The Games (Part 3) free porn video

THE GAMES PART THREE By Nancy Rose Chapter Nine I'M NAKED. I'M COLD. I'm oiled and shining. I'm walking in front of TV cameras. The world is getting a good long look at me, all of me. The next three days are called The Pageant. On these days before The Games start, my fellow contestants and I will try to earn public favor. If we do well, we will get help, little gifts and surprises members of the audience can buy for us. Help is expensive. Mostly, it's the richies who buy help. They are the ones who can afford it. Sometimes regulars, like me and my family, pool together money to buy help. Today is called The Manhood Display, and it's the reason my naked, glistening form is being beamed around the world. Contestants are to prove how manly they are. It's a big show for the betters. They want to know who to bet on. It's also chance for the government to show off their power, to once again prove a point to all citizens. Even the manliest men can be sissified. The point of The Manhood Display is to mark each man's starting point, so that as they are changed, the feminized end points are shocking in contrast to their masculine starting points. I pulled the short straw and had to go first. I don't know if that is lucky or unlucky. I don't know if I'm helping myself. I don't think I'm making much of an impression. The announcer keeps talking about my muscles. He calls me "Mr. Tall and Silent". He tells the audience that I'm dangerous, full of machismo. That can't help my cause. If people think I'm starting out with an advantage, then I won't get help. Underdogs tend to get more help than the favorites. Then again, some years it goes the other way. Sometimes a big manly guy gets the most help because some richie has made a huge bet on him and tries to spend his way to winning that bet. Sometimes help helps, sometimes it doesn't. It definitely adds suspense to the TV show. I walk down a long red carpet. Stage lights from above and below glare at me, but otherwise the room is dark. Pounding disco music pummels my ears. I'm supposed to dance and pose and act like a big macho ass. Or I'm supposed to do something funny or silly, or something at least entertaining. Getting a laugh is one way to earn favor. I could also raise my fist in protest as some have, as a sign of rebellion. I'm not the rebellious type. I've always played by the rules. I can't see any upside to making illegal hand gestures and getting beaten to a pulp. I've seen that happen a few times. As I walk from one end of the carpet to the other, my cock bounces around. It's free, the cage gone. I like how it dangles, the weight of it bouncing on my thighs. I never knew I had a big cock until today. I got to see all the other competitors back stage as the cutones oiled us down. Cutones are a servant class. Some people call them eunuchs. Others call them neuters or newts. They have no sexual desire at all. They are men with removed cocks and balls. They were not turned into breeders. They live in monasteries and wear purple robes. They are hairless. They shave every day, every inch of their bodies, including their eye brows and the hair on their heads. They are feared by regular people. They exist to serve the state. Some say they actually run the state. The cutone who oiled me down gave generous attention to my cock. He rubbed it until I got half hard, which embarrassed me, but I kept standing there, unflinching hoping for him to finish soon. I reach the end of the platform, stage lights blinding me, three cameras pointed right at my face. I see nothing behind them but darkness. I could be in a room filled with a thousand people, or it could be just me, alone with the cameras, the lights, the oil on my cock, the voice of the announcer, and my thoughts. I don't move. I freeze. I'm a statue. If I stay quiet, maybe they will leave me alone. But I know that's wrong. The world wants me to do something, anything, to entertain them, to give them a reason to like me or to hate me. I just stand there. "Kip, would you mind terribly striking a pose for us?" the announcer asks in his creepy deep voice that makes me think he's grinning with sharpened teeth. He sounds like he trying to sell something deadly and delicious with every sentence he speaks. I stand there. That's my pose. Standing. Staring straight ahead. I have big muscles. Anyone can see them. I don't need to flex. I've seen guys do that in years past. To me, they always looked like idiots. Muscles are tools, nothing more. For a living, I pick up buckets of rock, boxes of tools, bags of sand and salt. I use my muscles. I didn't get them from lifting barbells in a gym while I stare into a mirror. If richies want to bet on me, they can bet on me. I'm not going to act like an idiot. "Kip, is clearly a bashful one," the announcer says. "Let's see if we can't encourage him some." The temperature begins drop, rapidly. My breath turns to frost when I exhale. I shiver as the cold soaks into me. This is new. In previous years, uncooperative contestants were simply shocked with shocksticks until they became more compliant. The resulting violence sometimes made for a good show, but for much of the country, willful disobedience and the beatings that followed hinted of rebellion, stoked the flames of resentment. This year, all the TV promos promised something new. "Just wait until you see the exciting new changes to The Pageant," the announcer said in the ads, teeth gleaming. My goal isn't to rebel. I don't want to rebel. I just want to get through this with my dignity, and my cock. That would be nice. The cold nips at my fingers and toes. Goose flesh pricks up on my arms and legs. I blow into my hands to warm them. I rub my arms. I hop around trying to stay warm. Now I'm giving them a show, a stupid one, but I don't care. I need to do something to relieve the cold. "That's not a pose," the announcer says. "Let's see a pose and we'll see if I can't raise the temperature a little." I stop dancing around. I plant my feet. Sure. Yes. Whatever. They want a pose, I'll give them a pose. I lift my arms, flex my biceps, stare into the camera. I'm shivering, frosted breath coming out of my mouth and nose. It's the best I can do. This is my pose. I'm obedient. I did as I was told. "Very good!" the announcer says with cheer. "Let's see another one, and I'll raise the temperature five degrees." "What!" I yell. "You said if I posed..." The temperature drops more. I hug myself again. I hop around, trying to keep my circulation going. My hands feel numb. My feet begin to sting. "I said no such thing!" the announcer says. "I said I'll see what I can do. And I did. Here is what I say now. Pose again, something striking and manly, and I will raise the temperature five degrees." It's so cold. My face feels frozen. My lips feel like they are cracking. The tips of my fingers are blue. They are freezing me to death. I unwrap myself and pose again, this time with my arms in front of me, bent at the elbow. This pose is meant to made biceps look as big as possible. I feel glad I was forced to watch previous Pageants. There was a lot of posing. The temperature goes up a little. I'm thankful. "Good!" the announcer says. "Now another for another five degrees, show us another one" I pose again, this time with my arms down and my chest muscles pumped as full as I can get them. The temperature goes up again. "And now display your cock for us!" the announcer says. "Show us that big hunk of man meat!" This is where I'm supposed to with my right hand lift up my dick and show it to the camera in profile. The camera will show a close up of it, showing everyone in the world the state of my member. This image will be used in any before and after montages they put together. I'm familiar with those as well. Having a big cock is almost always helpful to contestants. More money gets bet on contestants with big cocks. The cold has made my cock tiny. It's shriveled, hardly there. With my right hand, I lift it up, show it to the camera. "That's not much of a cock at all is it?" the announcer says. I don't say anything. I shake with cold. "Tell me it's a tiny cock and I'll raise the temperature," he says. I look down at it. The cold has done bad things to it. I have to agree. "It is a tiny cock," I say. The temperature, mercifully, goes up. It's still cold, but I can stand it. "Now tell us how much you want a pussy instead of a cock," the announcer says. "I want to keep my cock," I say. "How cold will I have to make it before you admit you want a pussy?" "Pretty goddamn cold," I say. "As you wish" says the announcer. The temperature drops in a rush. It's like a blizzard erupted. There is even wind, making it worse. I drop to the floor, hug my legs, trying to keep as much warmth in me as possible. I wonder if I can somehow rip up the carpet and wrap myself in it. But it's too late for that. I'm too cold, too stiff, shivering too much. Ice forms on arms. I feel frosty crust around my mouth. I become more and more numb. It's almost a relief. "Just say it, dear Kippy!" the announcer says. "It doesn't have to be the truth. Lie to me. Tell me how much you want to be a girl." I was a boy. I am a man. It's all I've ever wanted to be, like my father, like my friends. I want to be strong and good and noble. I don't want to freeze to death, but then again, this might not be a bad way to go. "I..." It's hard to speak. "Am..." My mouth and lips barely move. "A..." I don't know if I can get out one more word before I'm frozen solid. "Man..." "Indeed you are!" says the announcer. I hear applause and cheers. I don't know where they are coming from. The lights go up. It's over. The show is over. The room gets warmer, and feeling rushes into my limbs. It's excruciating. I scream. Medical agents in white suits rush in. They wrap me in a hot blanket. They lift me and place me on a gurney. As they wheel me out of the room, I fall asleep, feeling warm, so nice and warm. Chapter Ten I WAKE IN the contestant's lounge. I'm lying on long black leather couch. My head is in Janine's lap. She is stroking my hair, looking down at me with those big beautiful eyes. "My big strong man is awake," she says. I like to watch her painted lips. I can't help it. I think about kissing them. "Hello," I say, still feeling sleepy, and feeling almost sinfully warm and comfortable. She smells so good. I feel like I could lie here forever. My head rests between her thighs. I remember it wasn't that long ago I was in this neighborhood, sucking her cock. Don't tell me it's a sissyclit. It's a cock. And what does that make me? My own cock stirs at the thought. "How are you feeling?" she asks, sounding so motherly. "Good," I say. "Warm. I'm glad that's over." "That was nothing, sweety. That was just the beginning. Savor this, because things only get worse." "Is the Display over?" "You've only missed three others. Dirk hasn't gone yet." I sit up. In front of us is a massive TV screen. The pageant is ongoing, with the sound turned off. A young man, rather thin, is lifting a barbell above his head. He's sweating, grimacing, shaking. He looks about to collapse, yet he stands there, keeping that weight above his head. Janine explains why. "If he drops it, they will turn the temperature up another ten degrees. It's already 120 degrees in there." "Are they trying to kill us? What are they doing? This is just cruel." "This year, they are going for creativity. And for fear. There are rebellious rumblings all through the lower states. This is how the government reminds you to behave. They can do whatever they want to with you. And don't you forget that. 'Be afraid.' That's the message." She sounds different when she talks like this, not flirty, not girlish, but not mannish either. She sounds like a real woman, a quietly angry woman. "I'm not scared." "You should be," she says. I am not afraid; it's true. I'm here. I'm facing what I'm facing. I can't change that. What I am is angry. I've played by the rules my entire life, worked hard, did my job, obeyed the laws that mattered. I had a religion, yes, but everyone does. I never incited rebellion, never joined a union or a gang. I never even read a forbidden book, and I could have. Never did. I always liked rules, and like feeling the safety in following them. Now the government is changing the rules, getting meaner and crueler. It's not fair. So all I am is angry. The room we're in is full of couches and plush chairs, with a few small tables around. It reminds me of the bar my father hangs out in. In fact, there is a bar on the far side of the room, with a variety of multi- colored bottles behind it. On the opposite side of the room is a table cover with food. Again with the food. Are they trying to make us fat? Three other contestants and their advisors are around, but no one mingles or even talks. We're all enemies, I suppose. I'm the only contestant with a sissy for an advisor. The others have men, macho looking men. Beards, mustaches, muscles, balding heads, they look like fathers to their young wards. I guess that means I have a mother, of sorts. Back on the TV, the skinny contestant, sweating buckets, drops his right arm. He can't keep his elbow locked any longer. He drops the barbell. It bounces when it hits the floor. He drops to his knees. He's saying something. It's easy enough to read his lips. "Please, please," he says. He says more words, and I can guess what they are. He is renouncing his manhood, telling the announcer what he wants to hear. I feel obscene just watching it. It's evil. This isn't about punishing disobedience. This is about cruelty. He falls over unconscious. The screen fades to black. No one says anything. The other contestants all look afraid. Our eyes meet and we don't hate each other. We are in this together, for now. The competition starts later. Dirk is the next contestant. With him, I'm a little conflicted. Part of me wants to see him suffer, get a little taste of what I got. Part of me wants him to be okay. He's from my state and we are supposed to be a team. So part of me roots for him. He puts on a show. He poses. He lift weights. He does pushups and pull ups. He has a fine time strutting his manliness. He's never punished. Not once. It's almost at the end of his show. Janine turns up the sound. "I want to hear this," she says. The announcer tells him to display his penis, which is hard and shiny with oil. "Mmmmm, not so bad," Janine says and I get a little jealous. The announcer tells him to admit to wanting a pussy. "Oh yeah, I want a pussy," Dirk says with a smile. "I want a pussy to fuck. Bring me one and I'll do it right here, right now." His bravado is inspiring. He is so full of confidence. I'm proud of him. I'm sure he's going to win The Games. How could it be anyone else? If I had money, I'd bet on him. He already looks triumphant. "Why, it turns out there is already a pussy in the room," the announcer says. "What? Where? Show her to me." "In due time, dear Dirk, in due time. Stand still and do not move. We have one last test for you." Two newts wheel in what looks like a padded saw horse. It's covered in red leather. The newts secure it to the ground with bolts and leave. "Oh god no," Janine says. "What?" "You might not want to watch this. That's a training horse. They use them at the academy." The announcer says, "Just lie down on the horse, dear Dirk. Face down. Your muscled form will look delightful in that pose." Dirk isn't smiling now. He looks terrified. He does obey though. He isn't dumb enough to resist. The newts secure his wrists and ankles to the legs of the horse. Dirk ass is wide open and exposed. One of the newts takes a tube from the sleeve of his robe and squirts a clear liquid onto the crack of Dirk's ass. With his index finger he massages the oil into is ass, sliding in a finger, then two. Dirk grunts, then pants. He tries to pull out of his bonds, but can't. The big muscles in his legs and arms flex in a way that shows off their power, and also emphasizes his helplessness. "Please, I'm sorry. I'll do what you want," Dirk says, desperation in his voice. "Too late for that I'm afraid!" The newts roll in a machine that look like a portable drill press, except for where the drill should be there is a pink rubber cock. A newt lines up the phallus with Dirk's asshole and gently, slow pushes it in. The other newt holds Dirk's ass cheeks open, widening him. "No, please, no," he pleads. "Days of this," Janine says, sounding softly angry again. "I endured that machine for days." The newt turns the machine on. The rubber cock slides in and out, slowly. I'm amazed at how deep it goes. It almost disappears completely inside of Dirk. "Noooooooo! Pleeeeeeease!" "See, dear Dirk! I told you there was a pussy in the room." A newt turns a knob and the machine fucks him faster. "Do you want us to cut off your cock, dear Dirk?" "No! Damn it! No!" One of newts removes a red vial from his sleeve. "Bastards," Janine says. "That is punishment oil. I am very familiar with the sensation it gives. I was a very disobedient sissy." The newt opens the vial and taps it just hard enough for a drop to drop onto the pink cock as it pounds in and out of Dirk. Dirk screams and screams and screams. "Yes! Give me a pussy!" he yells. "Yes, cut off my cock! Do whatever you want to me! Please make it stop!" "Good boy Dirk!" the announcer cheerfully says. "Thank you for your honesty. So sorry we had to...drill for it." The screen fades to black. Chapter Eleven YESTERDAY WAS THE MANHOOD DISPLAY. Today is The Feminine Parade. It will be less painful but more embarrassing. I thought I had it bad with almost getting frozen to death. Other contestants were roasted, electrocuted, stung by bees, and deafened by screeching noises. The display of creative cruelty seemed to go on and on, one new punishment after another. Each of us resisted, trying hard to avoid saying we wanted to give up our masculinity. Some of us broke before others. I was the only one to not break. Of course, I was almost frozen to death. I doubt I could have said another word even if I wanted to break. Janine says she's proud of me, and that makes me happy. Dirk has looked bummed all morning. He was the only one to be sexually violated. I wonder how many of the contestants would have traded their much more painful tortures for Dirk's humiliating one. I don't think I would trade mine, and I had to be treated for frost bite. The idea of The Feminine Parade is to show the audience what we look like made up as women. The most convincing female will get one free pass during The Games, one free orgasm to spend. Having that can help me win, that's what Janine says. I don't think I have any chance at looking like a convincing girl, but I don't want to lose. The loser gets a double shot of feminizer at the start of the contest. My goal then is to be somewhere in the middle, just not last. "The parade is also a chance to learn new skills that can help you win," says Janine. She talks to me and Dirk over the breakfast table. The food continues to be excellent. Cheese omelets. Bacon. Biscuits. Real eggs. Real cheese. I think this might be my favorite meal yet. "One way to win The Games," she says. "The way I won, was to slip into my female self. I could hit a switch in my head, and become a girl. And a good girl can make a horny guy cum." "Not me," Dirk says. "I'm not going to win like that." "Going to take the macho route then?" Janine says. "Going to wrestle the weaker boys into the submission chairs?" "Maybe," Dirk says. "Whatever it takes. I'm never getting fucked again." "What about you, Kip?" she asks. I'm busy buttering toast. I cannot get enough of butter. "I don't know," I say. "I've seen guys win in a lot of different ways. I think my plan is to stay out of the way, stay quiet, let the others sort each other out. Then at the end, I'll figure out how to win." That really is my plan. Guys pretty much take two paths to get a win. If they take the macho way, they overpower their competitors, force them into submission chairs, chairs with straps for ankles and wrists and a neck. Once in a submission chair, the other contestants can take advantage, teasing out an orgasm. The other way is to go as girly as possible. Be a temptress. After a few days, the drugs they fill you with make you hornier and hornier, until just the sight of someone even vaguely feminine will make you cum. I don't like either path. I don't want to force anyone to do anything other than leave me alone. I also don't want to try and look sexy in high heels and a tight skirt. I would look comical, a big brute stumbling about. I would make cocks soft, not the ideal way to force your competitor to cum. So staying out of the way seems to make the most sense. At the end, if I am still in the running, I feel like I can overpower anyone. If it's Dirk, then that would make me happy. The ass. "That is not such a bad plan," Janine says. "I've seen guys take the high road for almost the entire event. A lot of finalists have had the same 'leave me alone, I'll leave you alone' strategy. They never win though. At the end, when it's down to two or three, they aren't ready. At some point, you have to play the game, and the more you play, the better you get." "I don't think I'm ever going to be good at looking like a girl," I say, "I'll stick to what I can do as a guy." "Let's just see about that," she says with a grin. *** I'm sitting in a tall swivel chair, naked, my body shaved. Not a hair on me from the neck down, shaved clean. I feel more naked than I have ever felt in my entire life. Janine is flitting around me, gliding about on her high heels. She pulls tubes, small pots, jars, brushes and pens from various drawers and shelves around the room. This is a makeover room. Most contestants have professional makeup artists and stylists. Dirk is using professionals. I have Janine, and I'm totally fine with that. More time with Janine is always fine by me. She has her collection of makeup on the table next to me. She stares at it intently, thinking hard. I love looking at her. Today she is in a skin-tight, black catsuit that hugs her every delightful curve. It's fun to watch her move. It's almost like she's dancing. Her black patent boots have a 4-inch heel and it doesn't seem to matter. She could dance a ballet in them I have no doubt. I look her ass, packed into that tight spandex. I like the lean, graceful line of her legs. I like how she holds her arms when thinking about something, her left tucked under her plump breasts, and the manicured fingers of her right hand gently touching her bright red lips. She doesn't look like a sissy today. Not a speck of pink anywhere. She looks like a woman, a quite serious and business-like woman. "Why are you dressed like that?" I ask her as she looks over three different shades of eye shadow. "Aren't sissies supposed to wear pink?" "Sissies wear pink when they wish to, but there isn't law," she says. "But there is a law against sissies trying to pass as women." "Look at me, sweety. Do I really look like a real girl?" She stands back, puts her hands on her hips, and has a bemused look on her face. I look over her, her lovely red-lipped face, her thin arms, her tiny waist, her long legs, the curve of her hips, her...oh, there it is. That's why she wouldn't pass as a real woman. In her black spandex catsuit, right where a woman's smooth front would be, is the outline of a big fat cock, almost obscenely hard and pointing to the sky. I remember it in my mouth, and the pleasure I gave her. I look away. "But yes, sweety, I do enjoy wearing sissy pink and stealing as much attention as possible. However, today, you are the star. That's why I'm dressed down. Because it's your turn to dress up!" I look at her in her skintight suit, feel my cock harden in its cage until it hurts, and wonder how she can think she won't attract attention. "I don't know what you can do for me," I say. "I'm going to be the ugliest guy on the stage." "You let me worry about that," she says and slides into a black lab coat. She buttons the two top buttons and walks up to me, leans over, puts her face close to mine. "I'm going to put a lot of lipstick on your lips in a little while." "I know," I say, my heart pounding. Her face, so close, looks even more beautiful. I love her big eyes. I love the faded splatter of freckles across her nose. "But to start, I'm going to apply just a little bit right now," she says. She kisses me lightly on the lips, holds it for a second, then leans back. Smiles at me. "Let's get started! It's going to be fun." "If you say so," I say. "Close your eyes." I close my eyes. I feel her applying something smooth and creamy to my face. It smells maybe a little like vanilla. I can also smell her, a cloud of flowers around me. Her smell always makes me happy. "I know you don't want to do this," she says as she works. "I know it feels odd as a man to suddenly be concerned with being pretty." "I'm never going to look like a girl." "I know you worry about being embarrassed. To a big strong man like you, looking like sissy is your worst nightmare. I know." She applies more stuff, this stuff with a slightly different, lighter smell, around the top of my forehead and under my chin. "I am going to be humiliated," I say. "I don't care. I'm being made to do this. Hundreds of other men have done this. I have no choice, so I'm going to do it and get it over with." "And you don't think you can win?" "Not a chance in the world." "You don't think you can be pretty?" "No." "Do you trust me?" I think about it. Yes, I do trust her. "Then you will believe me if I say I can make you can pretty?" I think about it. Yes, I believe her. I have deep doubts, but I am sure she can do a better job than anyone else. "Yes, I believe you." "Then you believe you can be pretty. Even though you are a big strong manly man, you believe you can be pretty." "Yes, I think so." "Say it." I don't say anything. I'm too embarrassed to say the words. I'm too much of a man to say what she wants me to say. She keeps working at me, smearing things on face, sometimes brushing , sometimes using her fingers. She is fast and efficient. I feel relaxed, tended to, safe in her hands. We stay quiet for a long time. She works away. "Bringing out a little of the feminine in you won't do any damage to the male in you, I promise. She is in there somewhere, and if you find her, she will save you. She will save the part of you that is a he. Now say it." "Say what?" "Say you believe you can be pretty." I don't want to say it. I feel like I'll be giving up already, like it's a slippery slope and if I talk about being pretty then it won't be long before I'm wearing heels and sucking dicks. Wait a second. I've already sucked a dick, hers, and it won't be long before I'm in a pair of heels. "Bend, give in, flex," she says. "Let down your guard and let it rest. You can fight the right fight later. For now, give in. Find the girl inside you somewhere and let her play for just a little while. Say it." "I...I believe...I believe I can be pretty." I don't believe it. Well, maybe a little bit. What is surprising is that part of me hopes it's true. If I have to do this, then I at least want to look a little pretty. "Good girl," she says. Now she is sponging something else on my face, a thicker cream of some kind. Then she pats my face down with a fluffy pad. Then I feel a large soft brush swish against my cheekbones. I don't know how many products are on my face now, how many substances, all of which have some purpose I'm not aware of other than to make me look more feminine. And pretty. I should not forget pretty. "Hold still," she says. "I'm going to do your eyes." I feel a soft swab over my left eye lid, then the right. Then a liquid. Then something pointy, like a pencil. "Open your eyes and look up," she says. I open them and there she is, bright red smile, big blue eyes, jet black hair, straight and silky down to her shoulders, the bangs cut in severe dark line over her eyes. Such an aggressive look for her, or for any sissy. "Look at the ceiling, find a spot and stay on it," she commands. I obey. She draws on my lower lid with a thin brush. She is careful, going slowly, intently, like a surgeon. Left eye first, then the right. "Close again," she commands, and I obey. "Stay very still." She spreads more goo along the edges of my eyelids and then attaches something to them, something kind of heavy. "Your eyes are going to just pop!" she says with excitement. Then she walks away, I hear her heels clicking on the tiled floor. I wait, my eyes closed. I'm excited. I feel kind of high. Something about being pampered over has put me in the strangest mood, both relaxed and thrilled at the same time. My heart is beating faster, and I feel like smiling. I hear her walk back, heels clicking. "Final touch," she says. I feel the wig go on my head. She pulls it down tight. Hair drops over my ears, over my face, onto my shoulders. She brushes it, gently pulling at it. She combs and sprays something that smells acrid. She's moving fast, paying some attention to almost every part of the wig. "Do you trust me?" she asks. "Yes," I say, feeling good. Odd, but good. "Do you want to be pretty?" I know the answer is yes. I've never felt this way before, but right now, this second, the answer is very much yes. "Yes," I say. "Then open your eyes." I open my eyes and look into the hand mirror she is holding before me. In the mirror is an extremely pretty, dramatic, fiery girl with a storm of blazing blond hair streaked with flame-orange. Her jaw is maybe a little strong, her nose maybe a little big. But her eyes are bright and big and painted with flames of blue and purple with a faint outline of orange. Fire eyes. The girl has fire eyes. "Is that a pretty girl?" she asks me. I have to be honest. I am shocked to say it, but I have to. "Yes. That is one very hot girl." "Look at her," she says. "Stare at her. Fall in love with her." I do. I look in that girl's eyes and I find myself loving her, loving that part of myself, this girl I have never met before. Janine hands me the mirror. I can't take my eyes off of myself. "Keep looking," she says. "Keep her in your heart. Think about how beautiful she is." I feel Janine's hands on my cage, and then it's gone. My cock springs free, hard as diamonds. She strokes it just five times and I cum like a volcano while looking into my own feminized eyes. She strokes me until I'm empty. I feel feint. I feel so good. "She is alive now, and she will never go away," she says. "She is going to save you." Janine lifts a hand covered in cum to my lips. "Lick, little girl, lick that tasty man seed. Show me what a girl you are." I extend my tongue. I want to please her. I want to make her happy. And I want to be girl, right now, in this moment, I want to be her girl. I lick it off her hand like a cat lapping up milk. "Good girl," she says. "That's my good girl." Chapter Twelve MY NAME IS JASMINE. I am going to be a mother. Yesterday, a handsome man named Dirk came to me in a beautiful room and made love to me. It was my first time. He entered me, burst my virgin skin, spread open my pussy, fucked me, and filled me with his seed. That seed did exactly what it is supposed to do. It traveled up into my tummy where my eggs were fertilized. That means I'm going to do exactly what I'm designed to do, make a baby. I'm going to make a lot of babies, but the first one is always special. I'll remember Dirk for the rest of my life. I will always love him. He is a contestant in The Manhood Games. He might be turned into someone like me, a breeder. The thought makes me mad. I want him to be my husband. I want us to raise our baby together. If he wins, he will be rich and famous and can marry whoever he pleases. I'm sure he'll marry me. I was his first, and I'm sure he loves me the same way I love him. And I know he'll want to be a father to his son. What man doesn't want to have a beautiful wife and a perfect son? I'm going to help him. After the doctor told me I was pregnant, and I cried with joy, a eunuch in a pretty purple robe came to me asked me if I'd like to help Dirk. I said, "Yes, yes, yes...anything!" What else would I say? I want to help my man. This made the eunuch happy and he gave me a red candy to suck on. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. I think about Dirk, and feel my pussy get wet. I want him again. I want him right now. I remember what it was like to have his cock in my cunt and how it felt like the best thing in the world. I wish everyone could feel that. I think I once knew a guy named Jim. I can't remember what he looked like, but he's in my dreams sometimes. I think maybe we were friends. Perhaps he was my first crush. I can't remember. My past is so fuzzy. It's just snips, little scenes that come to me every once in a while. Jim. It's a nice name. Maybe we'll name our son Jim. But first, Dirk has to win The Manhood Games. And I'm going to help him. TO BE CONTINUED Hi! I hope you are enjoying this story. It has been very fun to write! If you could do me a favor, please leave a review. It doesn't have to be long. Reviews help get a story noticed and will also let me know what you like (and don't) about The Games. If you'd like to chat, you can like me on Facebook at... https://www.facebook.com/nancyrosetv I'm also on tumbler here... http://nancyrosetv.tumblr.com/ You can also read my full length novella The Trainer here... http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DZ3396Q Hugs, Nancy