The five minute warning squawk for the Trumpdates went off and the six Winners all took their places in the Bradley living room. The television had been off but turned itself on for the mandatory Trumpdates. All of the Winners finished their drinks and sat up straight, getting ready for the eye-tracking software to being, making sure they would not take their eyes off the television set.
The Frietags had their trans man between them while the Greenes had their female slaves on either side of them. Mrs. Greene rubbed the head of the one close to her and said, "For luck."
Meanwhile, I sat on my haunches between Tom and Sarah, the taste of Tom's cum still in my mouth.
The National Anthem began and the Winners all sang along to it:
"Every man wants to be a macho, macho man
To have the kind of body always in demand
Jogging in the mornings, go man go
Work outs in the health spa, muscles glow."
The American flag with its 55 stars dissolved to the face of Stephen Miller. "Good evening Patriots and welcome to the mandatory Trumpdates of the evening. Today was a wonderful day in America where every-" the picture paused.
"Who's not looking?" Tom demanded.
"Sorry, I was just picking some lint off my shirt," said Charles sheepishly. He looked back up and the program began again.
"-red blooded, freedom loving American is living just a little safer. Our top story tonight has an attempted escape of a group of Woke Immigrants from Alcatraz. Not to worry, though, they were quickly dispatched by the Proud Boy volunteer militia patrolling the area. Their bodies will be shown publicly in Union Square for the next week. Visitors to the exhibit will get free admission if they wear their MAGA gear and they'll earn 20 points of Truth Social Credit."
"Wish we were closer to San Francisco," muttered Jonathan under his breath.
"At least we got the Lesbo purge," replied Darla.
I began tuning out all of the noise around me as I looked into Stephen Miller's eyes. It felt like they were boring into my soul. The pupils of his eyes began to change. They lengthened and grew narrow like those of a reptile. I felt drawn in. The world around began to darken. Miller's eyes became one that resembled a flaming door. I walked forward and through.
I found myself back at REC29. The place may have been called a "camp" but it felt more like a univeristy. I was back tied to a dolly a la Hannibal Lector (a favorite of Our Dear Leader). The intake administrator ran through my list of crimes. Having a Neuralink chip in my brain gave them full access to every memory or thought I ever had, even just fleeting plans or flights of fancy.
The intake administrator could have been a dead ringer for the starting full back on my high school football team, the same one that would criticize my vocabulary for using too many "dictionary words." Knowledge was anathema to MAGA and I did my best to keep my mouth shut.
"So, what do we have here?" he asked rhetorically. "Another college boy who thinks he's smart. But you're just a liberal pussy, aren't you? AREN'T YOU?" he screamed into my face. I broke and made eye contact with him.
"Yes sir," I admitted weakly.
"That's right, you sure are. I read your file and it's disgusting. Homosexuality, miscegenation, atheism, cross-dressing, submitting to women, compassion, thinking minorities are equals? What kind of sick fuck are you? You would have gone straight to recycling except for one thing. You jerked off to Empress Ivana when she was on the cover of the October 15, 1990 issue of New Yorker magazine. Just that one thing -- well, you jerked off to her a few times -- but just that one little glimmer of hope saved you from becoming pig slop."
"For whatever reason, we're going to show you mercy, though you may wish you were dead after what's going to happen to you. We're going to train you. You're going to go through a grueling program and, on the off chance you finish, we're going to assign you to a pure-bred couple and you will be their servant and plaything. Anything they do to you is legal. You have as much rights as the Venezuelan gangs. They can murder you if they want and it's absolutely above-board. You got it, sissy bitch?"
"Yes, sir," I stammered.
He undid my restraints and, before I could go anywhere, he began stripping me of the orange jumpsuit I wore.
"Oh, Jesus, it's worse than I thought," he said, inspecting my genitals. "You could almost play ball on a girl's softball league your cock is so tiny. I don't even know if it qualifies as a cock," he said, flicking my flaccid member with his beefy fingers.
I noticed the nametag on his uniform. Most of the time guards in the new times wore balaclavas over their face and never wore nametags. Perhaps this was a sign that there was no fear of any recompense. This was the new way of the world and "Billy" here was embracing it and his power over the libs.
He secured a collar around my neck and I heard it turn on when it locked shut. "This is just temporary until we upgrade your chip and place some additional toys in your nerve centers. You're never going to be able to disobey again, sweetheart. You're going to be a good little faggot for MAGA cocks and maybe you'll be allowed to worship our superior MAGA females. By the time you leave here, you're going to be begging to be a simp for MAGA."
My eyes started to focus again. I found myself feeling like I was falling backwards from the television set.
"Fifteen n------s were found dead outside of a fighting pit in Chicago, apparent victims of so-called 'Mandingo Fighting.' Rather than condemn the act, Our Dear Leader has decided to condone the practice saying, 'There's something great to see those big Black bucks beating the snot out of each other. I think it's a wonderful thing and that if we want to encourage that even more I say why not? Let's make it a national sport, right?'"
"To that end," continued Miller, "Congress passed an emergency measure declaring Mandingo Fighting to be our new national sport and has put Entertainment Director Quentin Tarantino in charge of the details. Said Tarantino, 'It's about time, man. All this goodie good bullshit around baseball being our national sport is bunk, okay? All right? It's time to see some good old-fashioned Mandingo Fighting again. People don't understand, man, that this is where the real action is. It's time to get it out and knock some n------s out.'"
I felt myself fading in again to the television, wandering into the serpentine eyes of Stephen Miller until I was taken back to REC29 and being shown to my cell. I said before that the camp was more like a university and that's because it was. After the shelling of Harvard due to their contrarian views, all higher education except trade schools were deplatformed.
My cell was a former dorm room. My new "roommate" was a very large man, thin and wiry with a mad gleam in his eyes. He told me stories that he was a former breeder but had done something wrong that ended up getting him sent to REC29.
"I used to fuck all them high society bitches," he confided. "Their husbands was always there. Waiting and watching. They seemed to get off on it or something. They'd have their wives set up for doggy style on their beds usually with a sheet over them, just their ass and their pussy exposed. I would come in and they'd take the leash off my dick and I would just go to town. I couldn't have got it up 'cept that I kept thinking of my Rosey. Without her in my mind, I couldn't have fucked those bitches like I did."
"Is Rosey your girl?" I asked meekly.
"My dog," he said. "Don't you worry, though, I'll be nice and gentle with you, just like I would be with my Rosey. You got nothin' to worry about."
I started coming back into the room with the Winners and their slaves. Was everyone undergoing this phenomenon or was it just me?
"Tonight we have a very special appearance," announced Miller. "Our Dear Leader was so happy with the work of both Doctors Oz and Phil and he decided to employ the new science brought to us by our Surgeon General in order to give us the best of both worlds. Yes, we have an appearance from the new Dr. PhilOz -- or 'Dr. Floz' as he's been referred to. Now, this process is still in its infant stage but we feel very good about showing you the results and letting you see the new and improved Dr. Floz...."
The camera panned around the studio to a stage where a curtain opened. Behind it stood the most pitiful creature I'd ever witnessed. It was, indeed, a combination of Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz. It was the left side of Dr. Oz grafted on to the right side of Dr. Phil. The pieces, however, didn't line up correctly. Dr. Phil was about 20% bigger than Dr. Oz, meaning that it had to kneel with its right leg as its left leg wasn't nearly as long. Their faces were sewn together in a haphazard way with maybe only their noses being aligned. The mouth and eyes were severely shifted.
It looked like it was in pain and let out a tremendous howl. It somehow found the camera lens and let out a screech that sounded like two voices joined in one pleading, "Please kill me. Please end this suffering. This isn't natural. What they're doing isn't natural. We saw such horrors. We saw what they're doing and it has to stop. You have to stop Tr-" and with that a shot rang out in the studio, leaving a hole in the adjoined forehead of 'Dr. Floz'.
The show cut back to Miller who stood stock still with the gun still in his hand. "Sorry about that, Ladies and Gentlemen. That was the end of Dr. Floz but tomorrow night we'll try again with Dr. OzPhil. Let's hear it for the medical advancements of the Surgeon General who is Making America Healthy Again." Miller started to applaud and all of the Winners in the room did the same. Despite knowing that we could easily end up on a slab as well, the four of us slaves also clapped for the carnage we just witnessed.
Miller concluded with an update about how the Yucatan peninsula was going to be renamed the Donald Trump Jr. Peninsula and that it was also called that. The picture faded and a wild lightshow of animation and flashing images took over the screen while the refrain from our National Anthem played again.
"I dunno," Sarah said. "That song is so good but I think it's time for another song -- and a dance!"
She picked up the remote that was next to the television control. On it was a big dial that she tuned to a number before hitting the red button below it.
Music came from wall-mounted speakers. Without hesitation, the three other slaves and I got up and went to the front of the living room where we broke into a choreographed song and dance number.
We sang:
“Ain’t It Grand to Be MAGA!”
(Verse 1)
Oh I wake up each morning, my flag’s in the breeze,
With a cap on my head, I’m as proud as you please.
I fire up the grill, wave to neighbors who cheer,
‘Cause it’s freedom and greatness we’re bringing right here!
(Pre-chorus)
We’ve got rallies and tailgates, red hats galore,
From the city sidewalks to the country store!
(Chorus)
Oh it’s great, great, great to be MAGA,
Raisin’ up a fuss in a big ol’ saga!
From sea to sea, we’re shoutin’ free,
With a big ol’ grin and a guarantee!
M-A-G-A, MAGA!
(Verse 2)
There’s a pickup parade down the old county line,
With bumper stickers stickin’ to the old state sign.
We’re singin’ ‘bout jobs and the stock market rise,
And tellin’ all the doubters, “Hey, open your eyes!”
(Pre-chorus)
It’s a cookout of pride on a Saturday night,
With a sparkler glowin’ in the pale moonlight!
(Chorus)
Oh it’s great, great, great to be MAGA,
Wave that flag like a big piñata!
Crank that tune, we howl at the moon,
Paint the town red, white, and boom!
M-A-G-A, MAGA!
(Bridge)
We got slogans on shirts, we got chants in the stands,
We got Uncle Joe dancin’ with beer in both hands.
It’s a barnstorm of joy, it’s a fireworks show,
It’s a MAGA-palooza wherever we go!
(Final Chorus)
Oh it’s great, great, great to be MAGA,
Life’s a blast in this red bandana!
Marchin’ proud, we’re singin’ loud,
We’re the rowdiest bunch in the crowd!
M-A-G-A, MAGA!
With each time we spelled out "M-A-G-A" we would turn around and bend over as far as we could, displaying the letters on the butt plugs we all wore. This would elicit a huge laugh and round of applause from the Winners.
"Oh, that was great," said Darla. "I love that they just keep adding new songs to the jukebox. That one might be the best one yet!"
"Sure to be a chart-topper!" agreed Tom who went to stand up before giving Sarah his hand to help her to her feet.
"It's time to celebrate why we're all here tonight," Tom said. "Though the Libslave program has been going for a year, Sarah and I wanted to wait until the time was right for us. It took a lot of graft but we managed to get our little faggot here," he said, indicating me. He stood at the front of the room, speaking to the other Winners as if they were there for a lecture on the finer points of serving MAGA. Sarah, on the other hand, walked around me, looking at her property. The other three slaves had returned to their owners. I stood with my eyes straight ahead, I knew my place and I had to stick to it.
"Tonight we are collaring and keeping this pathetic libtard so that it will always know its place and will always remember that it's a pathetic excuse for a human being. It's not a man, it's a liberal. And by serving us, it will learn to see a proper God-fearing Christian MAGA couple who are the true rulers of the world and the Winners who are making it great again."
Tom stepped aside and gave Sarah the floor. She came up to me with items in either hand. The first went around my neck, just like I had been collared in REC29 but this one was pink with little rhinestones all along it. "This collar will re-enforce your obedience to Tom, me, and all of our white friends."
As it locked tight with a tiny electronic ding, the rest of the Winners applauded.
"And this," she said, holding aloft a chastity cage, "Will further teach this faggot-ass piece of shit that that little nub between its legs is there for true White Christian Americans and not to be used by the devil's hands for any other reason."
She grabbed my balls roughly and secured the cage around my cock. It was tight and felt like a fist around my pathetic penis. Again, the Winners applauded politely. Being invited to a collaring ceremony was a big deal for MAGA friends. They all toasted with light beers before Sarah grabbed yet another remote which suddenly caused heat to rush between my legs. It took everything I had to not fall to my knees (I was at Arrest Halt). She saw my reaction and squealed with delight.
"Look, look," she said to Darla and Amanda, pointing the remote to me when I felt a sensation like a porcupine being rubbed against my balls. I doubled over and sank to my knees.
They laughed again. "See what you're missing with those girl slaves of yours?" Sarah cried. "This is going to be so much fun!"
Suddenly the pain in my groin turned to pleasure. It felt like a huge tongue was lavishing my cock. I curled into the fetal position and moaned. I heard another peal of laughter before the tongue was replaced with a boot kick of pain that shot through the chastity device.
"But Sarah," Amanda exclaimed, "What about the orgy? Are you going to take that off so we can watch it fuck my little cutie bull dyke?"
"No, actually. Darla asked specifically if she could fuck your girl," Sarah laughed.
"Oh, yes, please Amanda. Let me! I brought my strap-on and everything!" pleaded Darla.
"Just don't disappoint me!" Amanda chided.
Meanwhile, I lay on the floor trying to catch my breath, the pain in my crotch barely subsiding.
"I don't care who fucks the dyke," Charles announced. "I just want to get Sammy or Dilly, the pickaninny twins, over here helping out the menfolk."
"You heard him, n------ bitches," yelled Amanda. "Get over there and show the white men how they conquered your whole fucking race."
The black girls hurried over to the three men who had already started stripping. The men pulled at their string bikinis, quickly revealing their full nakedness.
"Just like your ancestors before you, take my white prick, pickaninny. Worship it like you did your primitive jungle gods," Jonathan commanded.
"He really gets off on this," whispered Amanda before uttering a gasp when she saw Darla come in sporting her leather harness and huge flesh-colored dildo. "O-M-G, Darla, is that from the new collection?"
Darla looked down and lovingly stroked her false phallus. "Yes, it's the new Trump Tower model."
"Oh, it's gorgeous. I'll have to get one myself," admired Amanda.
"Does she have any kind of trigger word? I know those libs love to be triggered," Darla asked. Looking at the trans man slave she added, "There's no safe space here for you tonight, sugar tits."
"No trigger word," said Amanda, but spanking her big white ass usually gets her pussy wet.
"Down on your hands and knees, freak!" yelled Darla into the trans man's face. The slave sheepishly complied. From where I lay on the ground I could see tears in the trans man's eyes.
The trans man's ass was still exposed from our song and dance routine. Darla got down behind and grabbed a hunk of the slave's hair and pulling their head back before using the other hand to smack the slave's ass. First one cheek then the other, her handprint quickly coming up in a scarlet outline on both ass cheeks as Darla began inflicting a series of punishing blows.
Darla was taking out all of her frustration on this slave. "How dare you reject your God-given femininity? God made us the way we need to be and no bull dyke bitch should reject what the good lord gave you. You're a girl, you got that? And I'm going to make you feel like a real woman tonight when I fuck your cunt."
Darla reached between the trans man's legs and smiled, "Oh, that did make her wet."
Darla positioned herself behind the trans man and sank her strap-on cock inside. The slave screamed, more in shame than pain. I could see the tears pouring out of their eyes as Darla yelled, "This is what it feels like to be a woman!"
"Please, no!" the slave cried out. "Fuck my ass, please! Fuck my ass!" This was her same request to me when we met in the kitchen earlier. If I wasn't being tortured by my chastity device I would have done that for her.
"Oh, I'll fuck your ass, too," said Darla, grabbing onto the same buttplug that still nestled inside of me, however, they had a "G" on theirs (leaving the two "A"s to the two black girls who were getting triple-teamed by the men. Jonathan and Charles both fucking them while Tom lay in the middle getting his cock sucked by both girls.
Darla began pumping the buttplug in and out of the slave's ass in time with the strokes of her faux cock going deep inside. This wasn't about anyone's pleasure other than Darla's and it wasn't a sensual pleasure, it was for the satisfaction of being cruel. Darla was trying to destroy the idea of a cis woman wanting to be a man. Darla was trying to destroy this slave, trying to break them. And it was working.
I was unable to watch any more because, right at that moment, Sarah stepped over me and lowered herself onto my face. It was time to eat her ass again. While I did that, she manipulated the control of my chastity device, craning from pain to pleasure and back again. "Don't you fucking lose pace, bitch," she told me as she put me in excruciating pain, my tongue planted deep in her asshole.
She used my mouth while she must have been masturbating. A stream of invectives were mostly lost on me but I could occasionally make out words like "beta", "loser", and "pussy."
After she finished and walked away from me, I found the trans man in a pool of her own blood, alone in the corner. The men were in the other corner, whipping the two black girls, "This is our idea of reparations," Tom yelled over their screams. "It's giving you two welfare queens what you deserve!"
The Winner women were sipping wine watching the scene while I tried my best to coddle the trans man, wondering how much my compassion would get me into trouble if it was discovered.
I wasn't sure how long I would be able to tolerate this cruelty before, like the Winners, I became inured to it. Though, being a victim, I imagine I would never get used to it.
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