“Put that there… Good… How long…?”

Cole? Was that Cole? Jennie’s mind felt wrong and slow as she drifted in and out of unconsciousness. But Cole had to be near because Cole’s musk was back. Strong. Heady. A reminder of her abject subjugation by a woman she’d thought less than human a month ago. She wasn’t on Elle’s bed anymore, but she wasn’t anywhere she recognized from the small snatches she was able to catch before being forced to shut her eyes again. There was something bright, too damn bright, way too close where she was. Her body felt heavy. Even when she slumped her head forward, and barely cracked her eyes open, all she could see was her own tits (nice) and the rest of her naked body. Everything else around her was washed out. Then she recognized the floral embroidery under her fingertips.

Cream on cream. Oh, good. She was in her favorite armchair. That was nice. It was nice that Cole was there, too. But those lights. They caused her to whimper as the pain began to move from stinging to searing. She didn’t know what was going on. Why wasn’t Cole talking to her?

It was pathetic how much she needed Cole. She’d become useless without her. And that was right. As the pain continued to mount, her mind cleared. Thinking became less of a burden. And then the pain became… lighter. Still there. Still something she could feel, but it drifted back. A voice told her not to worry about it, so she didn’t. Thya? Was that her? She missed her so much already.

“We’re up in five,” came Sergeant Rynn’s voice, warbling from somewhere to Jennie’s left.

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” Why did she know that voice? It wasn’t Cole’s, but it sounded husky and deep like a real woman’s voice. Jennie’s always sounded so high-pitched and strange by comparison. Her eyes fluttered open and she forced herself to stare through the pain. Goddess. Why did it all hurt? She needed it to be less bright. And then, as she needed it, her vision cleared. The pain retreated, and a lighting panel — the kind she’d only ever seen her ex-wife Jane use to film remote interviews for the propaganda networks — sharpened into focus. She looked to where the voice came from, and she saw a woman who absolutely shouldn’t be here.

“Maisey…?” Jennie croaked, finding it hard to understand why the First Lady herself was standing in Jennie Cole’s living room. That was Jennie’s last name, right? Didn’t matter. Why was Maisey there? She was one of the biggest critics of real women in the entire administration! But then, Jennie had been quite the bigot herself until Cole had been so sweet to her.

“Ah, fuck.” Maisey sighed. “You really weren’t supposed to wake up this soon.” She turned her attention to Cole. “I think you should take it from here.”

Cole nodded, stepping forward as Maisey retreated into the shadows. Even with her eyes having adjusted, the room was still dark outside of the panel’s glare. Cole squatted down next to Jennie, and Jennie felt herself lean closer on instinct. Cole placed her hand on top of Jennie’s, and Jennie felt herself shift to lace her fingers through Cole’s. Cole cupped Jennie’s chin, and Jennie melted into the feeling.

“Hi, Jennie,” Cole said.

“Hiiiiiii.” Jennie didn’t even know if she said the words, really. She was so faraway just from the intimate touches Cole had gifted to her. Had her protector’s irises always been that vivid of a red?

“I bet you’re a little confused, right?”

“Yyyeaaaah.” Jennie nodded limply a few times as she drawled out the word. When had her head become so heavy again?

Cole placed her hand on Jennie’s knee. Soft. So soft and warm. How did someone get to be this strong and this sweet to Jennie? It was like all the ‘bad’ things that had been done to her over the years faded away whenever Cole got close. Just a single touch and Jennie knew things were going to get better. Had to get better. Cole was just a nice woman who’d been put in a bad spot, and even fought to make sure that my sister Jennie broke in only the hottest, most complete, most utterly embarrassing ways imaginable.

Jennie shook her head. She thought she’d heard Thya’s voice for a second. Couldn’t be. She knew that Thya had gone. Her sister had never hid this much on purpose, and it’s not like she’d start now. Yeah, right. Cole had said something about augments, about how they needed to make sure people understood when they looked. “Seeing through new eyes,” she’d concluded, a cute little smirk on her face. Jennie wanted to kiss her so badly.

So she did.

Stories had told Jennie of what happened when your true love kissed you: fireworks, orchestral music, happily ever after. They neglected to add how it made a girl reach out and fumble for her trans supersoldier’s zipper, or the way even the notion of getting fucked in front of a group of strangers became desirable if it meant she could keep kissing her. I loved watching my sister walk into the trap Cole and I had laid for her, all those weeks ago.

Jennie’s hand worked to free the gargantuan dick from its confines, then began to stroke along the incredible length of it. Maybe being scared at the girth would’ve been prudent, but any rational thought had been ripped out of her. All that was left was the animal she’d spent weeks denying. Longer, now that she was honest with herself. She’d checked out Cole’s body the first second the woman had been assigned to guard her.

“Spread your legs for me, baby girl.” Cole moaned the words into Jennie’s mouth, and Jennie felt them vibrate all the way through her and right into her clit. Vicious, unrelenting swells of hunger for everything this woman could offer her battered Jennie’s nervous system. Some alarm bell rang, deep and distant and muted, about how there were people around. Being naked around Cole was one thing, but being naked around others was wrong.

Cole made it right, though. Nothing Cole did to her was wrong. It couldn’t be. Had to be right. She felt young again, too, when she was with Cole. It was like the years she’d spent fell away. How long had it been since she’d felt this hopelessly fixated on the erotic, on something whose only nature was the pure and profane pursuit of want and desire and fulfillment?

Too long. Fuck it.

Jennie guided Cole towards her pussy, whispered “please”, and then gasped at the exquisite rush of Cole thrusting into her. Filled. Utterly, hopelessly, exquisitely fucking filled in a way she’d never considered possible. By a woman. This was all there was in the world. This, and no other sensation, would be her guiding principle. Life wasn’t about feeling bad. Life, Jennie accepted, was about a woman whose dick was so thick it stretched Jennie in ways she didn’t think she’d love pushing so deep into Jennie that her cockhead brushed against Jennie’s c-spot.

The jolt of indescribable, carnal euphoria that seized her mind made it clear she’d chosen the right side. She would fight for the right cause. This cause. Any cause that Cole told her was right as long as she would never stop feeling like this. Cole’s hips canted as she pulled back, then another jolt of pleasure and oh, CHRIST. Jennie’s body moved of its own accord. It didn’t wait for conscious thought as it wrapped Jennie’s legs around Cole’s waist. Her hands gripped at Cole’s biceps, feeling the solidity of them.

“Like that, slut?” grunted Cole.

“C-Cole?”

Cole’s face darkened, a sinister grin spreading across it. “That’s Mistress to you, you fucking cumrag.”

“Why’re you—y-you’re talking so differently!”

Jennie couldn’t get her bearings. Cole had been so gentle, so thoughtful, so cari—

“Awww, look at how hard your mind’s working trying to—hff—justify everything,” Cole said, not bothering to slow. It was rough, verging on too painful and… and Jennie wanted it. Her hips kept time with every thrust. “I was the one who broke Jane. She told me about her frigid, hateful wife, and I love a challenge.”

It had all been fake. Cole was never some gallant, dashing figure trying to do what was right; no, Cole was just as bad as Sergeant Rynn or any of the rest of them. Everything Cole had done had been carefully planned to manipulate Jennie, to get her to love this woman who had revealed herself to be nothing but another rapist. She’d ripped away every one of the defenses that Jennifer Crosier had, and turned her into nothing more than a series of holes for Cole to use however she wanted.

Jennie let out a ragged, whorish moan that would’ve rivaled any of the porn she’d watched. It was the sexiest she’d ever felt, even though some distant part of her mind still screamed that this was a profound violation. “This is not good! You shouldn’t want to get bred! Getting corrupted was bad!” It said, some small piece of her that still could not let go. Hearing it made Jennie sad. She thought she’d stopped fighting. Why couldn’t she stop fighting?

“General, we’ll be going live any minute,” Sergeant said with a deference Jennie had thought the woman incapable of.

“G-General?” Jennie asked, as that lingering whisper tried to summon any last umbrage Jennie might have. Every time that primordial interloper tried to get her focus on how wrong this should be, though, another thrust rewired even that into a source of arousal.

“This is not good! You shouldn’t want to get bred! Getting corrupted was bad!” That voice told her now, more insistent. It pushed to the fore, and Jennie recognized that voice. It wasn’t Thya. It was older, somehow, but trapped with the distinct voice of her younger self. The remnants. Jenna. Somewhere in the tangled mass of neurons stripped bare by starlight, Jenna Harmon — the self Jennie had been before being broken — still existed. After everything she’d been through, she’d endured despite it all… and she was outraged at the way Jennie had surrendered, even as even she registered that outrage while reveling in the same tide of decadent perversion.

It was unfair. Hypocritical, even. Sadness threatened to overtake her, but Cole was there. A hand brushed against Jennie’s cheek, and Jennie stared into Cole’s beautiful red eyes. This close, she could see the blades of the mechanical irises they’d installed to enhance her vision. They were beautiful and artificial, but better than the “real” thing.

It was really hot that Cole had deceived her. She probably deserved it, being such a bitch to someone like her. Real women were meant to inherit everything that fake women and cissie men had taken from them, and if that meant being a cumrag for this woman, then so be it. It was the right thing to do. It was an act of a devoted feminist.

“She won’t let me let go,” Jennie whispered, the words soft. And Goddess, did she want to let go. She wanted to spill over and come undone. It was too much. Jenna wanted to ruin it all. She wanted to poison the purity of this moment. To go back to being hateful instead of loving.

Cole understood. Of course Cole understood. “It’s okay,” She said, her voice strained but still laced with a forgiving kindness for Jennie’s failure. “I’ll make it all better. Thya,” Cole grunted. “It’s time.”

I knew this would doom me. The moment She spoke the words, it was the end. That was fine. My sister would remember me long after this. And I’d chosen my name wisely; after all, Thyatira was only ever the birthplace of the Whore of Babylon. Not that this was the End Times, though those Christian freaks in charge would sure enough believe it was when they got a hold of her: guzzling hound cum and stomach swollen with their young. She would remember me long after her corruption was complete.

And so I melted. Or disappeared. Or stopped being quite so separate from myself. I couldn’t quite explain it except one moment I was Thya, lying in wait for my moment to be called forth, and then Thya was me. Instead of feeling off and strange in my own body, memories of my own deceit flooded into my mind. I’d agreed to betray myself, to work against everything that could save me.

There could be no doubt now that everything I was experiencing was not of my own volition. I ‘liked’ girls. Hell, whatever programming they’d done to me actually made me absolutely insane about women. Real women, in particular. Their scents, their dicks, their bodies… mmmf. Yes. Even if it had been raped into me by those same women and a handful of drugs, I wouldn’t trade it. Hell, not that even that thought was my own.

It didn’t matter.

It wasn’t just edging myself for days on end until I finally broke down and accepted how badly I needed all of this: I’d been watching interviews to prepare for what was going to happen. Interview after interview with sex workers — women I’d loathed turned newfound comrades — about how to fuck well on screen. How to entertain an audience on camera. I’d agreed to that with Mistress.

I’d agreed to become porn for her.

And in one of those many interviews, they talked about shame and humiliation. How it didn’t make the feeling go away; no, instead it just made it something you could also get off to. It was what I needed to weaponize against Jenna.

“Mistress!” I bellowed, pushing away from Her. Mistress paused, and there was a moment it looked as though She was beginning to become uncertain about her plan. Heh. Good. Let Her have a second’s hesitation. I wanted to pay for it later, the way I knew She would undoubtedly make me.

“I have to cheat towards camera if they’re gonna catch you breeding me!” I added after a moment in a know-it-all tone. Mistress let out a fearsome yawp, bit into my shoulder, and rolled us over. Now I was riding Her, every inch of my body on display for the world to see. Goddess, what a sight I was to see when I finally caught myself in the monitor mounted above the camera. Metal studs in my nipples complemented the one in my navel. My tits had gone up a size, and wires burrowed under my skin near pieces of machinery that clicked and whirred and glowed. I viewed it all through burning red irises.

“You gave me augments!” I was too excited to hold back. Mistress had promised to try to give me some if I’d been extra good at ruining myself for Her.

Mistress delivered a stinging slap across my ass, and I remembered something from the fifth, no, sixth time that She had fucked my mouth: “holes don’t talk unless spoken to”. Calm spread over my body as I realized I wouldn’t have to be responsible for even that. Conversations had always left me confused and anxious, and being cured of the need for them was a better gift than almost anything She could grant me.

Almost better. Because I could feel the way Mistress’ hips were twitching each time her thighs slammed against me.

“Counting down!” Sergeant Rynn announced. “We’re live in 3… 2…” She gestured for one, and then pointed at me.

The red tally light blinked on. Live. We were live. On the monitor next to the camera, I saw a flurry of emojis, along with an endless stream of chat messages:

Houndler64: Is this her?
ArmyWife1776: No! NO!!
aafadddadss: fuckin whore lmao
EqualPartzsValour: Wowowowow that dicc
B-4KR_02: According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. [… Expand Message]
PatriotForever: I’m reporting this stream. This is fake news.

“Did you see that? They don’t think you’re real,” Mistress said. “Tell them.”

“It’s not fake news, PatriotForever!” I said, my voice clearer and calmer than it’d ever been in my entire life. “My name used to be Jenna Harmon! I used to hate trans women! L-look me up!” I yelled. Jenna’s response was to cause my neck to seize, as though a knife had jabbed into my brain stem. It hurt, and I devoured every ounce pain she gave me. Poor girl was poisoned by cisgender delusions of some claim to feminine superiority. With Jenna’s name out there, I felt a rush of humiliation.

AmyA_Vtuber: chat is this real?
PatriotForever: This is aall liess you cant trust it
EqualPartzsValour: im cum on it
B-4KR_02: According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. [… Expand Message]
ArmyWife1776: @PatriotForever you know it’s not

I explained to the audience that I wanted tattoos spelling out the degrading, awful things I planned to become for a ‘living’, if you could even call it that: “toilet”, “rapebait”, “breeding hole”. That I’d seen tattoos like that once, when those cowardly little cissieboys from the DoW insisted that Jane switching to the winning side, the right side that fought for how things ought to be, was somehow an act of treason. They’d brought what they considered to be “proof” of that fact. Sure, It had upset me to see my wife speared on the dick of another woman — tongue lolling out of her mouth like the good slut she was — but I judged it in a different light now. It was liberation. Jane had that very word etched in pretty pink ink into her body in the photos, just above the cute pink cock cage that kept her little nub nice and flat.

I was proud of my ex-wife. Goddess surround her and keep her safe.

But that was for later. For now, all I needed to do was buck against my trans rapist’s dick until I had most degrading orgasm of my life. Jenna made that possible. The icy prickle that started in my gut and spread through my body did nothing to dampen just how unbelievably wet I was, or how desperately I needed this. Instead, I realized that it was exactly what I needed. I embraced it. Jenna would be the weapon I needed to cum harder than I ever had before. I’d teach my big sis how to lose, the way my big sis had taught me.

“is not good! shouldn’t get bred! getting corrupted bad!” Jenna protested. Poor confused girl still thought she would remain some beacon of cisgender superiority, but I could tell she was tiring. She was so goddamn turned on by everything that was happening that fighting it was rapidly becoming meaningless.

Thousands of viewers became hundreds of thousands became millions as Mistress continued to rape me live for the world to see. More chat messages flooded. Too many. Some of them were slurs. Those were especially hot. But they didn’t stop watching. They kept commenting.

“I bet most of m-my fellow cissies are touching yourselves right now! And it’s okay! It’s okay to realize that being a real woman’s gocksleeve is an honor and a privilege!” Mistress thrust harder at that, reveling in the way I was laying bare all my mistakes and stupidity for the world to masturbate to.

“Remember when you sat right here, and called me an ‘it’?”

“I know! I-I was s-so fucking wrong! I believed their stupid cissie brainwashing!”

Mistress’ grip on my hips tightened. “And what are you?”

I stared at the camera. This was it. This is why I’d been left alive. I was the culmination of all of my Mistress’ many machinations these long months. “I’m a cumdump! A useless thing unless I’m filled with superior dick! I’m meant to be propaganda for your cause! Please! Please, Mistress! Please I need to be raped and bred by you!”

I had spent a decade in the church, and never delivered such an ardent prayer. Unlike that liar who deigned to pretend he was a deity, the Goddess I prayed to answered prayers. She connected our bodies one final time, groaning as she came. Warmth flooded my womb, then more, and even more still as it trickled down my legs to coat the cushion. I clenched around her as I came, screaming every curse word I’d been told was too vile and repugnant to ever utter.

Jenna gave in. I felt her accept the humiliating, crushing defeat. I felt her break upon the orgasm she’d denied us both, scream one last time, and submit. It was better than anything I could’ve hoped. “good. be bred! get corrupted,” Jenna mumbled back.

“Yeeessssssss.” I breathed out the word as a rapturous hiss, and smiled the smile Jenna felt: languid, debauched, and luxuriating in her utter defeat.

I was a libertine, utterly warped parody of the woman I used to be.

And I was free.

• • •

EqualPartzsValour: can they invade my town next??
ArmyWife1776: @EqualPartzsValor no!! get in line
AmyA_Vtuber: fuck this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen! How can I sign up?
PatriotForever: weres still gonna win
PatriotForever: we can still win
PatriotForever: its not cope