Investigative Journalism
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Investigative Reporter free porn video
Investigative Reporter
By Ronnie Rho
The rumors were too good to ignore. If they proved true,
they wouldn't win a Pulitzer, but they would put me on the
map.
The City Manager, according to whispers all around town,
was misusing city funds. Not only that, but she allegedly
was using them for drug-and-sex parties. The gossip was
that she was skimming funds to pay for piles of cocaine
used at parties hosted by her and her husband. Furthermore,
those parties were said to break down into orgies.
In a small town like this, such a tawdry story, if true,
would go nationwide. I could get a job out of this berg,
and write my own ticket. I could work as a Washington
correspondent for public radio, be a political analyst for
one of the networks, or even host my own commentary
program. The sky was the limit. That's what I liked about
my job. Sure, it was nowhere, but it had potential. And I
was my own boss. I was the news reporter for a small town,
1000-watt radio station. And I had delusions of grandeur.
No Les Nesman here. I was going to be the next Murrow, the
next Welles, the next guy who said "Oh, the Humanity" at
the burning of the Hindenburg.
The rumor was that every other Friday, the City Manager,
Barb Bramble, and her husband Chuck hosted great big
parties at their home south of town. I considered the
sources: A lot of people didn't like her, partly because
she couldn't be bothered to live in the city limits.
Slander is the natural response to someone in power, but,
the rumors came from so many different directions, but
still had common threads: sex and drugs. I had to check
them out. If they proved wrong, no big deal. But if they
were on the mark, hello, big money.
The first Friday night I drove by their place. All was dark
and quiet. I drove on, and returned home. The next Friday:
jackpot. A drive by along the dirt road showed about a
dozen cars along their dirt driveway. Lights were on in
every room of the two story house, and I could hear the
music and laughter from the road. I drove on for about half
a mile, parked my car behind a grain silo and hoofed it
back. I had to laugh at myself. Black T-shirt and stocking
cap, camo jacket and pants from the surplus store: I looked
like I stepped out of a bad CIA movie. I just wanted to see
and not be seen. I carried a ton of shit: binoculars,
pencil and pad, mini-tape recorder. Be prepared.
As I got closer to the house, I checked out the cars. The
mayor, a couple of city council members, local businessmen,
there were some powerful people here. If I was wrong, I'd
better not get caught. If I was right... well, best not to
think that far ahead.
I crept up to the house, trying to find a window to see in,
without being noticed. As I paused below a big, bay window,
screwing up my courage to peep in, I realized something was
wrong. A twig snapped behind me, and I felt a dull thud at
the base of my skull. My last thought was to curse myself
for thinking they wouldn't have security.
---
Wherever I was, it was cold. I kept my eyes closed as I
tried to clear my head. If someone was watching me, best
not to let them know I was awake. I kept my breathing as
steady as I could as I tried to focus beyond the throbbing
behind my eyes. It didn't sound like I had company, but why
chance it. I realized I was naked, and sitting with my back
to a wall. The surface was all tile, like I had been thrown
in a shower. My arms ached. Probably because they were
chained up and formed a 'Y' over my head. This wasn't good.
Of course, it probably indicated the sexual rumors to be
true. I could see Barb as a sadist, decked out all in
leather. It wouldn't be a pretty picture, but it wasn't one
out of the realm of possibility.
Fuck! Some investigative reporter I was! Never saw who it
was that clocked me. Of course they'd have security. Think
they'd break the law without someone watching out for the
cops? Duh!
Slowly, I opened my eyes, and without raising my head,
looked around. The room was yellow tile. There was a drain
in the middle of the floor, but that was it. The lights
were fluorescent, and a little too bright. Slowly lifting
my chin, my eyes found the door, about ten feet in front of
me. I looked up to the top, to see a small diamond shaped
window in it. On the other side of the window was Barb. And
she wore a wicked grin.
She opened the door into the 10' by 10' room, and stood in
the doorway. No leather leggings or anything like that;
just the kind of suit she wore to the office. I was kind of
disappointed. So much for the dramatic entrance.
"Good morning, Phil," she said, with that leer. "Welcome
back to the land of the living. Chief Thorn hit you so
hard, I was beginning to think you had suffered permanent
damage." Great. The police chief was in on it too.
Uh oh, I thought. She's giving me details. That must mean
I'm not supposed to leave here alive.
"You've been out since Friday night. That's okay. That gave
us time to figure out what to do with you. It's Tuesday
now, by the way." If they were going to kill me, they would
have done it already. But something told me I was about to
face a fate worse than death.
"We'll talk later tonight... maybe," she said as she closed
the door.
This was getting worse. Thoughts of what they could do to
me raced through my head. Blackmail? Drug courier? Sexual
plaything? She knew I'd start thinking about it. That's why
she left me wondering. She was a sadist, and a good one.
Had to give her that.
I didn't see her that evening. Nor the next day. Being in
radio, I had developed a pretty good internal clock. I
could guess how much time had passed even without visual
clues. I was able to take my mind off the horrible things
that awaited, but that didn't make the wait any easier. The
bitch didn't leave me any food or water.
Radio people have all kinds of benefits, like the internal
clock. But there are drawbacks to the profession. Like the
fact that one doesn't get a lot of exercise. I was probably
about 20 pounds overweight, and actually that's probably
what saved me from starvation and dehydration. Come
Wednesday night, I could tell I had lost weight.
I was able to stand up and sit down, and did a lot of that
to pass the time. I suppose the exercise was good, because
my ribs were starting to show again by the time she did
again. She brought me a jug of water and a handful of
vitamins, but no clues as to my fate. I didn't talk,
because I didn't think idle threats and stupid questions
would do much good. She didn't say much either. Just opened
the door, placed the gallon of water on the floor within
reach, filled my hands with the vitamins and told me to
drink it all at once.
I'm glad I saved a little, because I was able to pee in the
drain, and then wash it down with a little water. There
wasn't much circulation in the room, and a little urine
smell went a long way.
This was the pattern for a couple more days. In the
morning, she'd look through the window to make sure I was
okay before she left for the day. I'd spend the day
standing up and sitting down, counting sheep, remembering
jokes and singing. In the evening, Barb would show up with
the water and the vitamins, and go. I started to lose
weight at an almost alarming rate. 10-12 pounds of loss in
a week is probably not that healthy.
What I guessed to be Saturday morning though, the pattern
changed. Barb came in, followed by Chuck who was holding an
electric cattle prod. Those things, I was told, were
nastier than peeing on an electric fence. "Just behave and
you'll be fine," he advised me. A sticker on the handle of
the prod identified it as 'Property of the Police
Department'. Great. The whole fucking municipal government
was in on it.
Barb came over and unlocked the shackles that held my
wrists. She backed away as I stood up. Having done this
numerous times, I was beginning to get really good at
standing up. If there were an Olympic sport, and I survived
this, I might have to have a go.
"Congratulations, Phil," she said, "You're gonna make us
some money. Stand against that wall." She indicated the
wall to my left, and I complied. "Turn around and face us,
dummy." Again, I complied.
"Now, I want you to remember that pose," she said as she
ducked out of the chamber to retrieve something. What was
so important about the pose, I don't know. My hands were at
my sides, my feet together, my face level, looking straight
ahead. In short, I was just standing. Barb came back in
with a 35mm camera. She took several pictures of me, both
full length and headshot, before quitting. She directed me
back to my original wall, but didn't lock me up.
This was curious. She said I was going to make money for
them, but who would pay to see my naked body? Ick! I didn't
like looking at myself if I could help it.
"Lay down," Chuck commanded. He gripped the cattle prod
menacingly, and I could tell from the look in his eye, he
was enjoying this. Chuck was the kind of guy who needed a
Barb in his life. He needed a strong woman to tell him what
to do, and how to get his jollies. Wonderful. I was in the
midst of a match made in Hell. How romantic. I lay down,
dreading what was next. "Face up, you cretin," he barked. I
rolled over, wishing I wasn't naked.
I had become accustomed to the cool temperature, but still
didn't like my privates exposed to the world. Chuck was
probably scoping my cold, shriveled dick and feeling
superior. I wanted to say, "Yeah, you'd be tiny too if you
were in here," but I held my tongue. He held the cattle
prod after all.
"Now sit up!" Chuck commanded. "I want 200 sit-ups out of
you, and we're not quitting until we have them." He sounded
kind of like a drill sergeant. I didn't want to tell him I
hadn't done a sit-up in years, but I also didn't want to
disappoint him and get shocked, so I started. When you have
a pretty solid beer belly like I did, sit-ups are far from
easy. I was able to reach that magical number, after about
an hour and 3 zaps. Damn! That thing did hurt.
Once I was done, I was covered in sweat. I had bathed in
days, and you can imagine how skanky I was starting to get.
That's when Barb came back in, chained me to the wall
again, and then reappeared at the doorway with a garden
hose. The water was a little warmer than the room, so that
was one nice thing. She soaked me good, head to toe. I
stood up under my own power and tried to turn around as
much as I could, so she could get all of me. Granted, I
would have preferred to be washing myself in the privacy of
my own shower, with plenty of hot water and soap and
shampoo, but this was still pretty nice, considering the
circumstances.
Once the shower was done, Chuck brought in a larger jug of
water, and Barb fed me more vitamins and a different
variety, too. I was glad to get it too. The water was most
appreciated, as I had sweat off a lot, during the
'workout'. The vitamins, I figured were keeping me from
getting sick, I was sure. Probably a lot of vitamin C.
Once they were gone for the day, I turned my attention to
the situation. I was a bachelor, and lived alone. No one
would miss me locally, except for those at work. They
probably contacted police, who were in on the scheme. No
help from the outside. Escape looked impossible. The zap
from Chuck's toy was enough to stop someone cold. But what
were they going to do?
It was obvious they wanted me in better shape. The lack of
food and the exercise was meant to make me a little more
fit than I was. I suppose they would make me a sex-slave or
something. There were people out there who really liked
that. Surfing the Internet proved that. The problem was,
most people who liked to be slaves did so willingly. Were
they going to tone me up and then brainwash me? Would I
spend the rest of my life thinking I liked this sort of
thing? If that were the case, it would have to be some
brainwashing. I thought about being someone's plaything,
and it did nothing for me.
I was married to my job, and had very little time for
dating, so I satisfied myself by masturbating frequently
back when I was in the real world. Sure, I had my own
twisted little perversions, but nothing like this! I was
going to be a prop for God knew what. For the first time in
a week, the full impact of what lay before me hit. I cried.
I couldn't help myself. It just overwhelmed me. I bawled
like I hadn't done since my mother had died when I was
still in high school.
Sunday morning was similar to Saturday morning. The
unchaining, the picture taking, the exercise, the hosing.
The water followed by the vitamins. Except this time, when
Barb locked me back up, she asked me something strange.
"Are you right or left handed?" I indicated the left, and
she left that one free. Chuck left and she sat down in
front of me. Looking me in the eye, she reached out and
started stroking my leg. This was the first human contact I
had in ages, and I couldn't help but get goosebumps. She
wasn't the prettiest woman in town, but she wasn't homely
either. Just a little older, probably around 45, with a lot
of hard living under the belt. "Take yourself in your hand,
honey," she said. I complied as our eyes locked.
I started stroking my hardening cock as she sat back and
watched. I had never been turned on by being watched, and I
never found her attractive, but something clicked, and it
was bigger than me. I stroked myself, and it felt sooooo
good, not having done so since my imprisonment. Her eyes
never left my face, as I worked myself up to the climax. I
came, shooting onto the tile and onto my leg. Breathing
heavy and in that post-masturbatory daze, I barely noticed
as she got up and reattached my arm to the chain. She got
up and left without a word, and without participating
beyond the original contact. Somehow, that turned me on. I
fantasized about that all night. Perhaps this sex slave
thing wouldn't be so bad after all.
This was the pattern for the next five days. I looked
forward to it. All of it: From the picture, to the workout,
to the hosing, to the cumming. Not such a bad life, after
all. I could spend my day philosophizing about the nature
of God, and fantasizing about being a harem boy; satisfying
all of Barb's friends. My beer belly was disappearing
quickly, and soon I could see some abs peeking through on
my stomach. The rest of my body, was still pretty
shapeless, I thought. No definition in my arms; flabby
pecs; a big round butt. Stroking my face, I guessed that I
had lost weight there too. No chubby cheeks and not flab
beneath my chin. One peculiar thing though: I would have
thought being in here for almost 2 weeks, I would have
grown a decent beard. Granted, I only normally had to shave
every other day, but still. My facial hair was almost
sparse.
I had planned on getting my hair cut the day after my
expedition because it had been getting a little long. Now
it was growing at a pretty good clip. It always seemed to
grow quickly, but now was at the base of my neck in the
back and was to the bottom of my nose in the front. This
was all pretty normal, I guessed, but because I had time to
reflect on it, I noticed it. It was too bad I didn't have a
window. I could watch the changes in nature. Since taking
my job at the station, all those things seemed to creep up
on me. Wake up one day and notice all the leaves have
turned. Next time I noticed, there are no leaves in the
trees, but there's 6 inches of snow on the ground. Some
reporter. Couldn't observe the little things. And that's
what got me into this mess in the first place.
During the weekend, something different happened. Barb came
in and smeared a jelly-like substance on a small patch of
my leg. Chuck carried what looked like his prod, but
larger, and with a cord trailing out the door. He placed it
on the jellied part and pulled the trigger. I passed out
from the shock, with the smell of ozone in my nostrils.
On Sunday, I woke up with Chuck and Barb examining my leg.
The spot that had been covered by the jelly was hairless;
the smooth soft skin exposed. They gave me a once over, and
finding no other bare patches or scars proceeded to rub
more jelly on another patch of leg. That was followed by
another jolt.
This pattern repeated for another five days. Soon, my legs,
my chest, underarms, arms, buttocks, face, neck and groin
area was hairless. Each morning, I found it a little hard
to wake up, a little harder to concentrate. All I could
notice was that the masturbation sessions felt good because
my skin was extra soft and extra sensitive. I stroked
different parts of my bald body as I pulled my prick for
Barb. It felt good.
---
It was Saturday, I guessed, because Barb was dressed in
jeans. So far, no one had violated me, and I was thankful
for that. I got brave and decided to talk to her. "You said
you were going to make money off of me. How? Am I going to
be sold into slavery or something?"
She laughed. "No, not yet anyway. You're already making us
money, on the Internet. You see, we've set up a pay-per-
view site and people are starting to flock to it. We have
about 7,000 subscribers so far, at $20 apiece."
"But, why are they paying to see my naked ass?"
"You're not seeing the big picture. They are," she said
with a grin. "You see, we are the first people to show a
Transformation on the 'Net.
"A what?"
She smiled as she ran a brush through my long hair. "Either
you're not observant at all, or those shocks are getting to
you. Haven't you noticed things changing?"
Beyond my lengthy mane, and my hairless, smooth, rapidly
becoming lithe body, no. I hadn't noticed much. "Feel your
chest, Honey," she said, and I lifted my right hand to cup
my left breast. It seemed like normal: soft but firm,
sensitive nipple. In short, a nice handful.
A nice handful. Omigod. I finally got it. They were
transforming me. Into a woman. I stood up and looked at my
body. Hairless and pink, the skin was smooth and soft to
the touch. My tummy was tight, my hips and waist curvy. My
hair hung down over my shoulders, almost to my breasts. My
breasts. My tits. I could pass that famous pencil test, I
had such formative flesh. My hands dropped to my dick, and
found it still there and still the same size. If anything,
it was in that partially-aroused state from my self-
examination.
I looked at her with my mouth open in shock. My right hand
still cupping my breast, my left hand absent-mindedly
stroking my cock. Barb stepped forward and brushed her lips
against mine.
"I can't wait until the project is done, but in the
meantime, you're just as wonderful," she whispered. Barb
turned and left me alone, without bothering to chain me
back up.
I slunk back to the floor: my head reeling. They were using
me without me even realizing it! I was being violated
without being touched. I was also still grasping myself. I
stroked myself to another climax before long. But this one
was different. This one was filled with erotic imagery: me
and Barb, me and Chuck. Me and a host of characters. In
each fantasy, I was a beautiful maiden, taken willingly.
Sometimes I was all woman, other times I was what I was
now: Half woman, half man. Either way, it was the greatest
jack off I ever experienced. My free hand wandered all over
my body, stroking my tits, kneading them, pinching the
nipples. Feeling the soft skin of my thighs, of my belly,
of my arms. Every sensation seemed to be heightened.
I'm sure the whole episode lasted only 30 seconds, but from
the inside, it was a lifetime.
I slowly opened my eyes to see Barb watching through the
window. I smiled at her and drifted off to sleep.
From then on, Barb seemed to realize the change was more
than physical. She knew it, and so did I. Before, I never
had anything but heterosexual thoughts and contacts. The
idea of being anything but a man never occurred to me. Now,
I had touched something deep inside me. Something that went
beyond the typical stereotypes of male and female. I was
just human now. Someone completely sensuous. I doubted I
had been brainwashed, because I didn't feel like anything
had been forced onto me. I remembered everything of my past
life and realized how drab and dull it was. I wondered if
everyone, if placed in isolation and fed hormones and
vitamins, would come to this same conclusion. I felt,
actually, as if I had reached a new stage of evolution.
---
I was left unchained at nights. Soon I was given a blanket.
Then Barb took off work to teach me how to apply makeup,
and do my hair. Next came clothing. Then I was moved out of
that dungeon. The pictures kept coming and so did the
subscribers to the home page Barb and Chuck set up. 30,000
people wanted to see the daily picture of my transformation
from Phil to Phyllis. At $20 apiece, that was a pretty good
chunk of change.
Barb became my first lover. Then Chuck. Both were
wonderful. Both knew how to give pleasure and how to
receive it. Soon, I was introduced to the parties. Once I
had learned how to love men and women, and how to make
myself beautiful, I was presented.
The rumors weren't true. There weren't any drugs and there
were no orgies. But everyone slept with everyone else.
Always one-on-one. And it was good. I never realized how
whole I felt with a man's cock inside me. I never realized,
when I was a man, how sensitive a woman felt all over her
body. I know now.
Once the transformation went about as far as it could, we
kept the website going with erotic photos. Barb and Chuck
flew in professional porn stars for photo sessions. I took
them all. Men, women, other girls like me. At the height,
we had nearly 40,000 subscribers to the home page.
I've kept my penis, as it has done me good. I like the way
it feels when someone's lips are wrapped around it. I like
the way it feels entering a pussy or a tight asshole. I
sleep in-between Chuck and Barb. We make love once a week,
unless we have a guest for me to entertain.
I've reached a new plateau for humanity. I don't like to
think of myself as such, but I wonder if perhaps I am the
next stage for men and women. A little of both, but not
quite either one.
Trisha
- 15.05.2021
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