I'm back! Sorry for the long delay, life got busy and then I forgot to check if Gurochn was currently around.

Onix, I get it, but in my stories, I always like to have a clear line between those who are free to kill, and those who do the killing. It might be nekos, it might be under 21, it can be any number of things, but in this particular story 'femboy' is not a choice, it's not a clothing style, it's a legal status, a recognized category of subhuman. I might use 'boy' sometimes, but there is a fundamental difference between 'femboy' and Mark's hypothetical little brother who likes to wear a skirt, to say nothing of trans girls. Hope that makes sense for why I do it :)

That said, let's get on with the show! if this update is popular as well and people still care, the next one won't take nearly as long.
As it turned out, Sammy was a pretty good cook. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, any decent femboy training program would require it. They had a nice lunch, or rather, Mark had a nice lunch while Sammy got ready for cheer practice. He applied lipstick, little sprinkles of glitter, and a skirt so thin and short that it was far more modest to just go nude.

Mark drove them across campus, Sammy sat in the passenger seat, without a seatbelt, smiling and rubbing his owner’s cock through his pants. He liked being in the car. He had been strapped to the top of a couple, in the bed of one truck, and been clipped by a drunk driver one time, but he had never gotten to ride inside the car, it was much nicer than being on the roof.

They arrived at the stadium and Mark got Sammy signed in. Other femboys were already warming up, and owners were in the stands. Mark spotted one of his friends on the team, waiting for the show. Several other femboys sat on the grass of the field, gossiping, giggling, these were the alternates, the first one who would be called up as the lives of the initial group of boys inevitably ended. The coach jogged out, an older man, not as fit as the players, but you could tell that he still stayed active. He blew a whistle and pointed. “Form a line! Last one not standing on the white line dies!”

The threat didn’t scare the boys, there was more giggling and good natured pushing as they hustled to obey. The punishment might not scare them, none expected to last the week, but they were still hardwired to jump to obey a command. The last few were falling into place when one curly haired boy tripped and fell. He got up immediately and hustled to his spot, it was only a second or two, but he was clearly the last. He winced as he saw that, being the first to not be up to standards was embarrassing.

The coach had been on the sidelines, he opened a long case and pulled out a nice shiny javelin. He hopped two steps forward and tossed it with a loud grunt. The man clearly practiced this, the long shaft flew straight and true before skewering the slowest moving femboy. They may have been conditioned to accept whatever happened to them, but they were still basically human. The boy looked down at the sporting equipment that had pierced his belly and was sticking more than a foot out his back. He gasped in shock and started to cry as he sank to his knees, but his training kept him from trying to pull it out. He was losing a lot of blood, it wouldn’t matter for long. The first boy from the sidelines came over, hauling the clumsy one away before he was even properly dead and taking his place.

Ignoring him, the coach got a metal baseball bat and joined the adorable cheerleaders. He pointed at Sammy, the first in line. “Step up here and do a cartwheel” he ordered. Sammy smiled “Yes sir!” He took a few steps back from the group, still beaming, and launched himself into a cartwheel, arms and legs out perfectly, and he completely three full rotations before coming back to standing, bouncing eagerly. It was a pretty basic skill for these boys, but Sammy was especially good at cartwheels in particular and he enjoyed them.

The coach nodded. “Nicely done, pretty good for a first practice.” Sammy beamed at the praise. The man pointed the bat. “You next.” A pretty ginger stood up and also did a perfectly respectable cartwheel. They went down the line. When it was done, the coach walked up to the third boy. All of them had done fine, but his third rotation hadn’t been as crisp. He grabbed the boy, lifted the cheerleader skirt and forced himself into the tight femboy butt, slapping nice round ass cheeks. The boy yelped and gasped at the rough treatment, but pushed himself down on the coach’s meat, enjoying it real men were uncommon, even the ones who lived didn’t know when they might get it again.

To the surprise of very few when the coach was done, he took the bat and beat his fucktoy until he was definitely dead. A football player near Mark rolled his eyes “Fuck! That one was mine, a nice tight ass on him, that’s a shame, little fucker didn’t make the cut. I wonder if that counts against my one a week?” he shrugged, it wasn’t a big deal if it did, he had brought one from home.

After running a few laps, a sweaty and happy Sammy ran over, hugging his owner “Did you see my cartwheel?” Mark laughed “I did buddy, you did good! The ginger is prettier, but you were better at the exercises.” Sammy looked at the ginger, on a leash and already getting slapped around. Hopefully with a few bruises, Mark wouldn’t think he was still prettier. But he had survived the first practice and might get to be a cock sleeve all night long, that was a pretty nice start.