The Trial and Punishment of Henry Wurtz

Story by leeter

femdom, feminization, futa, futa/futa, futa/male, male to futa redemption, transformation, rape, non-consent

Hello everyone,

This is my latest story and it's about the redemption of a man named Henry Wurtz, who finds himself going to a prison with futanari guards.

Be advised, this story is more about the plot than the sex but I have tried my best to give the events a natural flow. The environment is intended as one where sex is a commonplace occurrence and it certainly doesn't mean there is no sex. I hope you will enjoy it for what it is.

As a note of caution, there is a minor death involved in the first chapter. You have been warned.

In the future a process is invented that allows individuals to assume the

sexual characteristics of the opposite sex as well as maintaining their own

sexual characteristics, the result of this process is a futanari. During the

course of this process the person undergoing it may choose to customize their

body in various ways as to suit their whims or fancy, however any change is

permanent and irreversible. While initially a fringe practice, futanarization

grew in popularity as time went on. The transformation was at the genetic

level, creating a permanent third gender, genetically dominant. The gene

had a habit of jumping genes, children of futanari and another, regardless

of gender, were inevitably always futanari.

Forty years later nearly two thirds of the populace is futanari. Criminologists

noticed that futanari had a significantly lower crime rate; they

proposed a law that would allow judges to sentence prisoners to ‘rehabilitation.’

This euphemism for forced transformation initially horrified congress

and the public, and yet opinion changed as fiscal hardliners pointed out the

savings to be had. As it was prisons had already become less burdensome

to operate as prisoner count dwindled even as the number of futanari grew.

The law passed in congress by a single vote, the senator who cast it swore

he would never be elected again and immediately signed up for conversion

himself; she was re-elected in a landslide vote.

However despite the benefits, outrage brewed deep in the conservative

south and west. Heterosexist groups began to pop up, while most were

peacefully political, some were not; choosing to take up arms against a law

and a majority that they viewed as assaulting their values and way of life.

The moderates began to polarize as the extremists were forcibly ‘rehabilitated’

by futanari judges. Worse, many upon completing their rehabilitation

denounced their former views and comrades, championing the futanari

cause.

I was four when my mother left my father; I remember only the argument and the slam of the door as she left my father screaming obscenities as she left; I wouldn’t realize until later what he meant by a ‘large dicked cunt.’ My

sister and I were told that she was a good for nothing whore and if we knew

what was best for us we would obey god and do as we were told. I think

she, who was seven at the time, understood more I did, which in retrospect,

is probably the source of the troubles I would later get into.

As I grew older my father’s conservative views soaked into me like a

sponge; had I learned to think, I might have rejected the indoctrination I

received, but I did not. The only disconnect to me was how he treated my

sister Jenny. She was tall and beautiful, flowing auburn hair down to her

waist and a well formed bust, shapely hips that spoke to a fertile future. Yet

to my father she might as well have been the devil incarnate. I do not recall

a night that she did not cry herself to sleep; her low sobs audible through

the thin lath and plaster walls of our home.

My father beat into us that the futanari were the servants of Satan, their

dual gender the mark of the beast. Isolated in rural Missouri it was hard

not to think otherwise. We were beaten if we watched the news, the media

considered corrupted and subservient to their futanari masters. Visitors

were not encouraged in our town under any circumstances, viewed with

suspicion as government spies.

-----------------------------------------------

My first encounter with a futanari even today makes me shudder, we

didn’t get many visitors to town as was, and this one was especially not

welcome. She was a census worker, tasked by the government with enumerating

the citizens of our county for the constitutionally mandated decennial

census. She came in with her clipboard and began asking questions of folk

that despise curiosity, looking back at it now I can see that this wasn’t going

to end well.

It happened that night; my father pounded on my door and bade me

grab my shotgun. The town didn’t really have a hotel per se, more a room

that was rented to guests over the store. We gathered outside the store.

Hal Jinkens, the town sheriff had her cuffed and hooded on the ground. My

father approac

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