Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)The vaults were designed to keep a microcosm of human life sustained through the fallout, yet the architects knew certain supplies would be subordinate to vital resources. In Vault 77, it was decided that one person would be designated to care for the vault's primal urges, that one inhabitant would exist for the sole purpose of being used by the other vaultdwellers once condoms and birth control ran out. This person would need to be incapable of pregnancy, have a ceaseless sex drive and an eagerness unmatched by even the pornography circulating the enclosed space. Therefore, a boy was chosen to take the role of the vault's slut, but that would not be enough. The boy had to be desirable to as many of the men as possible and to accomplish this the boy had to be androgynous, a creature whose beauty would be undeniable after years of seclusion behind the entrance.
Violet Hargreave was the only one for the job. At sixteen he was selected for his purpose in the vault. Standing at a mere five-foot two inches, the boy was blessed with feminine features and smooth skin that made him the perfect candidate for the Slut of Vault 77. He awoke in his private quarters, a sparse metal room with one piece of furniture: a full-sized mattress covered in a black rubber sheet. A series of chains hung from the pipes along the ceilings and the walls hung several toys, whips, cuffs and collars for his guests to use. His closet was filled with a variety of outfits and shoes befitting a boy of his position, though he mostly stalked about the vault in his own custom-made vaultsuit.
The lithe blonde awoke lazily, squirming beneath the soft blanket that covered his naked form and swiping his foot through a pool of last night's pleasure that had yet to dry. He blinked in surprise and smiled softly to himself. Violet did not remember bringing a man back to his room, but there was every possibility that someone had come to use him during the night while he slept. Each day was spent being used until total exhaustion and the boy had frequently awakened with the dim recollection of a man creeping into his room for late-night satisfaction. The femboy drew himself from the bed to shower in the tiny stall within his room.
He emerged from his bedroom an hour later, standing six inches taller in a pair of high-heeled, brown leather thigh high boots. His PVC vaultsuit reached into the shafts of the boots, a series of buckles along the boots cinched them to his body. The vaultsuit was a full catsuit with a high collar up his neck and a double-zipper construction. It could be unzipped starting at the collar or, more commonly, it was unzipped from just above his plump rear to allow anyone access to the boy. The blue suit was contrasted with the word "SLUT" stamped in bright yellow on the lower back and a number "7" on each ass cheek. The sleeves of his suit disappeared into brown leather, shoulder-length gloves that also bore straps buckling it to his arms. His hair was done in a pair of familiar pigtails, his eyes heavily shadowed and his lips painted in a glossy pink that would stick through hours of abuse.
Violet felt the hungry gazes of men the moment he stepped from his bedroom. His own blue eyes met each gaze in kind-- they all knew he would fuck them anywhere, anytime. He stood for a moment, hands on hips and looking along the corridor at the handful of dwellers who studied his emergence. The blonde breathed in a soft sigh of contentment, drinking in even the hateful glares of the vault's women. They knew the boy's penchant for seducing "taken" men, heard rumors of how eagerly he pursued newly weds and fathers-to-be. It was a sneaking suspicion among the women of whether or not any man had refused the boy, especially when menstruation seemed to hit the entire female population at once.
He turned on toe toward the cafeteria and set off in a patented strut that made their heads turn. Each footfall was gracefully placed one before the other, his sashay a bouncing sway of his hips that popped his rear from side to side in a forbidden tease. Nineteen years old and well versed in seduction, he smirked to himself at the hush that followed his passing. The clack of his heels against the metal punctuated his approach, his eye meeting the lustful looks of men as he made his way into the cafeteria. Violet paused at the door, laying a hand on the chest of a man who walked with his pregnant wife.
"Chester, congratulations on the new baby," the slut smiled, ignoring the venomous look of the woman next to him, "Let's celebrate the occasion-- just you and me." The femboy's hand trailed down the man's chest and softly groped the man's crotch. The woman gasped and Chester blushed heavily. He flashed Violet a shameful look, trying to pretend as though he hadn't already visited the femboy over the last few months. Before the two could begin their dispute, the femboy strutted away to grab his breakfast.
He sat alone at the diner bar, idly picking at his plate and dimly wondering who had come to fuck him while he slept. His legs crossed delicately, one foot bouncing in boredom. It was only morning, Violet knew full well that someone would find him soon enough. And if that didn't work, then he could just go wait in the showers for whoever to appear.
Violet Hargreave was the only one for the job. At sixteen he was selected for his purpose in the vault. Standing at a mere five-foot two inches, the boy was blessed with feminine features and smooth skin that made him the perfect candidate for the Slut of Vault 77. He awoke in his private quarters, a sparse metal room with one piece of furniture: a full-sized mattress covered in a black rubber sheet. A series of chains hung from the pipes along the ceilings and the walls hung several toys, whips, cuffs and collars for his guests to use. His closet was filled with a variety of outfits and shoes befitting a boy of his position, though he mostly stalked about the vault in his own custom-made vaultsuit.
The lithe blonde awoke lazily, squirming beneath the soft blanket that covered his naked form and swiping his foot through a pool of last night's pleasure that had yet to dry. He blinked in surprise and smiled softly to himself. Violet did not remember bringing a man back to his room, but there was every possibility that someone had come to use him during the night while he slept. Each day was spent being used until total exhaustion and the boy had frequently awakened with the dim recollection of a man creeping into his room for late-night satisfaction. The femboy drew himself from the bed to shower in the tiny stall within his room.
He emerged from his bedroom an hour later, standing six inches taller in a pair of high-heeled, brown leather thigh high boots. His PVC vaultsuit reached into the shafts of the boots, a series of buckles along the boots cinched them to his body. The vaultsuit was a full catsuit with a high collar up his neck and a double-zipper construction. It could be unzipped starting at the collar or, more commonly, it was unzipped from just above his plump rear to allow anyone access to the boy. The blue suit was contrasted with the word "SLUT" stamped in bright yellow on the lower back and a number "7" on each ass cheek. The sleeves of his suit disappeared into brown leather, shoulder-length gloves that also bore straps buckling it to his arms. His hair was done in a pair of familiar pigtails, his eyes heavily shadowed and his lips painted in a glossy pink that would stick through hours of abuse.
Violet felt the hungry gazes of men the moment he stepped from his bedroom. His own blue eyes met each gaze in kind-- they all knew he would fuck them anywhere, anytime. He stood for a moment, hands on hips and looking along the corridor at the handful of dwellers who studied his emergence. The blonde breathed in a soft sigh of contentment, drinking in even the hateful glares of the vault's women. They knew the boy's penchant for seducing "taken" men, heard rumors of how eagerly he pursued newly weds and fathers-to-be. It was a sneaking suspicion among the women of whether or not any man had refused the boy, especially when menstruation seemed to hit the entire female population at once.
He turned on toe toward the cafeteria and set off in a patented strut that made their heads turn. Each footfall was gracefully placed one before the other, his sashay a bouncing sway of his hips that popped his rear from side to side in a forbidden tease. Nineteen years old and well versed in seduction, he smirked to himself at the hush that followed his passing. The clack of his heels against the metal punctuated his approach, his eye meeting the lustful looks of men as he made his way into the cafeteria. Violet paused at the door, laying a hand on the chest of a man who walked with his pregnant wife.
"Chester, congratulations on the new baby," the slut smiled, ignoring the venomous look of the woman next to him, "Let's celebrate the occasion-- just you and me." The femboy's hand trailed down the man's chest and softly groped the man's crotch. The woman gasped and Chester blushed heavily. He flashed Violet a shameful look, trying to pretend as though he hadn't already visited the femboy over the last few months. Before the two could begin their dispute, the femboy strutted away to grab his breakfast.
He sat alone at the diner bar, idly picking at his plate and dimly wondering who had come to fuck him while he slept. His legs crossed delicately, one foot bouncing in boredom. It was only morning, Violet knew full well that someone would find him soon enough. And if that didn't work, then he could just go wait in the showers for whoever to appear.