. You clocked in eight hours ago, that means you're due for at least a two hour break. Hell, everybody's in good enough health, they might have you take a full twenty-four."

"No!" The voice whined lustily, "I don't need rest, I need cock!"

"Your drugs will start wearing off soon," The Futa sighed as she made her way out with the box under her arm, "And even if you're still horny by then, your hole isn't going to be able to cash the checks your mouth is writing."

The male was still whining and protesting as they left. Whatever part of Jules was disgusted by how he was acting, he couldn't actually judge too harshly. Jules had tried a dose of the cocktail before, and lost the rest of the day in a lusty blur. You needed it if you were going to spend much time accommodating a Futa sexually without it permanently changing you to the shape of her. Of course, that meant that most Futa who owned their own men took a near-religious distaste to him using it. That high was followed by about an hour or two of feeling the worst you'd ever felt. But no long term effects. At least not that anybody could tell. He didn't even want to think about pen work before they'd come up with it. The turnover rate had probably been about a thousand times higher.

"You," An aging Futa craned her neck out of the door behind him and grunted, "Get in."

Jules rose and followed her through the door. She was unflatteringly pale, dark hair messy. Body marked by tattoos that had once been decorations but which had become deformed or warped by the wrinkles and sags of her skin. An abstract mosaic of colors and noise now. Pock-marked by holes where piercings had once been and shining with several more where they still remained. Both puckered about, wincing like scars. She seemed more squashed and wrung-out than her age would suggest. Expensively dressed, breasts still firm, but flabby. Coughing from her chest in a way that rumbled wetly. Somebody who had done her best to never surrender, but who was losing nonetheless. As she sat down and lit a cigarette, she sat back with a prolonged groan. Her peers looked at her without any affection.

Nina stood in front of a crescent table and Jules came to stand in front of her. She set a large hand on his shoulder almost protectively. Her back was straight and strong, the outline of her muscles visible through her shirt and slacks. Underdressed, considering the formal attire the other Futa were wearing. Even her crotch was adorned only with a few leather straps and meager decorations that she'd refused his attempts to make more impressive. She was practical almost to the point of embarrassment.

"Honey," Nina said softly but coldly, "These are the special committee overseeing my next mission. We've had Leah, Shannon, and Chelsea over before."

Jules nodded to the three Futa sitting from the left to the center. Leah and Shannon were something of an unofficial couple, a pair of tall blonde military types. Chelsea was department head of the agency Nina worked for, though Nina seemed to mostly answer to herself. A willowy, dark-haired, overly-nice, and shockingly young woman for her position living the bachelorette life. She had to know somebody. All three had visited to try more than just Jules's casserole. Working with a couple like Leah and Shannon had been exciting, though certainly a challenge. But they didn't have a man of their own, so he didn't have to try too hard to impress them. Chelsea, on the other hand, balanced the stress of her work with yoga, tantra, massage and all manner of vaguely spiritual things. Entertaining her had been... a test of endurance, and more literal of a stretch than he was used to. Nina had needed to carry him to bed when she was done. Jules hoped Chelsea would visit again soon.

"The two on the right are Stephanie and Quinn," Nina gestured. Jules could swear he heard something in her voice get colder. "Steph is the leader of the organization I'll be working in tandem with. Quinn is the vice-chair in the parliament. We need her signoff for this, so she's been overseeing things. She's also Lady Amber's daughter."

Quinn, the tattooed older Futa, grumbled under her breath and shuffled her notes. Chelsea gave her the side-eye. So far as Jules knew, Lady Amber was the most popular leader that the Futa had ever had, even if she was nearly old and soft enough that she couldn't hold office any more. Any ill-will towards Quinn from the others certainly didn't come from grudges with her mother. But, knowing just how epidemic nepotism was in Futa society, her position almost certainly came from her mom sitting on top. He wondered how deep it ran. If she was the first in line to become Lady when Amber eventually stepped down. That was the kind of thing that would probably fast-track some resentment.

Stephanie gave him a look somewhere between disinterest and outright dislike. She was a brunette, paunchy in a slightly canine way, with a haircut that didn't help dissuade the comparison. She looked like a career middle-manager. A man was under the desk in front of her servicing her, and as she wrote something down he watched the handle of her man's leather leash move in her clenched fist.

"Hello," Jules bowed his head meekly, refraining from adding anything else. Even tolerant Futa tended to prefer men that were seen and not heard, and most of these did not strike him as tolerant Futa.

"Nina tells us she trusts you," Stephanie pushed her glasses up her nose and folded her hands, "Miss Chelsea also speaks to your character, but I intend to be sure. How long have you been a slave?"

"All my life, ma'am." Jules bowed and lifted his skirt enough to show not only his cage, but how his number tattoo had been stretched by age to cover more of his stomach than normal.

"And how long have you been Nina's slave specifically?"

"She bought me from a male education program as soon as I became old enough for service," He nodded nervously, "She's had me for almost a decade."

"According to her, you've had nothing but perfect behavior." Stephanie nodded to him encouragingly, "You're sure there's nothing missing there? No talking back? No unapproved cage removals, not even the occasional skipped chore?"

"No ma'am," Jules swallowed heavily. "Mistress has never given me any reason to act up. She always speaks kindly to me, she never asks me to do anything unreasonable, and even taking my cage off just to bathe feels weird. I can't imagine running around without one on."

"You say she's never given you reason to act up, but males act up without reason all the time," Quinn cleared her throat. "The male brain develops differently than the Futa, they are innately irrational."

"Yes, ma'am." Jules bowed again, "But Mistress has done a good job stifling my innate irrationality."

"You're well-spoken for a male," Chelsea interjected before Quinn could keep pressing.

"I've been told so, ma'am."

"Did Nina teach you how to read?" Quinn interjected.

Nina stiffened, her hand tightened just a bit on Jules's shoulder. There was no law against men reading, nor one about teaching men to read, but it certainly wasn't something that was looked on kindly. And since it was effectively impossible to disprove, it was the kind of accusation that could stick around nastily. Before either of them could respond, Leah cut in.

"Will you relax?" She leaned across to look at Quinn as she grumbled. "Nina is our best agent, we have no reason to doubt her."

"I'd like the question answered" Stephanie waved her hand.

"No, Mistress never taught me how to read," Jules shook his head. If there was any sort of record of events, even just putting the question out there had already achieved Quinn's goal. "In the youth program, I was told that I was gifted by male standards. But, since I never showed the rebellious behavior that most gifted males did, I avoided pen time or disciplinary assignment."

"A gifted male, but a perfectly behaved one too." Stephanie shook her head.

"What's the catch?" Quinn scoffed, "When do we get to the punchline? Do you have some kind of disability? Prone to episodes of mania?"

"He's been recommended because there is no catch," Chelsea gestured at nothing in particular. "You asked for a male that could handle the job, and now you don't trust Nina when she brings you one?"

"I don't trust things that look too good to be true," Stephanie shrugged, "I suspect Administrator Quinn simply feels the same way."

"There's always a catch," Quinn grumbled. "Just because we can't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there."

"Perhaps you'd like to go with a male whose deficiencies we can track and rewrite the mission to accommodate," Leah prodded a folder sitting on the desk in front of her, "You'd have to rewrite and rebudget accordingly, of course."

"That's not the threat you think it is," Quinn rubbed her eyes, "Exhausting as that would be, the people paying that budget might prefer it to working with an unknown."

"If I may," Nina spoke very softly, but the whole table turned to look at her in unison, "So long as a man is involved, there will be a risk. Obviously, I trust Jules. But if you insist on a no-risk mission, send me in alone."

"Absolutely not!" Shannon finally spoke up, "Science Minister Jaye was adamant about how we were supposed to run this. Minimal damage. The technology these men have makes a direct assault impossible without substantial risk to both our troops and the things we're there for. Even if you weren't killed or permanently incapacitated, this isn't a knot you can cut, it has to be untied. Sending a man in with you remains the best chance of that."

"Then give me Jules," Nina said simply. Her voice made it clear that she wouldn't accept any other man.

The Futa at the table exchanged glances for a moment. Quinn looked annoyed, Stephanie looked bored. The other three nodded in agreement, Stephanie gave a noncommittal gesture and Quinn scowled.

"If you're putting your name and record on his success, we have no choice but to trust him," Stephanie looked at Nina severely.

"We have plenty of choices," Quinn protested, "But you've got the rest of them by the balls. They might have agreed to a dog if you'd put your foot down hard enough."

A series of annoyed looks shot Quinn's way as Shannon and Leah signed the folder, then passed it to Chelsea, who passed it to the others. When the four of them had signed off, Chelsea took it back and handed it to Nina.

"Am I... not going to stay in the pens while you're away?" Jules looked back up at Nina.

"No, I didn't want to tell you until it was approved, but you're coming along with me." Nina rubbed his shoulder.

"You're going to be helping Nina with a very important job," Chelsea smiled at him a bit condescendingly. "It's a secret though."

Stephanie pulled out a remote and pressed a button to lower the lights in the room. Then she pressed another and a single bright beam shot from a suspended projector in the ceiling. Dust motes swam lazily in its path along the stifling air of the windowless room and crossed the ray like embers. The image the project cast was a stark, wide stretch of desert. The only reason you could make out the figures tucked into one corner of it, peeking up over one of the dunes, was because they had been circled and that portion blown up and overexposed in the bottom corner. They were slinking along in garments the color of dead leaves, backs turned to the sun and no skin exposed to it.

"Though we have no shortage of scientists, our most significant technological advancements in recent memory have come from unearthing pockets of male technology." Shannon explained. "Not all wild men are as uncivilized as each other. There are pockets of them which have insulated themselves from the outside world. Incredibly technologically advanced, perhaps far beyond even our wildest dreams, but with no comprehensible long-term prospects for survival or prosperity."

"Wasting it," Nina interjected.

"I'm sure they think they're getting good use out of it," Chelsea interjected and got a snicker from a few of them, "They wouldn't have lasted this long if they weren't at least capable of understanding it. But obviously it would be better put to use in our hands."

"Where did they get it from?" Jules asked innocently.

He was broaching a major taboo, both speaking out of turn as a man and also asking about the past. The Futa already, even among each other, didn't talk about before. There was an expectation of unquestioning obedience to what existed now. Even in the face of evidence that their society didn't exist in some eternal, permanent present, a Futa was expected to put her head down and not question it. A man was expected to have not seen it.

"Men have been around longer than Futa," Nina gave him a surprisingly direct answer. "We replaced them."

"Replaced is the wrong word." Shannon gestured to the room around her. "They were poor stewards of this world. They were violent, shameless, and wasteful. They didn't know the teachings of the goddess. We've replaced their position as rulers, but they're still here. And still allowed to share the world with us, so long as they respect their place."

"I thought-" Jules started before Nina's hand squeezed his shoulder.

"The teachings are different for men," She spoke softly but definitively.

"What men have the right to understand is up to them, but the Futa must have the full say in what the men are allowed to know." The wet, sloppy sounds from beneath the table started to louden. Stephanie kept a tight grip on her leash. Jules looked at the man below the table again and realized he had his face covered in a latex mask with heavy padding around the ears. Blinded and deafened, but a wide hole left for his mouth. "Ontologically, the men in these vaults are not people. Until they are ratified and legitimized by Futa, they are things."

"You're wasting multi-syllable words on a man," Quinn sighed and sat back. "Just tell him what his job is."

"The simple version," Leah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The table was positioned in such a way that she couldn't help but see Stephanie's boy-toy and it seemed to be starting to get to her, "Is that we're going to put a tracking device on you and have them take you in. When we have their location, a small assault force will be able to neutralize them without a prolonged fight and without blasting the whole desert into sand. Anything that the two of you can do while inside to subvert their defenses and fighting capabilities without damage would be beneficial. The cleaner the operation, the better."

"If there's such an emphasis on cleanliness, what makes a task force any less risky than sending me in alone?" Even though Nina was professional, Jules could hear a stab of pride in her voice.

"We have no questions about if you can," Chelsea folded her hands, "Your ability to take on even well-armed males is not in doubt. But we're dealing with some manner of radio-jamming technology and weaponry that surpasses our own. We're more adverse to the idea of sending you into unknown risk than we are to you doing damage."

"But there will be risk," Nina shrugged.

"Risk is non-negotiable, but we want to do everything we can to mitigate it. At the point where our plans break down, your expertise is put in our utmost trust." Chelsea was familiar with all the best therapy words and methods of phrasing things diplomatically. She was used to getting what she wanted.

Quinn pulled a phone out from her stack of papers and started tapping at it idly, the pale light making her face almost paper-white in the gloom. Jules looked at her in awe while the other Futa glanced over in annoyance. Ever since he'd learned about them, he'd done his best to keep their house at the top of every list for a phone, but they were rare. Most of the people who could actually get one didn't even bother with the lists, they just knew somebody. They were new. Slow to make and expensive beyond belief. The economy of things was almost entirely shaped that same way. Who got electric lighting, who could get a replacement battery for the old solar cars. Some of them things that the Futa had just recently 'learned' how to make, some that they were burning through the last of an old stock. They had grown a lot in the past decade, but things were uneven. Jules and Nina had gotten hooked up to the power grid a year ago, but their plumbing still ran from the temperamental old pipes where individual points of failure could leave their sinks running rust-colored for days.

"But what keeps an assault force from doing the damage that I'm trying to avoid?" Nina pressed.

"That's the difficulty, and the male crux." Chelsea gestured toward Jules. "At the very least, we need him to disable whatever their jammer is, so the assault force can even reach you. But anything else he can do to make the transition of power smooth and easy will pay dividends for the mission. We can't know what form that will have to take. Disabling security measures, spreading pro-Futa thought among the residents, anything and everything in his power. We don't need anything more than the minimum from him, but everything else he can do will be a testament to Males as a species."