The Games - Part Fourteen free porn video

THE GAMES PART FOURTEEN By Nancy Rose If you haven't read the previous parts, you really should! Part One is here... https://fictionmania.tv/searchdisplay/authordisplay.html?word=1473 If you have read this far, then thank you! I hope you have enjoyed yourself. I appreciate your time very much. Could I ask one small favor? Please leave a review, just a line or so will do. Thank you! And now, on with the story... Chapter 54 MY NAME IS PIE. IT'S a too cute name, this I know. There so few names that are neither male nor female, yet that's me, neither boy nor girl. Well, genetically speaking, I'm like 51% male and 49% female, so close enough. How did I get this way? The Virus. Notice the capital "V" in Virus. That's what they call it, so it's a proper name, a proper noun. The Virus. It's that important. It doesn't need a more descriptive name. When it's unleashed and changes the world, it will just be called The Virus. People will know what you are talking about when you say those words. However, if you wanted to call it The Twink Virus or The Twinkie Virus, you could do that to. Just don't call it The Sissy Virus. A Sissy Virus would make you like 80% female, give you big boobs, and make you want to express yourself as a horny whore. We've got plenty of sissies running around, so no need for a Sissy Virus. We've got nanos to make sissies for us. The Virus is actually kind of the opposite of what a Sissy Virus would be, or what a Manly Virus would be. Instead of making you an extreme, designed to ignite sexual passion in the opposite gender, The Virus brings you into a state of sexual balance, which can be kind of sexy in itself. I am both boy and girl, yet neither. When I dress as a girl, I look like a girl. When I dress like a boy, I look like a boy. In both cases, I look young. I am 24, yet I could easily pass as 12 or 13. I have small breasts. You might not notice them unless you are groping me. If I wear a bra with some push-up action, you can see them better. If I am shirtless, you might think I have slightly too big peck muscles. I'm about five foot five, skinny as a rail, and my butt is a little bit bigger than it should be for a normal boy. I keep my hair medium long with straight bangs that hang down a bit over my left eye. When I want to be a girl, I'll play with some styling gel and a blow dryer. When I want to be a boy, I don't do much of anything with it. I have a cock, but it's smallish, around 5 inches hard, perfectly straight and shaped. I've been told by several lovers that it is beautiful. I also have small balls, like the size of a child's coin purse. They hold two working testicles, small, but they do work. I can get a breeder pregnant if I wish. But here is the good part. If you lift up my balls and look close, under a bright light, you'll see a small slit between my asshole and my balls. Know what that slit is? That's the miracle of the The Virus. That's what rebel scientists want to give the humanity. That slit is actually a pussy. Yes, it feels good to be fucked there. Men have to go slow, as it's smaller than a regular pussy. It's really made for a dick about the size of mine. The mammoth logs men around this house are sporting would split me open, maybe kill me. My doctor tells me the slit will stretch with time, if I have a lot of sex. I don't plan on trying. I'm not attracted to men, or to women. I'm attracted to those like me, those that are somewhere in between. I do have to admit, I do like looking at sissies, especially the more mannish ones. That mix of male and female, it makes my cock hard and my pussy wet. Isn't that funny? I'm superior to the rest of humanity. That's what I'm told anyway. I have no idea if it's true. Probably is. Most of the people I've met on this world do seem somehow...inadequate, or broken, or missing some piece that would make them a full, healthy person, you know, like me. I'm immune to the government nanos. That's what I'm in The Games to prove. My mission is to sleep in the pink rooms, get shot up with as much feminizer as possible, and display to the world my incredible, never-changing body. The Games were supposed to last for days, even weeks. That's the norm. Not this year. This year everything has gone fast. The president planned to make a point with these games, I guess. She is out to prove how powerful her technology is, how quickly she can turn men into sissies, and sissies into breeders. I mean, come on! Some of these guys are already sporting D-cup tits. With normal nanos, that would have taken two weeks at least. Anyway, I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do now. Keep with the plan I suppose. My plan, that is, not the rebellion's. My orders were to take the sissy path, and that normally means getting all girled up and making the dudes on the manly path cum out. That would mean playing with their big hard dicks and letting them fuck me. I have my own ideas. I do plan on winning this competition. But I'm not going to let anyone touch me. I'm going to defend myself, just like the rules say I can. And I plan on vigorously defending myself. And by vigorously, I mean killing any fucking dude who touches me. I've already killed one guy in this house, and it was easy. I thought I'd feel guilty about it, but I don't. He was alive, and then he was dead. Didn't seem to affect me one way or another. Maybe that's another way I'm superior to everyone else. Did I forget to mention my enhanced strength? Yeah, that's another little thing about The Virus. I might look like a waif, quite thin and weak appearing, but I'm crazy strong. The genetic engineers baked that into the formula because the earlier twinkie experiments turned out so soft and weak. I'm the next generation of twinks, and I'm stronger, stronger than they expected. Now I'm just cruising around, waiting for the next muscle head to show up. The guys are so full of man juice right now, so horny, so needing to fuck anything that moves. The next one to see me is going to try and rape me, and I'm going to kill him, and it will be legal, all within the rules of The Games. I think the gamemakers are keeping the other contestants away from me. They know my plan, and they don't yet know what to do about it. Killing isn't supposed to be part of the entertainment value of this show. This is a sex show mostly. I plan to change that. They want a game? I'll give them a game. There is one now! Awesome! He just walked through the cross hall, didn't seem to notice me. The dumb muscle-head. I bet he's looking for food. That much meat needs to keep getting fed. I walk around the corner, my feet light on the floor. This is my plan...I will sneak up behind him, whisper in his ear, startle him. He will attack me, and I'll grab his head and twist until I hear a snap. Another clear case of self-defense. I believe his name is Blake, from State 17, which is, from what I hear, a waste of space with nothing there but desert, rocks and sand. Cactus, that they have a lot of. I walk right behind him, and he doesn't hear a thing. That's another thing we twinks are good at. We can walk like cats, not make a sound, especially on thick carpet like this. "Pssst," I say into his right ear. "Asshole." He spins, startled. He's huge, big black beard, curly hair, a massive body that looks made of boulders covered in black fur. "Hey," he says. "You know where the food is? I'm so hungry. I can't stand it. I'm dying." Shit. He's hungry more than horny. I'm never going to get him to attack me. I know what to do. "Catch me and I'll tell you where dinner is," I say and trot away. I look back over my shoulder. He looks confused, then annoyed. He grits his teeth and starts lumbering after me, so slow, all that muscle not able to move with any speed. I run and run, stopping every so often so he can catch up. "You bitch!" he yells at me. "Just cut me a break! I'm not going to do anything to you, I promise." "I just ate!" I yell behind. "Steak and potatoes and buttered bread and wine!" "Please, I'm so hungry," he calls from behind me. He's breathing heavy. Moving all that meat is exhausting him. He stops running. He's doubled over, holding his chest. Is he having a heart attack? Wow, that is pathetic. All those manly nanos turned that nerdy little normal guy into a muscled beast who can barely run more than a few steps. I walk back to him, staying just out of reach. "Are you really out of breath?" I ask. "Yes," he says panting. He sinks to the floor, sits, leans on the wall, breaths heavily. "Aren't you hungry?" I ask. "Yes," he says between breaths. Leaning on the wall like that, all huffing and puffing, he looks like a sleepy bear, black fur, big head, fuzzy face, big brown eyes. He is kind of cute, I have to admit. I'd like to have him as a pet, train him, teach him tricks. But he's a man, and he is full of man juice, which makes him dangerous. And this is The Games, so he's still my enemy. "I always thought that manly men needed to fuck more than they needed to eat," I say. "Are telling me you'd rather have lunch than have sex with me?" He looks up at me. I strike a sassy sissy pose, hand on my hip, ass to the side, big smile. "What are you doing?" he asks. "Trying to get me to cum out? Leave me alone." "Ah, poor big bear, all sorry himself. Big dumb brute. Wants to fuck. Wants to eat. Can't do either. Maybe you should have taken the sissy road. Or maybe you want to give up and become a breeder. That's it, isn't it? You're ready to quit and go get your vagina installed." Anger. That's always a reliable button to push in manly men. They want to fuck, they want to eat, and they want to beat something up. I'm not going to give him the first two items, but that third one, maybe that one I can interest him in. "Shut up, you annoying little bitch," he says with a spark of anger in his eyes. "Or what?" I ask. "You're going to chase me around again, run out of breath, and sit on the floor some more. You look strong, but you're weak. You're a pussy. You're a disgrace and your state is ashamed of you. The country is ashamed of you. You're going to be a breeder whore, and men are going to fill up your cunt over and over again, and you are going to love it." "Shut up!" he shouts. He springs to his feet, faster than I expected. Damn. Those muscles do seem to be good for something. He's got his beefy hands around my throat and is squeezing tight. I can't speak, can't breathe. He wants to kill me. That will get him DQed out of the house, but that would also make me dead, not something I plan on being any time soon. Now that he's finally attacked me, I can kill him with no penalty, without a single rule broken. First I jam my pointed fingers into the nerve bundle just below his armpit. Knowing these weak points was part of my training before The Games. After a year of classes, practice and endless drills, I'm a skinny little death machine with a cute smile and a sparkle in my eyes. Turns out killing people is fun. I like it. But I want to go slow. I want the world to see. I hope the cameras are on me. I hope a TV audience of millions is taking notes. The brute's left arm goes limp, but his right is still strong enough to choke me out. Before I can gouge the nerve bundle that would turn off that right arm, he throws me against the wall. I hit my head and see stars for a moment. Still, I land on my feet just like a cat. He doesn't rush in. He's a little scared now, but there is still rage in his face. He's not giving up. He still wants to kill me. He just wants to do it with a little less pain. His left arm is likely still numb and covered with a burning sensation. Nerve bundles can be cruel things. "Come on, pussy," I say. "The world is watching you get your ass kicked by a sissy. Your parents are hanging their heads in shame right about now." He lunges at me with his good arm, his right one, and grabs my left arm. He pulls me to him, extends his leg and trips me, throwing me to the ground. This I didn't expect. He has some skills. He kicks me in the ribs while I'm down. He still has an iron grip around my left arm, which keeps me from twisting away and getting back on my feet. So I do the opposite, just like my training tells me to do. Instead of going down and away, which would give him the opportunity to kick me in places I don't want to be kicked, I go toward him, swing my legs up, using him as a big, hairy jungle gym. I wrap my legs around his neck, lock my ankles and squeeze. His neck is thick, but my legs are strong and the pressure I apply cuts off all the air and blood to his head. His eyes get round. He tries to take in a breath and can't. He releases my arm and uses his hands to try and pry my legs apart. He's panicking, forgetting whatever training he's had. He should be looking for ways to cause me more pain than I want to experience. Instead, he's trying to use his arm muscles against my leg muscles. Not a good idea. His lips turn blue. He stumbles but remains upright. His work on my legs is slowing, growing weaker. I think he's giving up. I think he knows he is beat. I don't want him dead just yet. That would be no fun. And it wouldn't cause the kind of fear that I want to cause. I want the other contestants to know what I've done, what I can do. When he drops to his knees, I take my legs from around his neck. He huffs and puffs, coughs, spit up blood. His face hits the floor. He is barely conscious. He mumbles something. My nails are about a half inch long and sharp, painted a pale pink. They are feminine yet functional. They are perfect for a twink like me, who has a use for them other than giving my hands a casually elegant look. I pluck out his eyes with ease, leaving them on the plush red carpet in little pools of blood. He screams and screams, blind as a bat. I write this on the wall in his blood... "Cum out now, or find yourself blind or dead." It might not work. But then again, it might just get a few more contestants to cum out voluntarily. The sooner I win, the sooner I can get back to the world and start taking it over. I've got a lot of people to infect with The Virus. I open his juggler vein and leave him on the floor to bleed to death. Hope everyone enjoyed the show! Chapter 55 "You are very brave, Janine," Ian the fat eunuch tells me. "Especially for a sissy." "You are quite fat, even for a newt," I say. "I have no ego, so insulting me does me no harm." "But it makes me feel so much better." "I did not mean to insult you. It's just that sissies are trained to be submissive, trained to obey, not to be brave, and certainly not to embrace the concept of self-sacrifice. And here you are, taking a mission that could result in your death, or even worse." "You newts. You think sissies stop being humans? You think our brains are as reprogrammable as a computer? Do you think my mind is filled only with what you put there? I have my own desires, emotions, thoughts, and ideas. Yes, your training rearranged some things in here" - I tap my temple with a well-manicured, quite long, bright pink fingernail - "but you can't dam up the entire ocean. You can dredge a new canal, divert a stream or two, but the ocean is still the ocean." "Do you enjoy being a sissy?" "I have come to, yes." "And is that a new canal we dredged or is your enjoyment of sissihood native to the ocean of your mind?" "Can we just get on with this? We don't have much time." "My apologies. You are right. I do hope we have a chance to talk more. I seldom get to talk to sissies who have lived outside of the Academy for a few years. The emergence of your ego, and your acceptance of your status, it's all quite fascinating." "Get on with it," I say. "Relax then," he says. "You are wired up and ready. This will take a while. I'm honestly not sure how long. I will be as gentle as possible." This was my decision, to once again sit in a hypno chair with a creepy newt flicking switches and turning dials. My decision was to help the rebellion. I did that for Kip. I did it for the country. I don't like nor trust these rebels. I don't like that they plan on releasing more biology changing shit into the world without knowing what the results are going to be. I don't like them making that decision for the rest of humanity. It's crazy. The motive to do something for the good of humanity always seems to give people the idea they can do anything they want. However, these rebels have a point. The president really is crazy. She needs to be gone. If we don't do it now, while she is distracted and weakened, then we will never be able to do it. We can discuss the details later. This is our plan. And yes, it seems crazy. The plan is for me to kill the president. How will I do that? I will be among her sissy harem, a specially trained collection of gurls who do nothing but devote themselves to the pleasure of Madam President. She likes them obedient, embarrassed, humiliated, constantly blushing, constantly ashamed at their predicament. She also likes her pussy worshipped, a lot. As fate would I have it, I was trained to vomit if I see pussy. So here I am, back in the hypno chair, ready for retraining. I will get my taste for pussy back, and I'm also going to get my sissy training reinforced, so I fit in with the other sissies, so that she won't notice something wrong. I need to be perfect. She can't suspect, or she will have me killed on the spot. She has killed sissies for much, much less. The newt injects a red fluid into the IV line that is hooked up to my left arm. I feel drowsy, sleep descending and covering me like a warm blanket. I hear Ian's voice. It is everywhere. It is my universe. I must obey it. Each of his words will become part of me. I have no resistance. "A sissy girl, that is what you are. Sexy, feminine, submissive, and girlish. You were once a man, but no more. You love being a sissy, and that causes you great embarrassment. Doesn't it?" "Yes," I say. "You walk daintily. You love being weak. You love pretty clothes. You love speaking as a cute, little girl, don't you? "Yes." "Feel yourself becoming even more feminine now, softer and softer, weaker and weaker, sexier and sexier. Your only desire is to be a weak, submissive sissy." "Yes." "And the male part of you, the small part of you that remains a man, is ashamed, embarrassed, and humiliated. Isn't he?" I begin to cry. "Yes," I say. He slips his hand around my limp cock. I can't move. I am detached from my body. I am watching, sensing, taking in his words, his suggestions, his orders. I am still me. I am Janine, and also some part of me is still James. I watch the scene like I would watch a vid, an observer, but an invested one. I want to scream at the screen, change the story, save that pretty gurl tied down in the chair with tubes running into her arm. He massages my cock, the fat old newt. "Sissy girl," he says. My cock grows, getting bigger, longer, harder. "Sexy slut," he says, moving his hand faster. My face glows with sweat. I mumble something. Not sure what. "Little gurl," he says, stroking me. "Weak, pliable, eager to please..." "Yes," I say. "Silly, giggly, constantly blushing..." "Yes," I say. "You love your mommy, don't you?" "Hmm-mmm." "You want to make your mommy happy, don't you?" "Yes, daddy, yes so much, I wanna make her so happy." "Listen carefully then. You had a little sickness. A germ was put inside you that made you sick." "I was sick, daddy?" "Yes dear sweet sissy. You were sick. When you looked at a lady's vagina, you got sick to your stomach. Do you remember?" I can feel my stomach begin to lurch at the thought of it. "No, sissy," he says firmly. "You are cured. That nasty bug is all gone. I want you to feel yourself feel better, feel healthier. In fact, the more you think about mommy's pussy, the better you feel." I almost throw up. I dry heave. I can taste bile in my mouth. "Obey, sissy," he says. "You are not sick. You are a healthy gurl. All thoughts about being sick drift away, fade away, like they were never there." I feel better. My stomach calms. "You love mommy's pussy," he says. "Yes, I love mommy's pussy." "It's a beautiful cunt." "Mommy has a beautiful cunt." "You love to lick it..." he says. This goes on for quite some time. Chapter 56 MY NAME IS DIRK AND my penis has never been so big. It's a monster. I'm not sure it's mine. The nanos did a lot more than give me bigger muscles and a lot of body hair. They gave me a giant's cock. It's like I sprouted a new leg. It must be 12 inches long and thick as a soda can. It's a weapon. It's really too big. What breeder is going to have a pussy this big? What sissy is going to let that giant thing into her boicunt? Desire, she seems willing to try. She is the sissy standing above me, standing on the submission chair, a leg on each side of me. She is positioning her asshole just above my standing straight cock. It looks like a missile about to launching into her crack. My job, once she gets me all the way in her - which might not be physically possible - will be to not cum. That could be difficult. Just looking at this sexy sissy makes me want to spurt. Hard to believe she was all man just two days ago. Now she looks like a super-model, who just happens to have a smallish cock and balls. Her breasts are big, like D-cups. He hips are round and meaty, her waist small and he stomach flat. She has the blonde bimbo look, yes, and true, that has never really been my thing. But her eyes, so big and blue, her lips so plump and pouty. She is a fuck doll if I ever saw one. "Desire, think about what you are doing," I say as I watch her hole descend and ever so gently touch the head of my cock. "I'm thinking if I don't get your wonderful cock inside my cunt, I'm going to just die!" she says with determination in her eyes. She slowly puts her weight down onto my cock, crouching, her smooth legs bending into crouch. A bit of the head goes in and then she stops. "Oh god, yes," she says. "Just that much feels like heaven." "They did this to you. Don't you want to fight back?" "You don't know what this feels like," she says, still pushing herself onto my cock, the head of it slowly forcing its way into her. "This itch inside, this ache. It's like being hungry, but lower down, right inside my ass. All I can think about is having a big cock in me, touching that spot." "That's right! That's the trick. If my cock hits that spot, then you'll cum and be done. Do you want that?" "I don't wanna cum out, but I want you in me!" She drops herself an inch and the head of my cock pops inside of her. She screams. That must have hurt. She is incredibly tight. It feels like the end of cock is gripped by a strong fist. "You don't have to go any further," I say. I'm trying not to thrust into her. My body is betraying me. It wants to fuck. It doesn't understand why this very fuckable sissy is so available and yet fucking isn't happening. "I've got to, damn it," she says. "I've just got to. I don't care if they turn me into a breeder. I don't care anymore. I want this." Another idea occurs to me. She wants to go slow, do this with as little pain as possible. What if I give her as much pain as possible? "Okay sissy," I say. "You asked for it." I thrust my hips and my rod splits into her. I can feel something rip. She screams loud and long, like I stabbed her in the spine with a long thin knife. I feel so bad, but I had no choice. I need to get her off of me. Thing is, she isn't moving. She is frozen, statue-like. I trickle of blood runs from her gash, over the base of my cock and over my balls. "You're hurt," I say. "You should get off of me." "Just hold still for a moment, please," she says weakly, her voice barely a whimper. Tears run down her cheeks. Her lips are trembling. "That hurt so much." "Okay, sissy, okay," I say, and mean it. "Just slide off of me. You're hurt but the nanos will fix you up. You just need a few hours to heal." "You're right," she says, her eyes closed. She looks so sad, her cheeks wet with tears. "I'll be better soon. I'll heal." She lifts off of me, my cock sliding out of her until the head pops free. A smear of red blood covers my meat from the head to the base. "Good girl," I say. "That hurt so much," she says. "But you know what? It was also the best thing I've ever felt in my life." "What? No, don't!" She smashes back down on my cock as hard as she can. "Oh yes! Yes!" she screams. "Uh-oh," I say. She rides me, slowly at first, then fast, then faster. It feels so good. She is tight and wet and my dick feels so good inside of her, stretching her open. The orgasm builds in me, just behind my balls. The pressure builds. My balls tighten. I can't do jack shit about this. My arms and legs are tied down. An ultra-hot sissy is riding me. Her beautiful tits are bouncing up and down. Her pink-painted mouth is open and her eyes are closed in ecstasy. My cock is pulsing, hardening. I can feel myself about to go. There is nothing I can do about it. Her boycunt feels too good. I'm done for. "What the fuck is going on here!" shouts a female voice from across the room. I look over and see...What the hell? The president is here? In this room? "Get your ass off of him, you sissy bitch," the president says. Desire pops off of me like there are springs in her ass. She hops off the table and lands on her feet. "And you," the president says to me, sounding angry. "What are you doing fucking this slut?" "Madame...I...well...She kind of just jumped onto me. Submission table, you know, I didn't have much of a choice." "I see," she says. She is a good looking woman, but mean, icy, so striking with those bright blue eyes, that straight blond hair, those high, sharp cheek bones. She has a presence, you know? "Sissy, come here," she orders Desire. Desire meekly walks over to the president, her sissy pole still hard and bouncing around as she walks. "Were you enjoying your little ride?" "Yes, madam," she answers, her eyes cast down, her face flushed red with humiliation. "Were you close to cumming?" "Yes, very. "Then finish. Quickly." "Yes Madame." Desire reaches down and grasps her little cock. "Think about how good it was to ride that cock," the president tells her. "Oh yes, yes, it was lovely." "Think about how wonderful it will be to have a cunt instead of a cock, and to be fucked like a proper lady." That did the trick. Desire cums, her white milk squirting out and landing at the feet of the president. "Good bye, dearie. Have a wonderful life." Agents walk in, grab Desire by her arms and walk her away. The president watches them go with a little smirk on her face. The she walks to me, stands over me. Is she going to make me cum out too? Ah damn. I don't know what to do. "And were you enjoying fucking her?" she asks. "Not really. All I could think of was how to get her off of me." "Who in this house would you like to fuck, if you had your choice?" "I don't want to fuck anyone. I want to win." "Never mind winning. Pretend it's not about that. Who do you want to fuck?" I think about it for a second. The answer surprises me, but it's the truth. "I've wanted to fuck Kitty ever since the pageant. Right after she got those feminizer shots, I couldn't stop thinking about her." "That is the right answer." Then the president kisses me on the lips. Then she slides her tongue into my mouth. This has been one weird fucking day. Chapter 57 I'M KIP'S FATHER. I'M WITH a group of rebels. There are twenty of us. We are armed with crow bars, kitchen knives and Molotov cocktails. It's 10 p.m., pitch black, no moon out tonight, just stars. It's an hour past curfew. We aren't allowed to be in the government sector, under penalty of prison time and fines. Prison time and fines are the least of our worries. We are sneaking through alleys, approaching the county's government building. It's in there that federal officials work, or rule us, depending on your political persuasion. They do everything from monitor coal outputs to monitor communications to manage the amount of food and supplies that reach us. They control everything, right from inside that white stone building. That's where they decide how we citizens should live our lives. We hate that building. It is lovely to look at, made of white marble, three stories tall, four columns in the front holding up a fresco featuring tall, strong, handsome women and men on bended knees with their heads bowed. Every male citizen of this state has fantasized about blowing it up, setting it on fire or at least pissing on it. In there is where our elected leaders go to beg for more food and never get it. In there is where our union leaders go to negotiate for safer mines, reductions in work hours, a few more days off a year, and lower retirement ages. Somehow, we always end up with more dangerous mines, 16-hour workdays, one day off a week, and a retirement age of 75, up from 65 ten years ago. So yes, that building is the focal point of a lot of hate. It also heavily guarded, with a full barracks of heavily armed agents living in the basement. It is patrolled by two pair of agents carrying machine guns and grenades. There are security cameras everywhere. And here we are, a little band of poorly armed miners, half of us drunk, all of us terrified. What we're doing here, I have no idea. The command came down through the rebellion's network to be ready to attack. There will be an event within The Games, and then the signal will be given. Our group leader will get the message via a highly illegal micro- wireless device he wears in his ear, a little hunk of black plastic that apparently will tell him when it's time to overthrow the government. We take position just behind a plaza that hosts a general store, a diner and a bakery. The government workers shop and eat here. Most of us miners don't have the money too. We watch the hated white building and wait. We keep an eye on the patrolling agents. They circle around the building, walking in step, never stopping, never tiring. I don't know how they see out of those googles they wear. They are tinted pitch black. Do they wear night vision goggles at night? I have no idea. Are they even humans anymore? Still no idea. "What are we waiting for?" whispers a guy at the front of our pack. "The signal," says Cliff, our rebel leader, sounding annoyed. "Now just shut it." "Why wait?" the guy says. "We can take those two agents out right now." "They will kill us all before we get across the parking lot. We are supposed to wait for the signal." "If we stay here for too long, a drone will see us and we'll be dead anyway. I'd rather go now!" "Go home then. We are not doing jack shit until I get the word." "Damn it. Waiting is hard!" I agree that waiting is hard. I also agree that hiding in the shadow of this building isn't going to be safe for long. We all know that the government has camera-tipped drones flying around, each one equipped with missiles. If one sees us, it will likely open fire and turn us all into ash and meat chunks. That offer to go home sure sound nice. That I'd like to do. I'd like to be in my warm house in my comfy chair watching TV. But I can't do that because the only show on TV right now is The Manhood Games and my eldest son is being turned into a sissy bimbo slut just so the president can prove a point about how powerful the government is. So I stay here, and wait for the signal, whatever the hell that's going to be. I watch the agents walk away from us as the second pair comes around the corner of the building. They two are walking in unison, a relaxed march. No one knows much about the agents, making them mysterious and terrifying. No one I know has ever seen an Agent's face. There are plenty of rumors and myths though. One story says the agents are actually cyborgs, half-man, half-machine. Another says they are exposed to a particularly horrible nano, one that turns you into a brain dead, ultra obedient, super strong robot. I suppose that would make them zombies, not even humans anymore, right? Would they still have emotions, needs? What would they eat? I suppose they would still shit and pee. Do they fuck? They must need some kind of outlet, if they are still physically men, still full of testosterone and semen. Lordy I am bored. Crouching in the dark, trying to keep quiet, nothing else to do but wait...who knew revolution was so boring? Most of the guys are sitting on the asphalt, each of us tucked into the shadow of the building, hoping that a drone doesn't fly overhead and blast use out of the universe. The more I sit here, the stupider I feel. There isn't a gun among us. There are 20 of us. Just one agent with one machine gun could kill us all. What the hell are we supposed to do when we get the signal, whatever the fucking signal is? Do the guys who run the rebellion even care how many men get killed tonight? What is the grand plan other than to get a lot of people killed? The pair of agents round the building, make a sharp left face, and then march away from us. A few seconds later, the second pair comes around, just like clockwork. "Did anyone hear that?" someone whispers. "Hear what?" "Shhhh." "Shut up. Seriously." "I heard a drone." "You don't here drones. They're silent." "I heard something too." "Everyone shut it now," Cliff says in the loudest whisper he can muster. Silence. I can hear it now. A soft whirring. It doesn't move. Drones move. They don't hover. So it isn't a drone. But what is it? "Anyone else feel weird, like, I dunno. Sleepy?" someone asks. "Run! Retreat!" Cliff yells. We head back down the alley then out into a side street and start sprinting toward the central park. The whirring gets louder. We pull up underneath and street light, and then we see it. It looks like a big, black bug. It has a spinning propeller and six legs. It's the size of a large dog. A mist is squirting out of its mid-section. We try to run away but find that we can't. We run, but in slow motion, like someone strapped cement blocks to our feet. It's almost comical. "Halt citizens!" shouts a voice from behind us. I turn and look while still trying to get my dead legs to move. A police captain is trotting toward us, followed by eight agents. I can't stand up any more. My legs have stopped working. Control over my muscles is gone. I collapse to the ground. I think I pee myself. Everything goes black. I wake again sometime later and wish I had stayed asleep. All 20 of us are here in what I can only call a dungeon. Each of us is naked. It's a square room and five of us are chained to each wall with shackles locked around our wrists and ankles, our arms above our heads, our legs spread. In the middle of the room are an operating table and three trays of surgical equipment. There other machines and electronic gadgets that I have no idea about. "I must say, I love this revolution," the police captain says. "It makes my job so much more interesting." There are two agents standing guard at the door, which is across the room from me. The captain walks around the surgical table as he talks. He's in his dress blue uniform, which is crisply pressed, his pants crease sharp, his shirt starched and stiff. His boots are spit-shined to a reflective glory. His gold badge is so polished that it almost glows. "I suppose you expect me to ask you for information about your ridiculous mission, threaten you with feminization or torture or even death," he says. He walks around the room, looking us over, stopping in front of a few us. He stops in front of me. He has close cropped blond hair and cold blue eyes. He examines my face as if looking for something. Then he looks down, spends a few uncomfortable (for me) seconds staring at my limp dick. "You have perhaps the biggest penis here," he says. "Congratulations." "So what now?" I ask. "You put me in the ... What did you call them? Cunting panties?" "Is that what you fear?" "I don't give a shit, you asshole. I'm 65 and I've fucked a good bit. I'm too tired too fuck anymore most days. So you want to give me a cunt? Fine. I sit down to pee anyway." He laughs. Some of the men laugh too. "I will not cunt you, Mr. Miller," he says. "You are the father of Kat, and your son is perhaps soon a winner of The Games. He has earned you a bit of, shall we say, leniency." "He has?" "Why yes, of course. You should be honored to have a son who is such a skillful player." "Thanks, I guess." "You are welcome." He stares at me with those blue eyes for a few more seconds. What the hell does he want? This is getting awkward. "Your other son, however, Zach. He has not earned the same favor." "No. Please no." "We can't keep killing rebels, Mr. Miller. Good manpower is too expensive to replace, and too many productive men have been killed already. What we need is incentive to turn away from rebellious ways. After tonight, any man with a son will surely re-think his rebellion membership." He snaps his fingers. The door opens and in come two more agents, each holding an arm of my youngest son, Zach. He looks terrified. "Dad?" he asks fearfully. "Zach I'm so sorry!" "Strap him down, agents," commands the captain. "I'm the leader of this group," Cliff yells. "Punish me! I'm the one you want. I can give all kinds of intel. Just ask me anything." "You are worthless. We know everything you know. We have been monitoring all your communications for weeks." Zach doesn't resist as the agents strap him down to the table. He's a skinny boy, not one for fighting, more of an artist. He looks like his mother, as the same dark brown hair and big eyes. He looks at me, looking for some kind of answer. I have none to give him. "So, Mr. Miller," the agent asks. "What will it be? Breeder or sissy? In either case, she will not leave this room until each and every one of you rebels has fucked her. Except you, of course. We aren't animals. An agent will fuck her in your stead. So tell me. Cock or no cock?" What am I supposed to say to that? End of Chapter 57 End of Part Fourteen To Be Continued in March ### 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/ I am on Twitter here... https://twitter.com/nancyrosetv You can also read my full length novella The Trainer here... http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DZ3396Q Hugs, Nancy