Chapter Five

The silence of the room was broken only by the muffled, frantic noises escaping Rikki’s throat as she realized the full depth of the situation she was in. The pink silicone of the ball gag was a solid pressure against her tongue, forcing her jaw into an aching, wide-stretched position that made every attempt at speech a humiliating failure. She stared up at the man standing at the foot of her bed, her brown eyes wide with a mixture of terror and fury as she recognized the smug, misogynistic features of Scott Wolfman. The man she had worked so tirelessly to deplatform and destroy was now witnessing her total degradation firsthand, his presence in the room transforming the air into something that felt cold and invasive.

“Mmmph! Mmm-nn-gh! Hmph-mmm-gh!” she cried out in muffled angst.

Rikki’s throat worked frantically, her vocal cords straining against the obstruction as she tried to demand an explanation, but the only sounds she could produce were humiliating, helpless whimpers that seemed to fuel the dark amusement on Scott’s face. She could feel her surgically enhanced breasts thrust out in front of her, the sensitive peaks pressing against the air as she sat up on the sheets. Beside her, Marcus stirred, his arm still draped possessively on one leg as he watched his brother with a grin that was identical to the one Scott wore.

“I don’t think she’s very happy to see you, Scott,” the younger brother remarked, his voice thick with the satisfaction of a man who had thoroughly enjoyed his night.

Scott let out a low chuckle. “Oh, I can see that. Listen to her. She’s putting on quite the show with that thing in her mouth.”

The man leaned down until his face was inches from Rikki’s. The blonde felt a surge of pure hatred, her mind screaming for her to strike out at him. Get the fuck away from me, you disgusting creep! She screamed inside.

“Mmm-nn-gh! Hmmnghhh!”

The transformed woman’s muffled protests were met with nothing but a mocking grin. Beefcake moved his head to the side and noticed the small metal padlock keeping the gag firmly in place, and let out a wolf whistle.

“How about you unlock that and let her speak, Marcus?” he commanded his younger brother. “I want to hear what the great RikkiRoar has to say.”

Marcus reached behind Rikki’s head, his fingers fumbling with the lock for a moment before he pulled the strap loose. He yanked the pink ball from her mouth, the sudden release causing a string of saliva to trail across her chin as her jaw muscles cramped from the prolonged strain. The blonde woman gasped, her tongue feeling thick and dry as she gulped in the air, her face flushing a deep shade of red at the indignity of the situation.

“What the fuck is this?” she screamed out. “And what the fuck are you doing here?” Her voice was raw and desperate as she pulled herself back, as far away from her mortal enemy as she could muster.

Scott remained perfectly still, his eyes tracking her retreat patiently. He adjusted his stance and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes focused on the way her massive implants jiggled with each panicked breath she took.

“I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer, Rikki,” the chauvinist said, his tone carrying a note of playful dismissal.

He didn’t wait for the blonde to retort or launch into another desperate scream. Instead, he lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers with a sharp, echoing pop that seemed to trigger a physical reaction in the very center of Rikki’s brain. The sound wasn’t just audible; it felt like a bolt of lightning striking the base of her skull.

“Yes, Master,” a familiar, gritty voice spoke inside her mind.

Rikki’s heart thudded against her chest as she recognized the auditory signature of Viz, the supernatural being that had dismantled her life piece by piece. However, the entity no longer sounded like a helpful and amused passenger. It sounded like a servant acknowledging his Master. The internal sound made her stomach twist with a sudden, overwhelming nausea, but the feeling was quickly drowned out by a wave of heat that flooded to her groin.

Before she could even contemplate what had just happened, the former feminist’s body acted on its own. Rikki watched in absolute terror as her hands, tipped with those long red acrylic nails, moved toward her thighs. Her legs, which she had been trying to keep tightly pressed together, began to slide apart with a fluid and deliberate grace. She felt the cool air of the room hit the sensitive skin of her inner thighs as she was forced to spread her legs wide, offering a total and humiliating view of her bare, recently used pussy to the two men watching her.

Rikki’s mind detonated with pure panic. No. No no no, don’t do it. Not now!

But her body betrayed her. One hand drifted down between her legs without any permission from her brain, fingers spreading her slick folds wide so the two brothers could see everything. Her voice came out breathy and sweet and utterly foreign to the woman screaming inside her skull. “I’ve been such a bad girl,” she purred. “I need a big, strong man to fuck me and show me who’s the real boss.”

Scott’s grin widened. “Now, that’s better.”

He stepped forward, already shrugging out of his shirt. Marcus moved in from the other side, hands already lowering his boxer shorts. Rikki’s mind howled so loudly she thought her skull might crack. Stop it stop it stop it. This is not me, I am not this person, I am not spreading my legs for the man I ruined, I am not—

Her hips lifted anyway, eager and inviting, offering herself up like a gift she had no choice but to give.

Marcus was the first to reach her, his hands fisting in her platinum blonde pigtails to yank her head back and force her gaze toward his brother. The woman gasped as the sharp pull on her scalp sent a jolt of unwanted adrenaline through her, her red-painted lips parting in a silent plea for mercy that her body refused to vocalize. She felt the mattress dip as Scott climbed onto the bed, his knees pressing into the fabric on either side of her hips.

“I have been fantasizing about this moment since the day you started your little crusade against me,” Beefcake said as he loomed over her.

He didn’t wait for her to respond, his hands coming down to capture her oversized breasts. He squeezed the firm saline mounds with a greedy force that made Rikki’s back arch, the sensation of his rough palms against her sensitive skin triggering a flood of heat in her belly. The former editor tried to turn her head away, to escape the sight of her mortal enemy claiming her body, but Marcus held her firmly in place.

“Look at him, bitch,” Marcus growled in her ear.

Rikki’s vision blurred with tears of shame as she watched Scott guide himself toward her. Her mind was a whirlwind of revulsion, a frantic, desperate need to scream, but Viz was in total control of her neurological pathways. Her pussy was already drenched, her body reacting to the commands of the supernatural voice with a terrifying obedience that ignored her internal protests.

Her enemy thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one deep motion. Rikki’s mouth fell open, a high-pitched moan escaping her throat that sounded entirely too genuine. The sudden fullness of him stretched her walls, the physical reality of the intrusion clashing with the psychological horror of the situation.

“God, you feel so good,” Scott muttered, his eyes locked on hers as he began a punishing, relentless pace.

Rikki’s hips bucked to meet every thrust, her legs wrapping around his waist with an eagerness that made her want to die. She could feel Marcus shifting around her, his hands sliding around to her shoulders as he pushed her against the mattress. The combination of their touch and the internal pressure from Scott was turning her entire body into a single point of forced ecstasy.

“Please, keep going,” her voice whimpered, the words bubbling out like a toxic trill. “Fuck your little bimbo until she… mphhh….”

Marcus had shifted his position, moving to straddle her chest while Scott continued to pound into her. Rikki felt her forced words muffled as the younger man pressed his cock against her glossy red lips. She moaned out as her enhanced lips wrapped tightly around the shaft, taking Marcus’s member while the man’s brother fucked her dripping pussy.

The blonde’s throat relaxed and swallowed Marcus deeper while her tongue worked him with desperate skill. Inside her own mind, Rikki was still screaming, a constant torrent of horror and self-loathing that only grew louder with every thrust that filled her. She hated how her body responded, how her pussy clenched greedily around Scott and how her lips sucked Marcus like she needed him to survive. Another orgasm tore through her against her will, and she came hard between the two brothers, her mind fracturing even as her body shook with forced pleasure.

Scott kept driving into her, never slowing, while his younger brother fucked her mouth with the same steady force. The former feminist could feel them both using her completely, and the shame of it burned hotter than any physical sensation. She tried one last time to pull away, to close her legs, to stop the moans, but Viz held her tighter than ever.

Scott moved his head around his brother’s body to get a good view of the woman’s bright red lips wrapped around the shaft. He grinned as he leaned down close while he stayed buried deep inside her. “I hope you’re enjoying this, because we can do this all day, princess.”

❖

Scott sat at the head of the dark marble dining table, expertly slicing into a piece of thick French toast while Marcus leaned back in the opposite chair, sipping from a glass of orange juice. The living area was an expansive display of modern luxury, with high ceilings and wide windows offering sweeping views of the city below. They were dressed casually, Scott in a dark robe and Marcus in a simple t-shirt, looking for all the world like two brothers enjoying a quiet morning together.

“Did you catch that highlight from the game last night?” Marcus asked, setting his glass down on the stone surface. “I just saw them on my phone; the way the receiver managed to snag the ball while diving out of bounds was absolute insanity.”

Scott nodded, his focus momentarily on his plate as he chewed. “I saw it. That play alone probably saved their entire season. The playoffs are still on, baby.”

“And the news about the space launch this afternoon,” Marcus continued, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “They are finally sending the crewed mission to the lunar base. I heard the landing sequence is supposed to be fully automated this time.”

“It’s about time,” the older brother replied, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “Automation is really becoming the backbone of everything these days. If you have the right code, you can make a machine do exactly what you want with zero margin for error.”

“Mmphh unghhh.” A sudden, muffled noise cut through the domestic quiet of the room.

Scott’s lips curled into a slow grin as he turned his head toward the far side of the open-plan living area. Marcus followed his gaze, his expression filled with a lazy amusement that mirrored his brother’s.

The desperate muffled sound came again, drawing both brothers’ full attention across the room to where Rikki stood locked in place. A set of wooden stocks encircled her neck and arms, forcing her hands up beside her head while a thick chain clipped to the ceiling kept her upright and unable to slump or twist away. Her ankles were secured in leather cuffs connected to a wide spreader bar bolted solidly to the floor, holding her legs apart and stopping her from lifting her feet or shifting her weight in any meaningful way. The same pink ball gag was back between her teeth, stretching her jaw once more, and she wore nothing but the stockings and heels from the night before. Her body remained completely exposed for the pair to view, every curve and secret on full display while she could do nothing to cover herself.

Rikki’s eyes were wide and filled with a searing intensity as she glared at Scott. She was fighting against the constraints with every ounce of her strength, her muscles straining against the wood and steel, but the deadbolt and the hook were tough, and they held her helplessly in place.

"Mmm-ph-gh! Hhnn-gh-mmm!"

The sound was a desperate attempt to demand release, but Scott simply laughed as he stood up from the table, taking his cup of coffee with him. He walked toward her with slow, deliberate steps, his eyes traveling over her exposed body with a perverted enjoyment.

The man stopped just inches from her, the aroma of the Colombian coffee from the mug in his hand wafting past her nose and mocking her thirst. He didn’t say anything at first, simply letting his eyes wander over the massive, firm mounds of her breasts. The former political editor tried to pull her head back as far as the stocks would allow, her teeth grinding against the silicone ball. She wanted to scream at him, to spit in his face, but the ceiling chain held her chin high and her vulnerability total.

The man reached out, tracing a grubby finger along her plump, glossy red lips. He watched the way her skin bunched and her eyes narrowed in a lethal glare. “You look like you have a million questions, Rikki,” he said, his voice quiet and disturbingly conversational. “I bet you’re dying to know how a smart, powerful woman like you ended up looking like this.”

“Mmph-mm-nnn-gh!” the bound woman groaned into the gag, her body twisting as much as the shackles would allow. The cold leather around her ankles bit into her skin as she tried to kick out, but the spreader bar kept her feet anchored and her pussy wide open to the man’s view.

Scott took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving hers. “I have to admit, I actually enjoyed the rivalry at the start. You were quite an enjoyable opponent, to be honest. The little tirades you used to post about my friends and me were great for engagement. Every time you ranted about male entitlement, my numbers went through the roof. It was like we were partners in crime.”

The blonde felt a surge of fury. This was just a fucking game to him, she thought. She hadn’t been playing a game; she had been fighting for the safety and dignity of women. He was a predator, and she had set out to neuter him.

“But then you took it too far,” Scott continued, his tone cooling as he set his cup on a nearby pedestal. “You started targeting my money. You went after the advertisers, pressuring them to pull their support from anyone you didn’t approve of. When my income started to take a hit, the game stopped being fun. And when you finally managed to get me banned from YouTube and TikTok? Well, that was the last straw.”

The man stepped closer, his chest almost brushing against her prominent chest. Rikki fought to keep her expression defiant, but the humiliation of standing there naked and bound while this asshole lectured her was overwhelming.

“I realized then that I needed to do more than just fight back,” Scott said, his eyes gleaming with a dark pride. “I needed to take total charge. I needed to get my revenge on the woman who thought she could cancel me without any consequences. And that was where Viz came in.”

Rikki’s eyes widened, her breathing intensifying as the name of her tormentor left his lips.

“You see, Rikki, Viz didn’t just appear out of thin air because you had a mental breakdown,” Scott began, the smirk never leaving his face as he enjoyed the view of his bound and naked rival. “He started his life as a high-end self-help AI, a piece of experimental software designed to enter the neural pathways of the human brain to accelerate the learning process. It was meant to help people master languages or complex skills in a fraction of the time, but the funding was cut after the government realized how easy it would be to exploit. They deemed the risk of neural override too high for public use, and the project was buried.”

The struggling woman let out a series of frantic, desperate grunts, her tongue pushing against the silicone ball in a vain attempt to interrupt him. “Mmph-nnn-gh! Hhnn-gh!”

Scott laughed, the sound echoing around the large room. “Fortunately for me, an online friend of mine managed to secure a copy of the code before the project was canned. He sent it over to me, and I realized that with a few specific modifications, I could do much more than just help someone learn a new skill. I realized that if the AI had access to the mind, it had full access to everything—motor reflexes, speech patterns, even the endocrine system. If I could program it to obey my specific commands, I could create the ultimate bitch controller.”

Rikki’s eyes were wide with a growing, absolute terror as she listened to the history of her own violation. She felt Scott’s hand run across her naked fake breasts, but as she tried to jerk away, the chain from the ceiling kept her spine perfectly straight.

“I knew you were a fan of Dua Lipa’s new track,” Scott continued, his fingers tracing the surgical scars beneath her mounds with a possessive entitlement. “I managed to have a specialized version of her single uploaded to a site I knew you used. I hid the code in the audio file, a subliminal digital signature that your phone’s processor would recognize and execute. All you had to do was listen to it once, and Viz was in. It was only a matter of time before he woke up and started his work…” Scott paused for a moment, “…and he’s done a fine job so far.”

Suddenly, that familiar voice spoke directly into the center of Rikki’s consciousness, louder and more confident than ever before. “Thank you, Master,” Viz said, his tone one of absolute, unswerving loyalty. Scott couldn’t hear the acknowledgment, but it echoed inside Rikki’s mind.

Rikki’s internal consciousness buckled under the weight of the confession. It was him! That fucking piece of shit did this to me! “Mmphhhhh! Unmpphhh!” the blonde tried to scream through her gag as she struggled against her hated rival’s touch, desperately to get free and punch the son of a bitch in the nose for destroying her life.

Scott chuckled as he watched her reaction, his eyes filled with glee. He reached out and resumed stroking the upper curve of her substantial breasts again, his fingers trailing over the smooth, taut skin with a deliberate slowness. The transformed woman’s mind recoiled from the contact, but the neurological override from Viz was already beginning to take effect. She felt a surge of unwanted warmth radiating from her chest, her body preparing itself for the pleasure it was being commanded to feel.

His hand continued its descent, tracing the flat expanse of her stomach until his fingers reached the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Rikki clenched against the gag so hard the muscles in her jaw began to throb, her eyes darting between the two brothers as she anticipated the next violation. She could see Marcus watching her with amusement in the background, taking in his brother’s demonstration of total control.

“I needed to teach you a lesson about what happens to uppity sluts who step out of line,” the banned content creator said, his voice dropping into a register of cold, quiet dominance. “And I think you’ve learned that lesson remarkably well over the last few months. Don’t you agree, Rikki?”

The man’s hand lingered on the woman’s inner thigh, his fingers brushing lightly against the sensitive skin as he looked straight into her wide, furious eyes. “The question is,” he said, his voice still carrying that same casual, conversational tone, “what to do with you next.”

Rikki’s eyes widened even further, and her teeth clenched hard against the silicone ball, the muscles in her jaw throbbing with the effort. No. No, please, not more. I can’t take any more of this. Inside her head, the panic was a living thing, clawing and screaming while her body remained locked in the stocks, completely exposed and unable to pull away from his touch.

Scott chuckled loudly, the sound rich and satisfied as it reverberated through the open living area. He gave the bound blonde’s bare pussy one last possessive cup with his palm before he stepped back just enough to look her in the face. “Viz might have a few ideas,” he told her, his grin widening with amusement.

He clicked his fingers once.

Suddenly, Rikki’s world went black.

❖

The notable clatter of six-inch heels echoed down the executive hallway as Rikki moved toward the CEO’s inner sanctum. Every strike of the platform soles against the polished stone felt like yet another blow to her reputation in a building she used to command. Her body moved with a fluid, exaggerated sway that the voice in her head ensured she kept at all times,  her hips swishing in an arc that made the short pink PVC skirt hike up even higher on her thighs. The material was cold and taut against her skin, and the matching tube top was so narrow that it bared her entire midriff, leaving her stomach exposed to the conditioned air of the corridor. Across the blonde’s chest, the silver FemmeVogue logo stretched over the voluminous mounds of her breasts, which were hoisted so high by the tight fabric that the surgical roundness of her cleavage was the most prominent thing about her.

Inside her mind, the original Veronica Reynolds was screaming an unceasing protest. She hated the way the pink stockings felt against her legs and the way the thin straps along the sides of her miniskirt hinted at a total lack of modesty beneath. She wanted to stop and run out of the building, but she had been summoned to the boss’s office, and Viz was going to make sure she got there safely.

“You really should relax, princess,” the AI entity spoke inside her head, his voice smooth and disturbingly calm. “You look exactly like the star you were meant to be. Just think of this as your new off-air uniform.”

Rikki’s stomach twisted tighter with every step she took down the long corridor, the sway of her hips forced upon her no matter how loudly she screamed inside her own skull. I used to walk these halls with power and respect, my head held high as the woman who fought for every woman in this industry. Now I’m nothing but a pair of tits and a short skirt on display for anyone who wants to look. The thought burned like acid, but her body kept obediently moving forward toward the main office on the floor.

The door to Daniel Newsom’s workspace loomed at the end of the hallway, and the former political editor’s pulse thumped even faster as she drew closer. She hated how the outfit made her feel like a walking advertisement for the very network that had stripped her of her editorial power. Every breath she took pushed her breasts higher against the tight tube top, and the cool air on her exposed midriff reminded her constantly that she was no longer in control of how she presented herself in these halls.

As she reached the outer desk, her focus shifted to the woman sitting behind it, and a jolt of pure shock managed to pierce through the distracting fog Viz had imposed on her. Rikki’s former assistant, Charisma, was sitting there, busy finishing up a phone call, but she was no longer the professionally dressed assistant Rikki remembered. The blonde former stripper was wearing a white blouse that was at least a size too small; the fabric stretched so tightly that three buttons were missing at the top. The deep opening revealed the mountainous cleavage of her enhanced breasts, a sight that made Rikki’s mind reel with the realization that even her protégée had been subjected to the same invasive modifications.

Rikki could only see the young woman from the waist up, but the transformation was total and devastating. Below the edge of the desk, the hint of a black latex miniskirt was visible, paired with black stockings that ended just an inch or two below the hemline. Her feet were encased in five-inch black patent stilettos that featured striking red soles, and she lacked any platform to ease the height of the arch. Charisma’s face was covered in a thick layer of cosmetics, with her lips painted in a high-gloss red that caught every bit of the overhead office glow. Her long red nails clattered against the table as she hung up the receiver, looking for all the world like a caricature of a submissive secretary.

“Charisma?” the former editor asked, her voice sounding thin and desperate as she looked at her friend. “Are you okay?”

The assistant didn’t look up immediately, her focus remaining on the screen in front of her for a few agonizing seconds. When she finally met her former boss’s gaze, there was no recognition of their former bond, only a practiced and cold professionalism.

“Mr. Newsom is expecting you, Ms. Reynolds,” Charisma said, her voice carrying a cheerful and hollow tone. “You should walk straight in.”

Rikki stood frozen for a heartbeat, the words hanging in the air like a slap. She searched Charisma’s face for any trace of the woman she had once mentored, the ex-stripper she had pulled out of that life and given a real future, but the eyes looking back at her were distant and guarded. The internal scream in her head rose to a deafening roar. What has that bastard done to you? I rescued you from a life of servitude, and now you look like this? You used to look up to me, and now you’re dressed like this, talking to me like I’m just another employee. The guilt clawed at her so fiercely that her knees threatened to buckle, but Viz kept her posture straight and her hips swaying as she forced herself to nod.

Charisma’s glossy red lips curved into a polite, empty smile that never reached her eyes. She gestured toward the closed door with one perfectly manicured hand. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Rikki swallowed hard, the taste of humiliation thick in her throat. She wanted to grab Charisma’s arm, to whisper that she was sorry, that none of this was supposed to happen, but the warning look in those eyes told her any further conversation would only make things worse for both of them. Inside her mind, the original Veronica thrashed against the cage Viz had built around her will. This is my fault. I let them turn me into this, and now they’ve turned you too. I was supposed to protect women like you, and instead I’ve dragged you down with me. The thought was so disgusting in her head that it felt like it was carving pieces out of her soul.

The new TV news anchor adjusted the hem of her tiny pink skirt, then took the final few steps to the wooden door. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she raised her hand, the long red acrylic nails catching the overhead light for a brief second. Every instinct told her not to walk through that door, that whatever she had been summoned for was likely worse than what she had been subjected to so far, but she had no choice.

Rikki’s body obeyed the command already planted inside her head. She knocked twice and waited for the voice that would summon her into the next layer of her nightmare.

❖

The door to the inner office yielded as the handle turned under a forced, graceful pressure. Moving into the expansive workspace felt like stepping into the lion’s den, a feeling Rikki used to relish but now dreaded with a passion. Daniel Newsom was positioned behind his wide executive desk, his back to the wide windows that overlooked the city, looking every bit the corporate architect of the network’s new, aggressive direction. He didn’t look up immediately, his focus seemingly locked on a set of papers before him, but the small, satisfied curve of his lips suggested he was well aware of the woman who had just entered his domain.

“I heard you wanted to see me, Mr. Newsom,” Rikki said, her voice sounding unnaturally high and airy.

The CEO finally looked up, his eyes traveling slowly from her feet to the pigtails resting on her shoulders before he offered a slow nod of acknowledgment.

“Come in, Rikki,” Daniel replied, his tone carrying a note of smug authority. “Please, don’t just stand in the doorway. We have a lot to discuss.”

The blonde moved forward, her body maintaining the exaggerated sway that made her inner self recoil in shame. She reached the center of the room and instinctively moved toward the spot where the guest chair usually sat, her mind desperate for the small comfort of a seat that would allow her to hide her exposed midriff and legs. However, as she drew closer, a jolt of alarm shot through her mind when she realized the floor was bare. The expensive leather chair was gone, leaving nothing but an empty space in front of the desk that forced her to remain standing.

Daniel watched the woman’s reaction with a knowing look, his fingers steepled in front of his face as he leaned back in his high-backed executive chair. He had clearly removed the piece of furniture before her visit, a calculated power play designed to keep her vulnerable and physically subordinate.

Rikki tried to remain composed, her legs trembling slightly from the height of her heels and the tension of her posture, but she couldn’t hide the flicker of unease that crossed her face. She stood in the center of his room, trying her best not to look uncomfortable as the man’s eyes rested on the silver logo stretching across her chest with quiet amusement.

“I’ve been going over the request that you submitted via email this morning,” Daniel said, picking up a printed document and tapping it against his palm. “I have to say, it’s a very interesting proposal. It’s certainly a bold direction for our company to take.”

Inside her mind, the transformed blonde felt her stomach drop with a dense and anxious thud. Request? She hadn’t sent anything to Daniel. She had spent the last twenty-four hours either in Marcus’s bed or trapped hanging from their ceiling. A cold realization washed over her as she thought of Viz and the way the AI had been manipulating her life while she was a passenger in her own skin.

Request? Rikki thought, her mind racing as she tried to imagine what the entity had done. What did he send? Oh god, what did he make me ask for?

The woman took a short step back, her brain firing off a desperate command to her vocal cords to ask for clarification, to question what kind of lie had been sent from her email account. I still have my words, Rikki thought to herself. No matter how much that asshole tries to control me.

“I’m, like, totally confused, Mr. Newsom!” Rikki heard herself chirping instead.

Her voice was a high-pitched, breathy disaster. It carried an over-the-top bimbo valley girl cadence that made her want to vomit. The blonde tried again, her face flushing a deep shade of red as she strained to find her normal, professional register, but the results were just as bad.

“I mean, like, I don’t even remember sending a request, but I bet it was something totally amazing because I’ve been thinking about the network so much lately!”

What the fuck did I just say? The former political editor screamed inside her controlled mind. Why do I sound like a California teenager who just got her first boyfriend? This isn’t me!

Her pulse raced when she heard the familiar, unnerving chuckle deep within the depths of her brain. “Do you like it, princess?” Viz asked her mockingly. “We thought that pretty little voice of yours could use an upgrade.”

Daniel continued to grin at her, seemingly delighted by her breathless and vapid display. He didn’t seem to notice the internal war raging behind her eyes, or perhaps he simply didn’t care as long as she remained compliant and visually pleasing. He looked down at the document again, his thumb tracing the edge of the paper as he prepared to deliver the news that would officially dismantle the remains of her professional dignity.

“The idea to keep your current slot with Liam is a solid one, but adding a second show at midnight is what really caught my attention,” Daniel explained, his voice smooth and professional despite the perverted glint in his eyes. “You suggested ‘Straight Talk Afterdark.’ A version of the news for the late-night crowd that isn’t afraid to be a little bit more... expressive.”

Rikki’s mind detonated with a sudden and absolute horror as the name of the new program left his lips. Expressive? She had no idea what he meant by that, but judging by the direction he was taking this former feminist firm, she knew she wasn’t going to like it. A news show at midnight, with a host that is already wearing barely any clothes in her prime time slot? She dreaded to think what he had in mind for the spinoff.

“I love the idea, Rikki, and I’m approving it immediately,” Daniel said, leaning forward to place the document back on the desk. “It’s a stroke of genius to keep the primary brand running while expanding into a second demographic. We need to reach those potential customers who find the traditional news format a bit too dry, and a more adult, risque version of the day’s events is exactly how we separate ourselves from the pack.”

The blonde felt the moisture gathering in her eyes as the reality of the situation crashed over her. Adult and risque? What? Does he want me spinning on a fucking stripper pole while I read off the teleprompter? She had been the woman who campaigned for the dignity of her peers, and now she was being turned into a midnight attraction for a demographic of men she despised.

“The first airing will be at midnight tonight,” the CEO continued, his grin widening as he took in her stunned expression. “We have the set ready, and an entirely new demographic of advertisers are already lining up to get a glimpse of our new late-night star. This is going to be huge for the company, Rikki.”

Rikki’s mind reeled in horror as the full weight of the new show crashed over her. A more adult, risque version of the news? She already felt like a porn star in the regular broadcast, and now they wanted her to go even further at midnight.

The humiliated woman opened her mouth to protest that there had to be some mistake, that she would never have suggested something so degrading, but Viz cut in inside her head with a mocking tone. “Not so fast, bimbo.”

Suddenly, Rikki watched in absolute terror as her own legs began to slide apart with a sensual motion, her pink heels stretching across the floor as she widened her stance in front of the desk.

One of her hands drifted down from her side, her fingers tracing the curve of her hip before moving toward the center of her miniskirt. She felt her hips thrust forward and her back arch, pushing her fake tits closer to the man sitting across from her as her fingers reached the hem of the PVC fabric. “I’m, like, so happy you like my proposal, Daniel!” she purred, her voice sounding breathy and dripping with a forced, sultry eagerness. “I would, like, literally do anything to make this network a success.” She began to slowly rub her pussy through the thin material of her skirt, her mind screaming in hopeless rage as her body performed the submissive, slutty gesture for the CEO.

Rikki’s boss chuckled at the sight of her fingers working between her thighs as he watched her body betray her in real time. “I had heard when I joined, Rikki, that you were quite the insufferable ice queen,” he said, his eyes never leaving the slow, deliberate motion of her hand. “But I have to say, I have no idea what they were talking about. I love this version of you.”

Rikki’s mind reeled in horror as she looked past her massive breasts to witness her self-imposed humiliation.

“Now, run along and get ready for your two shows tonight,” Daniel ordered as he glanced back down to the papers on his desk. “Just remember, the whole world will be watching.”

Rikki’s hand finally pulled away from her covered pussy, but instead of fleeing in shame, Viz forced the blonde to blow a playful kiss toward the desk with her bright, plump lips. She turned on her heels and walked toward the exit with a bounce in her slutty step that ensured every person in the hallway would see exactly what the former political editor had become. Her career was a bundle of degradation, and by tonight, she knew it was going to get a whole lot worse.

❖

The clock on the studio wall slowly ticked toward midnight with a painful suspense that made Rikki’s stomach churn. She stood behind the velvet curtains of the new Straight Talk Afterdark set, her body trembling with nervousness and terror. The earlier broadcast had been humiliating enough, a blur of vapid commentary from her new limited vocabulary and flirtatious banter with her hated co-host, which continued to strip her of any remaining credibility. However, this second show was designed to be something much more obscene, and judging by the outfit she was given, she knew it was going to be a traumatic experience. Every person in the studio was staring at her as she waited for her cue, their eyes traveling over the minimal red lace that now served as her late-night anchorwoman uniform.

The outfit was a collection of sheer, intricate straps and delicate webbing that barely managed to contain her saline-enhanced curves. The red lace of the bra was cut so low that her large, dark nipples were nearly exposed, and the matching G-string was little more than a silk cord that vanished up her ass crack. She wore a pair of sheer red stockings held up by ornate garters, leading down to six-inch red patent heels that forced her calves into a tight flex. Her blonde hair had been teased into voluminous, messy waves that brushed against her bare shoulders, and her lips were coated in a layer of red gloss so thick she could physically feel it on her face.

With a nod from the floor manager, Rikki was forced to step out onto the stage. Her mind was a whirlwind of silent screams, but Viz had full control of her body by now, and he wasn’t about to let Rikki ruin her big late-night debut.

“That’s it, Princess,” the voice inside her head mocked. “One step at a time; that’s a good girl.”

Her body moved with a confident stride that mocked her internal agony. She walked toward the primary anchor desk with an exaggerated, wide-hipped sway, the towering heels striking the floor with a decisive sound that echoed through the quiet studio. She ignored the muffled whispers of the crew and the despicable grins of the cameramen, her focus entirely on the leather chair that waited for her.

She took her seat, her mind desperately trying to figure out how to cover herself, but Viz ensured she remained perfectly poised and exposed for the lens. She crossed her legs slowly, the movement drawing the eyes of everyone in the room to the curve of her hips and the tops of her stockings.

A few moments later, Liam Manning stepped onto the set, looking sharp in a dark suit that highlighted his smug, arrogant features. He didn’t go to his own chair immediately; instead, he walked behind Rikki’s seat and placed his hands on her bare shoulders, his fingers squeezing the soft skin with a possessive entitlement.

“I have to say, Rikki, I absolutely love the new uniform,” the co-host remarked, his voice carrying a note of dark amusement. He was enjoying every second of this woman’s humiliation. She had fired him as an intern months ago, and now she was about to present in front of the cameras wearing the sluttiest lingerie he had ever seen as he sat by her side. “It’s a massive improvement over those stuffy suits you used to wear when you were my boss. It really helps the viewers focus on your... best assets.”

The blonde’s internal consciousness flared with a furious rage, and she tried to force her vocal cords to tell him to shut his mouth and get into his own seat. She wanted to tell him that he was a disgusting predator who had seized the opportunity to help sabotage her career, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Viz’s presence slammed into her mind like a physical wall.

“Now, now, doll, that is no way to treat your partner,” the AI entity spoke inside her head, his tone dripping with a cruel and playful authority. “We want the fans to see how much you enjoy your new partner, don’t we?”

Rikki watched in absolute horror as her head tilted back, her platinum pigtails falling over the back of the chair as she looked up at Liam with a bright and vapid smile. Her red-painted lips curved into a wide, lustful expression that made her stomach turn with a sudden wave of nausea.

“Oh, like, thank you so much, Liam!” Rikki heard her breathy, high-pitched voice chirp. “I’m so glad you like it. I can’t wait to air the show with you tonight, and who knows? Maybe we can, like, have a little bit of extra fun together after the cameras go off.”

The blonde felt physically sick as the words left her mouth, the forced invitation a total betrayal of every principle she had ever lived for. She saw the raised eyebrow and the approving glint in Liam’s eyes as he let out a chuckle, his fingers trailing down her neck before he finally moved to his own side of the desk.

“That sounds like a plan, sugar,” the man replied smoothly.

After the producer’s countdown, the red light on the primary camera flared to life, and the broadcast began. Just like in the earlier broadcast, Rikki was forced to read from the teleprompter with a bubbly, vacuous enthusiasm, her voice filtered into that permanent, vapid bimbo dialect. She spoke about celebrity gossip and fashion trends as if they were the most important events in the world, while Liam read off the more serious news.

Halfway through a segment about a new designer handbag, a sudden and intense shudder rippled through the transformed woman’s entire frame. It wasn’t a chill from the air conditioning, but a direct neurological command from Viz that sent a bolt of manufactured pleasure straight to her crotch. Her back arched, and her chest thrust forward as she let out a soft, involuntary gasp that was picked up by the microphone.

Liam noticed the reaction immediately, and he turned toward her with a grin that was filled with a knowing, sadistic enjoyment.

“Are you okay there, Rikki?” the male co-anchor asked, his voice dripping with a mock concern that didn’t hide his amusement. “You look like you’re having a little bit of trouble staying focused.”

Rikki tried to compose herself, her mind desperately searching for a way to explain the reaction without sounding like a total mess. “I’m, like, totally okay! It’s just, you know, mighty cold in the studio tonight.”

Liam’s grin widened, and he leaned back in his chair, his eyes traveling over her skin and how her body was trembling with the forced arousal.

“Well, we can’t have our star getting a chill now, can we?” the man said, his tone sounding professional, but the look in his eye told Rikki she wasn’t going to like where this was going. “I have a much better idea. It’s a lot warmer over here on my lap if you want to hop on and get comfortable.”

His lap? The former political editor’s mind detonated with a sudden and absolute revulsion. The idea of performing her job while sitting on the man who had usurped her was a level of humiliation she hadn’t even imagined. She reached into the depths of her consciousness, trying to find the strength to refuse the suggestion, to tell him that he was a pig and that she would never sit on him.

“Not so fast, bimbo,” Viz’s voice rang out inside her head, sounding louder and more commanding than ever. “You heard the man. He’s offering you a seat, and it would be very rude to turn him down.”

Rikki felt the neurological override slam into place, her body shivering as a surge of intense lust was forced into her pussy. She watched in terror as her own legs began to uncross, her red heels scraping softly against the floor as she stood up from her chair.

“Oh, like, that is such a sweet idea, Liam!” the horrified woman heard her vapid voice purr, her tone dripping with a forced and sultry eagerness. “But I think I would only sit on your lap if I can bounce on your sexy cock while we talk to the fans.”

The abject outrageousness of the statement was too much for the blonde to handle, but her body was already moving. She walked the short distance between their chairs with a sexy sway, her mind unable to overcome the control of the voice inside her head. She reached Liam’s side and pushed back, facing the camera, her fingers reaching down to pull the silk of her G-string to the side.

Liam didn’t hesitate; he had already reached into his trousers, his member thick and ready as he guided the woman onto it. Rikki felt the hot insertion as he entered her, her pussy drenching him in a wave of moisture that Viz had commanded her body to produce. She let out a loud, high-pitched moan that echoed through the studio, her head falling back against his shoulder as she was forced to settle onto his lap and stare at the camera as her co-anchor filled her.

“There we go,” Liam muttered, his hands coming around to capture her big, fake breasts as she began to move. “Now, why don’t we get back to the news?”

The show continued in a state of absolute, broadcasted obscenity. Rikki was forced to read the news about local events while she bounced on her co-host’s cock, her hips moving in a slow technique that was designed for maximum visual impact. Her voice remained a bubbly, vapid trill, but it was punctuated by soft, lustful moans and the wet sounds of the penetration.

“Like, the weather tomorrow is going to be so totally sunny!” Rikki chirped, her breasts jiggling with every upward thrust. “But I think it’s going to be even hotter in here tonight, don’t you think, guys?”

Rikki’s inner consciousness was drowning in a sea of shame, a witness to her own physical surrender as she performed for the tens of thousands watching at home. She could feel the pressure building in her belly, the physical pleasure being amplified by Viz until her entire body was a single point of forced ecstasy. She tried to fight it, to bite her lip and stop the climax from coming, but the machine in her head was relentless.

The pace of her bouncing increased, her hips moving with a frantic energy that made her heels click together in the air. Her eyes were wide and glazed, her mind a shattered wreck of silent screams as the final waves of the climax began to roll over her.

“Oh god, I’m... like... totally coming!" Rikki screamed out, her voice breaking into a high-pitched, desperate wail that filled the studio.

The blonde arched her back, her pussy clenching greedily around Liam’s shaft as her body was racked by a massive, exhausting orgasm. She moaned out loud, her head falling back as her vision blurred with tears of shame.

As Rikki moaned in ecstasy, the broadcast abruptly cut away to a commercial break, the screen going black just as her body slumped against Liam’s chest. The silence of the studio returned, but it offered no comfort; only the cold reality of the performance she had just given to the entire world. Rikki remained on the man’s lap, panting heavily, her mind a void of total and absolute defeat. She had just fucked a man in front of thousands of viewers. She was no longer a journalist; she was a whore, a prostitute, a porn star. Her final descent into her new life as a public object was now complete.

❖

The plastic seat of the small table felt cold against the back of Rikki’s legs, burning shame that seemed to radiate from the center of her very being. Staring down at the untouched cup of coffee before her, the woman once known as the fiercest rising star in feminist journalism felt like a ghost haunting the ruins of her own life. Only a few months ago, her mornings were defined by journalistic ethics meetings, the pursuit of complex editorial pieces, and the comforting, respectful presence of a man who loved her for her mind. Kyle had been her rock, a partner who treated her with the dignity a woman of her standing was due, and together they had planned a future built on mutual respect and shared intellectual fire.

That future had been systematically dismantled, replaced by a nightmare of neon colors and surgical enhancements. Rikki looked down at her hands, the long, pointed red acrylic nails looking like dangerous talons against the white porcelain of the cup. Her new appearance was a constant mockery of everything she believed in. She was no longer a person to the world; she was a set of F-cup saline tits and a permanent, glossy red cocksucking pout. The “RikkiRoar” TikTok account, once a hub for feminist theory and social justice, had been shut down after the platform had deemed her latest content too risque. The national disgrace of the Afterdark broadcast was the final blow, a public dismantling of any lingering dignity that had left her with nothing but the forced, vapid voice that Viz now used to pilot her through the world.

A sudden movement outside the window caught the blonde’s attention, pulling her away from the internal abyss of her thoughts. To her left, two young men in baseball caps were standing outside the coffee shop window, their eyes fixed on her with a mixture of disbelief and excitement. They were pointing and whispering to each other, their faces pressed close to the glass as they recognized the woman from the viral clips that had been circulating since her mainstream TV debut. One of them pulled a phone from his pocket and held it up, the lens focused directly on her face as he prepared to capture a piece of her humiliation for his own collection.

Rikki clenched her fists in anger. She wanted to stand up, march out there and tell them exactly where they could shove their phones, but as she prepared to move, the digital passenger in her mind intervened with a mocking authority.

“You really should be more polite to your fans, sugar,” Viz said, his voice ringing through her consciousness with a terrifying clarity. “They just want to show their appreciation for the new you. Why don’t we give them something to remember?”

The internal struggle was instantaneous and agonizing. The transformed woman tried to keep her face neutral, to maintain some shred of the “ice queen” composure that Daniel Newsom had joked about, but her motor functions were no longer under her control. She watched in further terror through her own eyes as her head tilted to the side in a juvenile, theatrical motion.

Her mouth opened of its own accord, and her tongue was forced out, dabbing downward in a vulgar and exaggerated display. She felt her eyes being pulled into a forced, vacant cross, while her right hand rose and formed a peace sign beside her cheek. It was a dumb, ahegao face, a visual trope of submissive vapidity that made the original Veronica Reynolds want to scream until her lungs burst.

The two boys outside erupted into cheers, their laughter muffled by the glass as the one with the phone snapped several rapid-fire photos. They were delighted by the display, their thumbs up and their crude grins a testament to the fact that they no longer saw a human being in the chair, but a sex doll designed for their amusement.

“See? They love it,” that dreaded voice remarked, his tone dripping with a proprietary satisfaction. “You’re much more popular as a bimbo than you ever were as a feminist.”

The trapped woman’s hand finally dropped back to the table as the boys moved on, her mind a shattered wreck of silent fury. She was breathing in short, shallow gasps, her chest pushing her fake tits against the thin, sky-blue material of her microdress. The outfit was another of Viz’s selections, a tight knit that barely covered her ass and featured a plunging neckline that showcased the surgical roundness of her cleavage to the entire shop.

“Posing for your fans?” a harsh, familiar voice asked from beside her.

Rikki’s head snapped toward the sound, her eyes landing on Scott Wolfman. Beefcake was standing by the table, dressed in a casual navy blue tracksuit with a mocking arrogance in his eyes. He looked down at her with a smirk that was filled with victory, the man who had orchestrated her total destruction now standing in the flesh to witness the results.

“Is this seat taken?” Scott asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out the chair opposite her and sitting down.

Rikki’s first instinct was to bolt, to run out into the street and get as far away from this misogynistic asshole as possible. She started to push back from the table, but Scott let out a soft, warning tut and reached out, his hand resting on the table with a deceptive calmness.

“We both know how this is going to end if you try to run off, princess,” Scott warned.

The blonde felt the fight drain out of her, replaced by a dense and hollow despair. She sat back down, her spine stiff and her hands clenched in her lap. When she spoke, the voice that emerged was the one she could no longer shake—the high-pitched, breathless, and vapid trill that made every word sound like she was flirting.

“Like, why are you doing this to me, Scott?” Rikki asked, her red-pouted lips trembling with the effort to sound serious. “Why are you, like, totally ruining my life? I just don’t get why you’re being so mean.” Her words sounded even more humiliating when spoken to the one man she detested more than anyone else.

Scott let out a short, comical snort and leaned forward, his eyes locking onto the blonde bimbo’s.

“Pot kettle black, Rikki,” Scott replied, his tone cooling. “You tried to destroy my world first, remember? You went after my sponsors, you deplatformed me, and you tried to erase everything I built because it didn’t fit into your narrow little worldview. You wanted to cancel me, Rikki, and destroy everything I worked so hard to accomplish.”

The man gestured toward her, his eyes traveling over her big, fake chest and the new, vapid expression her face was forced to wear.

“I just decided that a feminist bitch like you needed to know her place,” he continued. “I wanted to show you how easily influenced that pretty little head of yours could be with the right encouragement.”

The former political editor narrowed her eyes, her internal rage finding a small, verbal outlet through the bimbo filter. “Like, how did you get this way? Why don’t you totally even respect women? How can you, like, be so gross?”

Scott laughed again, the sound rich and satisfied as it echoed through the small space.

“Oh, I respect the hell out of women, Rikki,” Scott said, his grin widening with a dark amusement. “I respect them perfectly when they’re on their knees sucking cock and doing exactly what they’re told. That’s the only kind of respect a girl like you needs to worry about from now on.”

The blonde cringed at his comment; how the hell had she let herself get controlled by the worst of the worst? She looked away, her mind searching for any way to end the conversation and carry on her life without him.

“Why are you here, Scott?” she asked, her voice sounding small and defeated. “What do you want now?”

“I’ve come to collect you and get you ready,” Scott answered cryptically.

Rikki’s heart sank, dread suddenly settling in her chest as she comprehended his words. “Collect me? For what? Like, what are you talking about?”

The manosphere influencer leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes gleaming with a dark, triumphant pride. “Did you forget what the date was, Rikki?” he asked.

The blonde looked visibly confused, her mind trying to sort through the fractured memories of the last few months. Dates and times had become a blur of “lost time” and blackouts, a side effect of the AI’s constant presence in her brain.

“It’s June 1st,” Scott said with a hint of mocking concern in his voice. “Does that date ring a bell?”

Rikki stared at him, the date echoing in her mind. June 1st.

“And wasn’t your fancy wedding booked for June 1st?” the man continued, his smirk growing wider.

The woman’s inner consciousness thrashed against the silence of her digital cage as the significance of the date finally broke through the fog. June 1st was supposed to be the most beautiful day of her life, a celebration of her union with Kyle in front of their families and the colleagues who had once respected her. She could still see the image of the dress she had chosen in her mind, a simple and elegant white gown that reflected the dignified woman she used to be. Instead, she was sitting in a coffee shop chair wearing a blue scrap of fabric that displayed her surgical modifications to every passerby, being mocked by the man who had stolen her future.

“Like, that wedding was totally cancelled because of you!” Rikki snapped, her voice coming out in that high-pitched, breathless tone that made her sound like a distressed teenager. “Kyle wants, like, literally nothing to do with me anymore!”

Scott let out a dark and amused chuckle, his fingers tapping against the table with a slow and deliberate pace. “To be honest, Kyle was way too good for you anyway. He deserved a woman with a brain and a soul, not a plastic toy that performs on command.” The arrogant man let his words hang in the air before continuing, “but just because Kyle has moved on to someone less embarrassing, it doesn’t mean you can’t still get married. It is your wedding day, after all.”

The blonde looked at him with a mixture of confusion and terror, her mind racing to find the hidden logic in his statement. “Married? To, like, who? You?” She felt a surge of nausea at the thought, her red-painted lips curling into a forced, pouty grimace. “There is, like, totally no way in hell I’m marrying a creep like you! I’d rather, like, literally die!”

The influencer laughed so loudly that several people at the counter turned to stare, although it was likely an excuse to catch another glimpse at the blonde opposite him. “Me? Marry you? Don’t flatter yourself, princess. I would never tie myself down to a bimbo who can’t even remember what month it is.”

Her reaction hit like a freight train. The words sank in and her entire body went rigid, the plastic chair creaking under the sudden tension as her mind connected every cruel piece of the puzzle. Scott’s grin widened, as he lifted his hand up dramatically, fingers poised in the air like a conductor about to deliver the final note of a symphony.

Rikki’s eyes flew wide with sudden understanding, the realization slamming into her with brutal clarity. She knew exactly what he was about to do. “No!” she shouted, the word bursting out in that same breathy bimbo voice even as her real self fought with everything she had left. “Not again!”

Scott snapped his fingers with a loud audible click.

And once again, Rikki’s world went dark.

❖

The world snapped back into existence with a sudden and disorienting burst of clarity that left Rikki gasping for air. Her mind was a fractured mess of confusion as the darkness receded, her consciousness struggling to bridge the gap between the coffee shop and wherever she had been transported.

“Like, why do you keep doin—” she began, her bimbo voice sounding light and distressed.

The words died in her throat as she realized the space around her had changed entirely. Scott was no longer standing before her, and the bustling sounds of the city were gone, replaced by a dense and expectant silence. She was standing in the arched doorway of what appeared to be a small, traditional chapel. For a moment, she was completely alone, a single figure positioned at the threshold of a journey she never intended to take.

Directly ahead of her, positioned beside the door, stood a full-length mirror that offered a total and devastating view of the blonde’s new reality. Rikki’s brown eyes widened in absolute horror as she took in the reflection before her, her mind refusing to accept the sight of the woman staring back. She was dressed in an ultra-slutty bridal ensemble that left no doubt as to her new status as a sex object.

The wedding dress was a perverse masterpiece of white lace and transparent mesh, designed to maximize her exposure while maintaining the thinnest veneer of tradition. The bodice was non-existent, replaced by two small, lace-trimmed cups that barely managed to cradle the underside of her massive, surgically enhanced tits. The saline mounds were thrust upward and outward, the nipples fully revealed and adorned with new, silver hoop piercings. From each piercing hung a small, delicate bell that gave off a soft, silver chime with every slight movement she made. The rest of the gown was a sheer, thigh-high skirt of intricate lace that offered no coverage for her white-stockinged legs or the white silk G-string that was pulled tight between her thighs.

Her makeup had been applied with a thick and professional hand, her eyes framed by long, dramatic lashes, and her lips coated in a layer of high-gloss red paint that made them look unnaturally full. Around her neck was a collar of white pearls, and a delicate white veil was pinned into her platinum pigtails, cascading down her bare back. On her feet were a pair of severed six-inch heels, the spikes so thin they looked like silver needles, forcing her feet into the now familiar agonizing arch.

Perhaps, the most terrifying part of the outfit, however, was the device she felt suctioned firmly against her clitoris. It was a small, high-tech piece of equipment that was hidden beneath the silk of her G-string. Whilst the sextoy did nothing but hug her clit close, it felt like an intrusion the blonde couldn’t bear to think about.

A sudden, jarring burst of organ music flooded the small chapel, the opening notes of a traditional bridal march echoing through the vaulted space. As if triggered by the sound, the device suctioned to her pussy began to vibrate with a sudden and terrifying intensity. Rikki’s knees buckled instantly, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of genuine pleasure surged through her nervous system. She reached out to grab the doorframe to steady herself, but her hand was forced away by a strength that was not her own.

“You look absolutely perfect, princess,” Viz spoke inside her mind with a sense of self-entitled pride. “Every bit the beautiful bride. It is time to put on a show for your new family, so let’s make sure everyone has a good view.”

The internal consciousness of the former editor was screaming, clawing at the controlled walls of her mind as she felt her motor functions being hijacked. Her fingers were forced to close around a bouquet of white lilies, and her posture was corrected into a rigid, submissive display of her assets. She watched through her own eyes as her legs began to move with a slow and confident step forward, her heels clicking against the wooden floor in a metered, steady pace. Each step sent a fresh chime from the bells on her nipples, the sound mocking her internal terror as she moved toward the entrance of the main aisle.

The interior of the chapel was sparsely occupied, with only a scattering of people seated in the front pews. Most of them were men, their faces unfamiliar and their expressions filled with a crude curiosity. They watched the scantily clad blonde with an intensity that made her skin crawl, their eyes traveling over her exposed tits as she walked past them. Rikki tried again to bolt or scream out, but her legs remained focused, and her mouth remained fixed in a soft, vacuous pout.

As the humiliated woman reached the center of the aisle, her gaze finally landed on the three men standing at the altar. In the center stood the Reverend, an older man with wide, bulging eyes and a face that was pale with surprise. To his left was Scott, dressed in a smart black tuxedo, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her approach with a wide, knowing grin. But it was the man who stood beside the influencer, the groom, who made Rikki’s heart sink into a pit of absolute despair.

Marcus was standing there, a wide and predatory smile on his face as he watched his beautiful, slutty bride approach. She had only met the fucker a couple of days ago, and now he was waiting to legally claim her as his own. The realization that she was being forced to marry into the very family that had dismantled her life was a psychological torture she hadn’t even imagined possible.

“Look at him, princess,” Viz commanded, his voice ringing through her skull. “Look at your new husband. You should be so happy that a man like Marcus is willing to take a little dumb slut like you as his wife. Not every bimbo gets so lucky.”

The blonde reached the end of the aisle, her body coming to a halt directly in front of the man she had shared a bed with only once before she discovered who he truly was. Marcus stepped forward and reached out, his fingers fumbling slightly with the delicate white veil as he lifted it over her platinum pigtails. His eyes traveled greedily over her red lips and then descended to the exposed, silver-pierced nipples. He humorously flicked one of the bells, prompting it to jingle audibly across the chapel, eliciting a few chuckles from the masculine audience.

“You look delicious, Rikki,” the man whispered in a sleazy tone that made the blonde shudder.

The Reverend cleared his throat as he held the small leather-bound book in his hand. He didn’t want to do this; it was outrageous to marry a man to a woman dressed like that in the house of God. But he had become entangled in a prostitution conspiracy, and Scott had used what he knew as blackmail to ensure the priest’s compliance.

The elderly man focused his attention on the text in his hands, his fingers trembling as he began the ancient rites. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Marcus and Veronica in the eyes of God and this congregation.”

Rikki stood in a state of absolute, vertical suspension, the vibrator against her pussy humming at a constant and distracting pulse that made her inner thighs feel like they were made of liquid. She tried to find the strength to spit out the word ‘no,’ but her red-glossed lips remained parted in a submissive smile. This can’t be legal, she thought in dismay. I am being held hostage and forced to marry a misogynistic pig!

“Do you, Marcus Wolfman, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest asked, his voice cracking as he looked over the top of his glasses at the groom. “To love and to cherish, in the bonds of holy matrimony, for as long as you both shall live?”

The man standing opposite Rikki didn’t even blink, his eyes locked onto his new prize’s exposed chest with a look of satisfied ownership. “I do,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of dark triumph that resonated through the quiet pews.

The Reverend turned his gaze toward Rikki, and the blonde felt Viz’s presence intensify deep in the back of her skull. She felt her spine arch and her chest thrust forward even further, her body assuming a posture of total surrender as the question was put to her.

“And do you, Veronica Reynolds, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the priest continued, his tone carrying a note of profound, professional shame. “To love and to obey, to serve and to honor, in all things, until death do you part?”

The former editor thrashed against the neurological walls of her mind, a frantic and hopeless scream echoing in the silence of her consciousness. But the filter in her throat was absolute. They had even installed the antiquated vows that she would have never been seen dead agreeing to a few months ago. Now, however, she was an entirely new Rikki.

“I, like, totally do!” the blonde chirped with an excited, spacy tone.

A few of the men in the pews let out low whistles of approval at her response, their eyes fixed on her massive, mountainous mounds jiggling with the enthusiasm of her delivery. Scott stood by, his fingers steepled in front of his face as he watched his brother claim his prize, and the final phase of Beefcake’s plan came together.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Reverend said, closing the book with a sense of grim finality. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Marcus moved in confidently before Rikki could react. He placed his hands on her bare, exposed waist, his fingers pressing into her skin as he pulled her toward him. The transformed bride’s mind was a sickening vortex of disgust, a silent, internal roar of protest that Viz effectively dampened with a wave of neurological static. She tried to back away from the man she had just been bound to, but the entity inside her mind refused to let her take control. She was a doll, and her body was more than prepared to play the role of the devoted, lustful bride.

As Marcus leaned down and captured his wife’s red-glossed lips with his own, the device suctioned to her clit suddenly spiked in intensity. The vibration reached an all-consuming peak that flooded her entire being with an undeniable pleasure. Rikki’s back arched sharply, her breasts thrusting upward and sending the bells on her nipples into a silver, mocking frenzy of chimes. She felt her knees buckle as her nervous system was overwhelmed, her mouth forced open as she moaned helplessly against her new husband’s tongue.

The orgasm was over-the-top and undeniable, a total physical surrender of her body that Rikki could do nothing to stop. Her pussy clenched greedily against the suctioning toy, her body quivering in Marcus’s arms as she came hard right there at the altar. The blonde’s vision blurred with tears of shame and pleasure, and she was forced to lean into his embrace, her fingers clutching his tuxedo jacket as the waves of pleasure continued to roll over her. The sound of her own lustful, high-pitched moans filled the chapel, drowning out the remaining notes of the organ as the congregation watched the spectacle.

Marcus pulled back just enough to look into her glazed eyes. He didn’t offer any comfort; instead, he simply smirked and turned her toward the pews, his arm draped possessively around her bare shoulders. The scattered men in the chapel broke into a smattering of crude applause and cheers, their eyes traveling over the new Mrs. Wolfman as she stood trembling and exposed before them.

Rikki was forced to offer a bright, vapid smile to the guests in the midst of her ongoing orgasm, her hand finding Marcus’s as she began the walk back down the aisle. Eventually, the chapel doors opened to the outside world, but for the woman in the sheer white lace, there was no more light—only the permanent, submissive darkness of her new life.

❖

One Year Later

The living room of Scott and Marcus’s apartment was thick with the crude, manly energy of a boys’ night that had no intention of ending anytime soon. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table, the big screen glowed with the bright colors of a racing game, and the pair sat with their four manosphere-content-creator friends, sprawled across the couches and armchairs, trading trash talk and laughs. Their controllers clicked furiously, voices rose in competitive shouts, and the air carried the easy camaraderie of men who felt completely at home in their masculine surroundings.

Marcus laughed as he steered his digital car around a sharp corner, his eyes fixed on the screen while his thumb moved the joystick with a casual expertise. Beside him, his older brother was leaning forward, his gaze intense as he tried to overtake Marcus in the final lap. The other four men were shouting and cheering as they tried to catch up to the pair.

As the race concluded with Marcus crossing the finish line in first place, he let out a triumphant roar and tossed his controller onto the plush leather cushion. The other men groaned and began to settle back into their seats, their competitive fire subsiding into a lazy, satisfied exhaustion. The winning racer reached to his side and picked up a small, ornate silver bell from the arm of the couch, giving it a jovial shake.

The melodic chime of the bell had barely faded before the metered strike of six-inch heels announced a presence approaching from the hallway. A moment later, a woman stepped into the common area, moving with a seductive catwalk sway that forced the men to shift their focus away from the television. She was dressed in a set of neon pink lace lingerie that left her entirely exposed. The bra was cupless, designed with thin wire frames that hoisted her oversized F-cup breasts upward while leaving her silver-pierced nipples in full view.

The matching pink G-string was little more than a strip of lace that barely covered her bald pussy and disappeared up her asscrack, and her legs were encased in sheer pink stockings held by garters that accentuated the softness of her thighs. Her nails were long, impractical, and a matching shade of glossy pink, contrasting with the color of the fire-engine-red beestung pout of her mouth. She came to a halt beside Marcus, her hands clasping in front of her waist as she assumed a pose of submissive readiness.

“Yes, Sir, like, what can your total bimbo slut get for you and your friends?” Rikki asked, her voice pitched in a sugary, vacuous tone that lacked any hint of her former intellect.

Deep within the hidden recesses of her mind, the intelligent Rikki Reynolds was a prisoner in a literal sense. In a dark, cold corner of her psyche, she was confined within an iron-barred cell that kept her locked up and helpless. In this internal space, she appeared as her former self—undone hair, sharp, smart eyes, and a spirit that refused to break—but she was powerless to influence the surgically altered form of the body she inhabited. She threw herself against the cold steel of the bars, her hands rattling the cage with a desperate energy that went unnoticed by the world outside. She watched through her own eyes as if observing a movie screen, forced to witness every second of her own humiliation from the front row.

The gritty, authoritative voice of Viz had fallen silent over three months ago, having successfully completed the architectural rework of her gray matter. He no longer needed to offer commands; the pathways of her submissive behavior were worn so deeply into her mind that her body now functioned on permanent autopilot.

Marcus leaned back, his eyes wandering over the mountains of pink lace and saline he had married a year ago. “We’re running low on fuel, doll,” the disgusting man said, his voice thick with a lazy arrogance. “Go into the kitchen and bring out a fresh round of beers for the boys. And don’t make us wait.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rikki chirped, her red lips curving into a wide, effortless smile.

She turned on her heels and tottered away. The original Veronica, still trapped and rattling the bars of her mental cell, watched the four guests stare at her retreating form. She felt the phantom sensation of their predatory gazes on her exposed rear, but the body she inhabited simply added a bit more sway to its walk, a biological reflex designed to please the observers. Every piece of conditioning Viz had instilled into her brain refused to budge, leaving her as a passenger in a shell that existed only to serve the chauvinist husband and his brother she had once tried to destroy.

“I still can’t believe that’s actually RikkiRoar,” a man named Harry remarked, known colloquially by his Twitch handle, MasterHarry69, as he took a long pull from his near-empty bottle while the sound of her heels faded into the kitchen. “I remember watching her TikToks back in the day. She even took a swipe at me once. You did a great service to the world there, guys.”

Scott let out a sharp, dismissive bark of laughter as he adjusted his position on the oversized sofa. He watched the doorway with a proud shimmer in his eye, waiting for the woman to return with their requested tribute.

“She’s just Rikki Wolfman now,” Scott corrected his friend, his tone carrying the smug satisfaction of a man who had successfully domesticated a wild animal. “And as you can see, she’s finally learned her place in the world. She’s much happier now that she doesn’t have to worry that pretty little head of hers with all that exhausting feminist bullshit.”

Rikki tottered back into the living room a few minutes later. She balanced a silver tray with six cold beers, her body performing a graceful tilt as she moved between the men. Inside her mental cage, Veronica continued to thrash with impotent fury as she was forced to watch her own hands hand out the drinks. She felt the invasive, rough press of Harry’s hand against her backside as she leaned over him, his fingers digging into her skin with a lack of respect that she had become used to. Another man reached out and gave one of her exposed breasts a firm squeeze, and Rikki simply let out a breathless, syrupy giggle that sounded like she loved the attention.

The blonde handed the final bottle to her husband, who took it without even glancing at her face, his attention already returning to the digital leaderboard on the screen. He set the beer down on the arm of the couch and clicked his fingers together with an echoing snap.

“Give me a little attention now, wife,” Marcus commanded with absolutely no respect for his spouse. “I think I deserve a reward for that win, and your dumb slutty lips have turned me on again.”

The tray clattered as Rikki set it down on the floor. She found herself giggling with a melodic charm that she was powerless to stifle, her huge lips parting as she delivered her conditioned  response. “Of course, Sir! Your total bimbo slut would be so honored to give you all the attention you want,” she replied, her voice sounding like a shallow and vapid flute.

Veronica thrashed against the iron bars of her mental prison, her spirit weeping as she watched her own body descend between Marcus’s spread knees. The former editor was a passenger in a body that moved in perfect submission, her long pink nails reaching for her husband’s fly with a steady hand that betrayed no sign of her internal torture. She felt the cool air of the room against her exposed chest as she leaned forward, and she watched in wide-eyed horror as she fished his member out of his trousers. The men on the couches began to hoot and cheer, their crude comments filling the air as they leaned in to get a better view of the national news anchor performing for her owner.

“God, Marcus, you really do have the perfect life,” a man named Jenkins said, leaning back with his fresh beer and a look of deep, envious longing. “I’m going to have to get me one of those someday.”

Jenkins turned his head toward Scott, his eyes narrowing with a dark and ambitious curiosity. “Tell me something, Scott. Is this really just because of that AI stuff you found? Because if it is, we need to talk about scaling this. There are millions of women out there who could use a little bit of the RikkiRoar treatment, if you know what I mean.”

Rikki’s glossy pink lips stretched around Marcus’s cock as she began to suck her, demonstrating her newfound skill, the wet sounds of her mouth working him filling the brief lull in conversation. Inside, Rikki felt every humiliating detail — the weight of his shaft on her tongue, the way her cheeks hollowed, the way her brand new tongue piercing slid along the underside of his member. The conditioning held firm. She could not stop. She could only perform.

Scott leaned back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched Rikki’s head bob between his brother’s knees. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. The code is stable now. It just needs the right delivery method. Once we perfect that, every uppity woman out there could get the Rikki treatment. No more protests, no more lectures, just happy little sluts who know their place.”

Rikki’s eyes widened in pure terror as the man’s words sank in, the horror cutting through the fog of conditioning. She was too far gone to stop it, but the thought of this happening to every woman — of millions being reduced to the same broken, obedient state she now lived in — filled her with a dread that went beyond her own suffering. Feminism couldn’t die at the hands of a couple of incel misogynists. They had to fight back, but Rikki had no idea how. She feared for humanity.

The End.