Futa On Male Comics

I went to visit the set where my chaste fiancee, the award-winning actress Whitney Lockwood, was shooting her new movie. When I heard she was shooting a bed scene, I frowned but still agreed. However, her scene partner, a young actor named Yarden Stein, could not get into character. Whitney grew impatient. She said they should do it for real. I stopped her and said they could use a body double instead. She slapped me across the face and glared at me with teary eyes. “Yale, this movie is very important to me! I have to make sure it’s perfect! Or do you think my first time matters more than the career I love most?” In the next second, she tore off all her garments and climbed onto the young actor without hesitation. She turned to look at me. Her eyes were full of sorrow. “I’ll imagine Yarden is you. Then, it will be no different from being with you.” I watched them slowly prepare for the scene. I heard the clapboard snap as filming began. My face stayed blank as I made a phone call. “Blacklist Whitney and Yarden. Anyone who still hires them will be making an enemy of the Foster family.”

In the dead of this frozen apocalypse, the shelter's fusion core was on the verge of overload. I grabbed my repair kit and sprinted for the basement, only to have the guard captain's girlfriend, Miranda Dunn, step right into my path. "Everyone, come look! Zach’s about to dump poison into the vents. He's gonna kill us all!" Her voice cut through the air as she shrieked. "I didn’t approve a private room for him two days ago, and now, he wants us all dead!" The guards didn't bother asking questions. They slammed me hard against the freezing metal door. "Zach, are you going to kill us all over a room? We're taking you in for interrogation!" I stared at the control panel, its readings spiking into the red, and shouted, "If the core blows up, none of us will make it out alive!" But they were too busy trying to impress Miranda and brushed off my warning, thinking I had lost it. Nineteen minutes remained before the core exploded.

For seven years, I've kept my identity hidden while secretly helping my girlfriend, Natasha Doyle, become one of the top designers in the world. A major design awards ceremony is being held tonight. My plan is to reveal my real identity and propose to her after she receives the award. But then, I see her walking up on stage, hand-in-hand with Connor Gibson, her partner in the design studio. "All of Natasha's accomplishments are the result of my hard work and effort," Connor proudly declares. Natasha smiles and nods in agreement. "Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am now." Thunderous applause rings from the crowd. The camera flashes keep going off. I stand in the corner, my heart in despair. As I walk out of the venue, I make a call. "Cut off all the funding and investments into Natasha's studio. Don't help her with the patent infringement lawsuit either. Let her deal with the legal consequences herself."

When my wife, Sandra Lane, finally returns from her business trip, I pin her against the wall, my lust overwhelming my rationality. Halfway through our session, Sandra's phone starts ringing all of a sudden. She quickly pushes me off her body before grabbing her phone. "Sandie, I'm feeling a little uncomfortable. Can you check out what's wrong with me?" A racy video is soon sent to Sandra's private chat. Angered, I question Sandra, "Has William gone nuts? Why did he send you these videos? Is he going to keep badgering you just because he can't find himself a wife?" Sandra responds by slapping me instantly. "What the hell are you talking about, Steven? What's with that gutter mind of yours? I've just rescued William from another city! His parents are already dead, so I'm the only one left in his life! Naturally, I'm obligated to take good care of him! "You disgust me to no end, Steven! Hurry up and apologize to me right now, or else we're getting a divorce!" Sandra and I have been married for six years. During these years, she has used divorce as a threat against me multiple times. But when I'm with Sandra, I've already confessed 1001 times to her. Upon noticing my silence, Sandra just smiles smugly, thinking that there's no way I will ever leave her. But this time, she's wrong.

I'd made plans to spend New Year's Eve with my fiancee, Sophie Bennett. I'd even rushed home with a custom cake I picked up just for us. However, my smile slipped the second I walked in. A photo of Sophie and me that was hanging on the wall was being used as a dartboard. Her guy best friend, Sean Hewitt, had one arm wrapped around her waist while casually throwing darts at it. "Oh, hey, you're back?" he said with a grin. "Perfect timing. We're playing Truth or Dare." The words had barely left his mouth when another dart hit the photo—right in my face. My chest tightened as I parted my lips to call him out. Yet, Sean only laughed. "Wow, hit you again? Guess even fate thinks you two aren't meant to be." Then, he added, all fake innocence, "Don't get the wrong idea, alright? It's just a game. Sophie and I are basically bros. You're not seriously bothered by this, are you?" I stood there, completely still. As I stared at that photo completely riddled with holes, I couldn't help but think it looked a lot like my heart at that moment. Sophie gave him a half-hearted scolding. "Alright, cut it out." But Sean just put on a wounded look and kept his arm around her waist. Sophie only smiled helplessly before turning to me with clear impatience. "Sean's just messing around. Don't stand there with that look on your face and kill the mood. It's just a photo. We can print another one tomorrow. Stop being so petty."

I went to the hospital for a minor surgery, but when I woke up, I found myself locked inside a psychiatric hospital. Just as I was about to look for a doctor or nurse to explain the situation, the intercom suddenly buzzed. “There are currently 40 patients in this facility. The administration has discovered that impostors have infiltrated the group and are using up shared resources. “Starting today, there will be one public vote each day. Everyone will work together to vote out the impostor. Anyone voted out will be executed on the spot. “The voting period will last five days. If all impostors are eliminated within five days, the patients win and are allowed to survive. “If the game ends and any impostors remain undetected, all patients will be wiped out and the surviving impostors will be safely released from the facility.”

My brother-in-law had a sudden heart attack. The doctor said only my wife could perform the specific surgery he needed. It was a critical situation. By the time I finally managed to get through to her, her childhood sweetheart answered the phone. "We're just about to head out camping," he said casually. "We won't be coming back tonight." My heart sank. "Ryan had a heart attack. He needs surgery immediately. Tell her to come back to the hospital—now." Instead, my wife's irritated voice cut through. "Are you done? How dare you make up a lie like that and curse my brother!" Before I could explain, she hung up. When I tried calling back, her phone was already off. In the end, my brother-in-law died because the window for surgery closed. And my wife lost her mind.

Our third wedding anniversary was coming up, but my wife, a programmer at a major tech company, suddenly claimed she had to work overtime to meet deadlines. She said she couldn't go on the trip we'd planned. That very afternoon, however, her intern posted a video on social media. My wife—the same woman who normally wouldn't even open a door for fear of chipping her manicure—was holding a screwdriver, repairing an old flip phone. The caption read: [Having a programmer wife is the best. Even when Grandma's phone breaks, we don't need to pay for repairs.] I chuckled, liked the post, and commented: [Right up her alley.] Within minutes, the company group chat exploded. There were over ninety-nine unread messages speculating on when I'd finally snap. Not long after, my wife called. Her voice was ice-cold. "What was that comment supposed to mean? How is Shawn supposed to face anyone at work now? "His grandma's phone broke, so I fixed it. What's the problem? Your parents have always spoiled you. You can't possibly understand real hardship. "Delete the comment. I'll make it up to you over the New Year; we can take that trip then." The New Year? I'd already waited through two other major public holidays. I'd even taken special leave for this trip, and she still bailed. Now she was dangling empty promises again? I hung up on her. My leave ended around the same time as our divorce cooling-off period.

After my mother shot down my pleas to cover my medical bills the 100th time, I clutched my bone cancer diagnosis papers and trudged to the crematorium. "Hi, I'd like to reserve a cremation slot ahead of time," I muttered to the clerk. Half an hour ticked by before my parents and adopted brother arrived in their car. My dad, a forensic pathologist, cracked me across the face. "You're pulling a fake-death stunt now, just to steal the spotlight from your brother?" My mom, a hospital director, snatched the papers from my hands and shredded them into confetti. "Faking records using my credentials and tying up hospital resources? You've crossed the line!" My brother cried, tugging at their sleeves. "It's all my fault. I'll skip the amusement park forever. I don't need a thing. Just quit riling up Mom and Dad." I spun around, my hand pressed against my throbbing chest, and begged the crematorium staff. "Please, when it's time, cremate me and scatter the ashes in the river. I've got no family left in this world."

Flynn Watson, the actual heir of the Watson family, reported me for cheating during the exams. As I stared at both copies of the test papers with perfect grades and the same answers, I found it difficult to explain what happened. Everyone took Flynn's side. Because of that, I was painted as a cheater, which resulted in my exile from the Watson family. The Watsons went as far as to get me blacklisted from all industries just so they could appease Flynn. I ended up on the streets as a homeless person, where I got tormented incessantly. In a daze, I got hit by a car. I still failed to understand why my test papers would show the same answers as Flynn's even when I was on death's door. When I open my eyes again, I've gotten reborn on the day of the exams. This time, I choose to not write anything on the exam papers at all. I'd like to see just how I can be branded as a cheater now that I'm not given any marks at all.