Pet for MAGA 3: The Ceremony

 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.

Pet for MAGA 2: The Dinner Party

As I had been taught, I crawled into the living room where Tom and Sarah were having a drink and watching television.  It was a new program -- one that Tom had approved -- about a nuclear family led by Tim Allen and their comically stupid slave.  It was called The Tomlinsons and the Libtard.  No Liberals were allowed to be shown on television unless it was a news story about them being deported or locked up or if they were being used for comic effect.  

I kneeled up on my haunches as I was trained to do, awaiting instructions.  The Bradleys went about their business as if I wasn't there.  I watched the antic of The Tomlinsons on TV as they humiliated and berated their libtard neighbor.  This was set in the past when libtards were still allowed to own real estate and have places on their own; before the camps and the re-education. 

Near the end of the show the doorbell rang at the Bradleys.  They waited a moment before Sarah finally yelled, "Get the door, shit for brains!  Don't make our guests wait!" 

I scurried out of the room, wishing I could crawl faster.  When I opened the door I found seven people on the stoop.  Well, four people and three other slaves.  I would learn through the course of the evening that I was looking at The Frietags and The Greenes along with their slaves.  

Charles Frietag was a tall, clean-shaven middle-aged man with broad chest and a jaunty attitude. His wife, Amanda, was not beautiful but the word "handsome" would describe her well.  She had beautiful blue eyes, a long nose, and a shapely figure. Her platinum blonde hair was tied back in a red, white, and blue ribbon. She wore a rather severe tight blue dress with tiny white flowers from the Ivanka Collection.  Their slave was at heel next to them and appeared to be a trans man.  I would have to listen for what the Frietag's called their slave as it was up to the owner to decide what kind of pronouns or names their property would have.  The slave wore a t-shirt that read "Fuck My Feelings" and a pair of cut-off jeans that tried to emphasize the slave's physicality. 

Jonathan Greene was an average height with a buzz cut wearing a polo shirt and jeans.  He sported a pin on his label that denoted his rank within the Patriot network. His wife, Darla, was a small woman with delicate features.  She had the required shoulder-length hair though hers was brunette rather than blonde. She briefly made eye contact with me before looking back at her shoes like a good Tradwife.  At either of their sides were two black women wearing only string bikinis and crawling shoes (knee pads).  In my mind they were black women, I still couldn't say the word they had drilled into me at REC29. 

As four of these people were my superiors I was not allowed to speak to them until spoken to so I gestured for them to please come in.  I barely had before Charles had already moved to do so, not caring about the slave that opened the door. "Hey, Tommy Boy!" he bellowed into the house, barging past me. 

The rest of the group quickly followed, the two couples trailed by their slaves. 

The six Winners gathered in the living room while we four slaves waited by the entrance.  I tried to avoid eye contact with everyone though the trans man seemed to want to tell me something, working to catch my attention.  Being put in feminine clothes seemed as off to me as having me dressed up as a Freedom maid, just another humiliation from the Winners. 

Fortunately for everyone involved, Sarah's role as a Tradwife precluded me from cooking dinner.  She had it all prepared and ready for serving at precisely 7PM.  It was up to me and my fellow slaves to serve the dishes.  For this, we were allowed to stand and walk on two legs.  They ate in the dining room, the men on one side of the table, the women on the other.  

"Is it all right if my pickaninnies get under the table?" asked Darla.  

"Of course!" said Sarah, with a note of excitement in her voice.

Before they started eating, the six Winners all paused to say grace.  "We thank you Lord," intoned Tom, "for the gift of this meal and for the gift of Traditional American Values which once again lead this land.  We thank you, Lord, for thy bounty and for thy gift of President Trump and all the righteousness that reign o'er our blessed country, the greatest country on Earth.  Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the Winners intoned.  I started ladling soup into bowls while the trans man placed napkins on the Winners' laps.  

Along with the food there came the conversation: the women talking with one another and the men doing the same, as if an invisible line divided the table.

"I see you finally opted for your first slave," Charles said to Tom.  "Did you get it from REC29? Looks like a fucking little faggot cuck."

"Good eye. You can never tell with the freaks," said Tom. "Girls will be boys and boys will be girls It was once a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world, right?"

"Oh, for sure," Charles agreed.  "Just look at that thing my wife wanted.  Undoing all the damage that stupid bitch did to her body has been ridiculous.  We're giving her estrogen every morning and she's set to go in to have breast implants next month.  That stupid cunt cut off her own tits because she thought she was a dude."

"What does her pussy taste like?" Jonathan interjected. 

"I have no idea," Charles said.  "I don't ever do that to anyone, not even Amanda.  You know, 'Lick the hole and you lick the pole' and all that."

"Ah, I was just curious as I hear those things have a weird taste because of all the testosterone flowing in their veins."

"I wouldn't know," said Charles, shutting down this topic of conversation. 

On the other side of the table, the Tradwives were enjoying their next course while the two black girls were also enjoying theirs.  I could tell by the looks of bliss on their faces that Sarah and Darla were being serviced down below.  This left Amanda without much in the way of good dinner conversation. 

As we went to go refill the Coors of the men, the trans man and I were both in the kitchen at the same time. 

"You must be new," the slave said. 

I nodded, knowing the prohibition from slaves talking to one another.

"It's okay, they can't hear us," the slave said.

I shook my head, still remembering the shocks of the cattle prods at REC29 to correct our behavior.

"Well, if you want talk to me, I'm still going to talk to you," the slave said.  "They're going to collar you tonight.  And then they will want a show.  If they tell you to fuck me, I want you to fuck my ass. Do you understand?"

I didn't but I nodded anyway. 

"Good.  Those assholes are trying to turn me into a girl.  I mean a real girl, not like you," she sneered.  "They get their kicks emasculating men and feminizing women.  They can all go suck my dick," the slave spat before leaving to refill the men's beers. 

I followed with the main course, fried chicken and waffles. By this time, the two black slaves had moved to the men's side of the table leaving the woman more free to talk. 

"I heard they sent the last boat to Africa today," Darla said, pouring syrup on her waffles. 

"About damn time," replied Sarah.

"I don't know what you'd do without your pickaninnies," Amanda laughed. 

"They fall under the quota," said Darla, "So I don't have to worry."

"I don't think I could take pickaninnies in my house," said Sarah. "Full time, of course.  I mean, they smell something awful no matter how much you scrub them."

"And they're messy as hell," added Darla.  "But Jonathan loves having them around the house.  He gets the biggest kick out of coming home from work and whipping them no matter what they've done.  He loves when they scream, 'Massa, please! We just dumb n-----, we don't know no better.'  When he's done with them they just cry and cry and it's music to my ears.  It's what we should have done with them years ago but race traitors just kept us from doing it."

A loud electronic squawk came from the living room, signally 30 minutes until Trumpdates started. 

"Do you think we'll have time for dessert?" asked Amanda, still working on her chicken.

"Yes, I think so," said Sarah.  "If not, we can have it afterwards during the big ceremony."

"Oh, are you collaring your sissy faggot tonight?" Darla asked. 

"Yes!  I have the cutest little pink collar for him," Sarah said. "It's one of the new ones with all of the advanced Starlink features. I'm so excited to try it out."

"Oh, I've heard about those," said Amanda. "I really think it would help with that creature Charles picked out.  It's been so hard breaking her of her habits.  That little dyke still think she's a boy and it's driving me crazy.  She's the most headstrong cunt I've ever had the displeasure of meeting.  I can only imagine how terrible she was in the Before Times."

"She looks like she was born to suck dick but forgot how to do it," Darla laughed. 

"Trust me, Charles gives her plenty of practice.  But what he really likes to do is remind her that she has a pussy and give her a good stuffing every night." 

"How well do you have this one trained?" Darla asked, indicating me.

"Fresh from the factory," Sarah said.  "We're guaranteed that it does exactly as told. I can tell you that it eats ass like a champ."

"So it hasn't sucked Tom's dick yet?" Darla wondered aloud.

"No, but we can change that," Sarah laughed.   "Did either one of  your n-----s get Tom off?" she asked Amanda.

"No, just Charles and Jonathan," replied Amanda.

"Great!" Sarah said.  "Get under the table and suck my husband's big MAGA cock, you fucking faggot," she commanded. 

Without a second's hesitation, I went to my knees and crawled under the huge oak table. As I moved between the legs on either side, I felt Jonathan give me a good kick in the side.  

"I don't know why you went with a faggot slave," he told Tom. 

I went to my Master's lap and began undoing his belt and pants.

"If you haven't had you cock sucked by a faggot, you don't know what you're missing," Tom said, his cock already hard in my hands.  "Plus, there's something so satisfying about fucking a libtard in the ass.  I read a meme once that said, 'All liberals are just holes to be conquered by alpha Republican daddies.' and I couldn't agree more."

I gulped and began licking the head of his massive member. It put my tiny cock to shame and my cheeks burned as I took him into my mouth, feeling him getting even harder as he talked with Jonathan.

"We tried to find this one's wife so we could use her too and I could cuck him properly but she's missing, probably fucked off to some godforsaken land," Tom said, his voice starting to change as he became more aroused.  "Oh, fuck, this is good.  If you want another blowjob later, you definitely need to try this shit."

"Hard pass," Jonathan told Tom as I tried taking all of Tom's cock into my mouth, feeling it tickle the back of my throat.  At REC29 we had taken lots down our throat, training our gag reflex to never ruin the fun.  They would occasionally use fucking machines on either end of us as we went for hours with rubber cocks fucking us relentlessly.  Sometimes the guards would take a pass at us, making sure we were learning correctly.  The biggest guard, Billy, used to love to remove the fucking machine from my ass and take his turn before his shift ended.  He used to cum so much that the fucking machine looked like it was churning butter after he'd put it back inside me for another few hours.

I heard the plates being switched out as dessert was served.  I kept sucking, bobbing my head and swirling my tongue over Tom's balls.  He grabbed on to the back of my head and held me down.  I panicked a bit but tried to keep a clear head as my tongue kept lashing around his balls and my throat kept swallowing, massaging the head of his massive dick. He began pumping into my mouth, fucking my throat hard.  My eyes began watering and I could feel my nose starting to run.  I couldn't keep the panic out of me and I started to whimper. 

"That noise is like music to me," he said, letting me pull back enough to breathe again.  Almost immediately he pulled my head back down. I felt his balls tightening under my chin as I struggled to suck. "Here comes your dinner, faggot," he grunted before unleashing a torrent of cum into my waiting throat. I swallowed and swallowed, trying to make sure I didn't miss a drop of his valuable MAGA seed.

He released me just as the ten minute warning for Trumpdates went off.  "Clean me off, bitch," Tom told me as he finished his dessert.  

Pet for MAGA

I saw friends lives being threatened. They were being told that they didn't have any right to exist.  I saw the economy tank and all of my retirement savings disappear.  I saw changes happening so fast that I couldn't keep up.  I can't even tell you the order of events that led me to Re-Education Camp 29 which got the nickname of "Sissy School".  

MAGA had always been about eliminating so-called feminine traits from men and butch traits from women.  I always present as very masculine but someone or something ratted me out. I ended up in solitary confinement in REC29. I was set for recycling and in solitary I was completely immobilized with Tomi Lahren videos playing nonstop; telling me my new place in this MAGA world.  Despite all of this, I was still in denial about my fate. Even when my owners came to pick me up, I still couldn't believe it was real. 

Sarah and Tom Bradley weren't just a power couple but Tom was the new CEO of the Chicago branch of the Warriors of Liberty and in charge of creating good Christian programming for the Midwest.  As part of the New States Rights movement, national broadcasts had gone off the air except for the Nightly "Trumpdates" where Stephen Miller gave a two our update about our Dear Leader's daily successes.  This important job of creating new proper MAGA programming kept Tom very busy but also necessitated a lot of care and service and, as their new servant, I was expected to provide it.  

The Bradleys had put off their state-assigned servant selection until most of the bugs had been worked out of the system.  Being a good Christian couple, they specifically wanted an atheist to serve them.  They also asked for someone without any tattoos, which was a tall ask in 2027.  But, I had never been touched by a needle. 

When I got to their house I was impressed by its immensity.   As part of the underclass, I had only been able to afford a small one-bedroom apartment.  As part of the Winning Class, the Bradleys had a palatial estate.  I wondered how I would be able to manage cleaning their place.  After the Great Brown Purge, anyone who looked even the slightest Latino was shipped out of the country.  The lucky ones made it to other countries while some died in Alcatraz or any the prisons that were once military bases.  After the USA-Russia Pact, there was no need for a US military as we're now under the protection of Friend Putin. 

In order to provide the help to the Winning Class, the underclass was jailed, re-trained, and allowed to serve the Winners (as they liked to be called).  I had been outfitted with a chip in my brain, courtesy of Friend Elon which guaranteed that I couldn't abandon my post and that I would be the best I could be for the Bradleys or any of their friends. 

The Bradleys lived in a gated community where the guard wore the same drab  REC29 uniform I wore.  Sarah took the opportunity on entering the subdivision to berate the guard, verbally insulting him with glee. I wondered when she would do the same to me. 

When I arrived at the Bradley place in Sarah's CyberTruck, still in my chains, it was Sarah who opened the door to find me.   I don't know if I gasped but I may have.  She was the perfect example of a true Aryan woman.  She stood at 5' 8" in her white high heeled shoes.  Her long legs wore flesh-colored pantyhose under her knee-length red skirt.  She wore a low-cut blue blouse and completed the look with the requisite red MAGA hat that the Winning Class always wore with pride. 

"Oh, look at you," she chided, seeing me for the first time.  "I thought we were supposed to be getting a prime slave.  I don't know what you are."

She turned on her heel and walked back into the house, leaving me wondering if I should follow her.  I decided that I should do just that and rushed inside to find her waiting at the foot of the double staircase leading up to their bedrooms.  She signaled for me to follow her to a small door to the right of the stairs.  "These are the servant quarters," she said.  "You will be allowed to sleep here when you're not needed elsewhere.  You will need to be up and working every morning at 5AM unless told otherwise.  For now, go in and shower and get changed.  Your uniform is laid out on your bed."

I wasn't sure what a uniform as servant to the Winning Class would look like but it wasn't what I was expecting.  I found laid out on the small cot a pair of stockings, a short back skirt, and a black blouse.  There was also an apron and a pair of ankle shackles that connected to a similar pair of wrist shackles.  I wasn't sure if this was to keep me from running away or to show me their power over me.  Because, the slow realization was creeping up my spine leaving me with a hot and cold sensation along my back.  I belonged to these people.  This wasn't any kind of temporary situation.  This was now my life and it was all legal and above board according to Constitution 2.0. 

There was a pounding on the door.  "Are you ready yet, libtard?" I heard Sarah bellow.  Before I could answer, she opened the door and came in.  "Silly me, I forget that I don't need to be polite," she laughed stepping in and coming over to me. 

"Oh, this is nice," she said, pulling at my blouse.  "Look at the fucking liberal pussy all dressed up like he should be in a fucking dress. I've heard stories about you beta bitches and I'm excited to see how true they are."  She lifted up the hem of my skit and straightened one of my stockings.

"Tell me what you think about me," she commanded. 

"Oh, Miss, you ae just so beautiful.  I am so honored to be yours," I said, finding myself bowing in little bows and staring down at my feet.  

"How can you say I'm beautiful when you're not even looking at me?" she asked.  "Look at me.  Look at my body.  I work out five days a week; burpees and Zumba.  Look at this butt," she commanded, turning around.  "Tell me this isn't the best butt you've ever seen." 

"It is a wonderful butt, Miss," I said, looking at how good it looked under her skirt.  

"That isn't good enough," she said.  She bent over and pulled her skirt up, giving me a better look. "Get down behind me and kiss this ass," she commanded. 

I got down on my knees behind her.  I leaned close and began kissing her ass over the pantyhose.  I planted little kisses on her perfect behind.

"That isn't good enough," she said before pulling down her pantyhose and underwear, baring her ass to me. "Kiss it better... in fact, French kiss it.  I hear you libtards like to eat ass.   It's time to eat mine."

I pulled apart her asscheeks and put my tongue against he beautiful puckered rosebud.  The bleached blonde also bleached her asshole.  My tongue pushed past her sphincter until it went deep inside her.  "Oh fuck," she growled as I began tongue-fucking her.  "That's good.  You're a good little pussy boy," she moaned.   "This is what it means to serve a MAGA Goddess, bitch."

I continued feasting on her ass. The smell of her womanly musk filled my nostrils and I felt myself getting aroused. I wasn't sure if this was allowed or not but my body couldn't help reacting. I wanted to rub up against her leg, hump her like a dog, but I knew this isn't for me, that I was there to serve her. 

"Say the words," she told me. "Say the fourteen words into my ass."  I immediately went into the 14 Words that had been drilled into my head during my stay at REC29, the 14 words that now began the New Declaration of Independence.  "We must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children," I said into her ass as I continued to lick her there.

"I see that our new property is working out well," I heard a man say from somewhere behind me.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "He's a real dirty beta bitch."  

"How do you.... use him?" the voice said. 

"Any way you want, honey. Anything you desire.  He won't say no.  He can't say no."

She let out another long moan as I continued tongue fucking her tight asshole.

"How was work?" she asked between moans. 

"It was good.  All of the Fox gear that was liberated after the purge is in top order.  I've just been busy casting the new sitcom that will play before the nightly Trumpdates.  I've got Kevin Sorbo as the father and Stacey Dash as the maid.  I'm just working on finding the right kid roles.  There are a pair of Miss Universe contestants that may end up playing the twins."

"Shit, babe, that little cuck is going to town.  It's one thing to serve a MAGA Princess," he said, "But I want to see how libtards react when they see a real man."

She pushed me away from her ass, my tongue reluctantly leaving her.  I kneeled back on my heels only to see Tom Bradley standing next to her.  He was dressed in loafers, khaki pants, and a blue oxford.  He stood at over six feet tall and I could tell he was very well built before he even started to unbutton his shirt.  

"As a good Christian man, homosexuality is a sin.  But that's a relationship between two men.  You may have been a man once but you gave that up when the Woke Mind Virus robbed you of your manhood.  There's scientific proof that liberals have statistically smaller pricks, to the point where you're not even classified as men anymore.  You're just a beta bitch put on this earth to serve your superiors like Sarah and me."  He began to undo his belt but left his pants on.

"Get up on your feet and bend over your cot," he commanded.   I did as he said. 

Before I felt the blow I heard the singing of his belt whizzing through the air.  The crack of the leather of his belt against the material of my skirt was surprisingly loud.  Tears began welling in my eyes immediately.  This was no play, this was Tom teaching me my place.  After five heavy blows, Sarah stepped in and lifted up my short skirt and pulled down my panties, leaving my ass exposed. 

A flurry of blows landed on my bare skin, setting my flesh on fire.

"Have you sucked cock before, bitch?" Tom asked as he continued whipping me. 

"Yes, sir," I had to admit.

Sarah started laughing at me while Tom was condescended to me. 

"I knew it.  All you liberal cucks are the same.  You're a bunch of cocksucking faggots.  Did you get fucked before?"

"Yes, sir," I barely croaked, trying to contain my crying.

"Such a faggot slut," he said. "No wonder we won.  MAGA doesn't allow that.  We are proper Christians and the Moral Majority.  Your kind was too concerned about pronouns and fake climate change.  Our kind are the winners of the world.  The true Masters of this planet.  And it's only right that you be under our heels now."  He rained down blows with every other word of his tirade. 

Soon I was a crying mess.  This seemed to really make Tom and Sarah happy.  

"This is first step to taking the red pill," Sarah whispered into my ear as I sobbed. 

Sarah threw a towel at me and told me that I had an hour to get cleaned up before I would be required to serve them dinner. 

I showered again, feeling the hot burn from the welts on mu behind scream as the water hit them. After I dried myself off, I returned to tiny bedroom where I found fresh clothes on the cot and something very special. 

On the middle of my thin pillow I found a golden buttplug.  Turning it over, I saw that it was capped with a red jewel with white lettering of "M" on the base.  I swallowed hard before pushing it inside of myself with a loud grunt. 

I put on a new pair of panties and another maid outfit before heading out to find what the evening held... 

Nigella

 

Preparing for Daddy

 I was never an athletic kid.  I was smaller and more frail than the other boys in the neighborhood. I remember playing catch with my step-dad the ball came at me and I moved out of the way.  It hit my nose and I started crying and bleeding.  My dad was ashamed of me.  We never played catch again. 

Soon after that my mother started calling me her "special little guy." This made me feel good at first but then I started to think that "special" might be code for something else.  Did mom think I wasn't normal?  That I was special in that way? 

I would get haircuts every three months at Aunt Judy's.  She wasn't really my Aunt but just a good friend of the family's.  When we missed two appointments I asked mom why I hadn't gotten a haircut and she told me that she liked how it was looking as it got longer.  When we finally went to Aunt Judy's again, I learned that I was getting a "special cut."  There was that word again. 

Not only did she trim my hair (just a little), she colored it a little.  She even helped cut and shape my finger and toe nails.  I felt so good being pampered like that. 

Mom told me that fashions were changing and that to look good in the fall when I went back to school that I should start wearing more pastels and lighter shades.  She bought me new outfits to wear that felt a little strange at first, the way they hugged my body in different spots than I was used to. 

One day when I got home from Sunday School mom told me that we were going to spend the whole day together.  "Just me and my special little..." she said, trailing off. 

She wanted to play dress up with me and asked if it'd be fun if I dressed up like her.  I thought it sounded more funny than fun but went along with her.  Surprisingly, she had clothes picked out for me already and they were all my size; a short skirt and blouse.  I went to take them into the bathroom to change and she stopped me.

"No, no, I have more for you.  Take off your clothes right here."

I stripped down to my tighty whities and she corrected me, "No, that won't do. I even have new underwear for you!"  I blushed at the idea of being naked in front of my mom but I knew she had seen it all before. 

After I stripped off my shorts she held aloft a pair of light pink panties as if they were a trophy.  "Try these on for size," she told me.  This felt like we were playing into dress up a little too hard but I took them from her and slid them on.  

It felt like something in the world shifted.  There was something soft about the material against my skin that felt like nothing I'd ever experienced before.  I never thought that something like a flimsy pair of pink underwear could make such a difference. 

"How does that feel, baby?" she asked me.

The words caught in my throat. I coughed and managed to croak out the word, "Fine."  My own voice sounded unfamiliar to my ears.  It sounded higher and lighter. 

Mommy smiled and purred, "Oh, good.  I'm so glad."

She turned and came to me with a pink brassier.  I raised up my arms like I had seen Mommy do when she put on her own bra and felt her put the straps around me. 

There was a tightness that enveloped my chest, bringing the world into focus even more. It felt like Mommy was hugging me tightly as the clasp clicked into place. 

"Now we can put on this skirt and blouse, baby," she said, satisfied with how I was responding to playtime.  After Mommy had put the skirt on me, my knees stated feeling weak.  And after the blouse I felt swimmy again.  Things started to go dark around the corners of my eyes when Mommy had me sit in front of her vanity and started putting make-up on my face.  When she had me turn to admire her handiwork I didn't recognize myself.  

"Who is that?" I heard someone say in that same light, high voice. 

"That's you, silly.  That's my special little girl."

With the world "girl," everything started to fall into place.  It was like the last piece of a puzzle had found its home. 

I remembered the strange doctor's appointments Mommy had been taking me to and the shots she stated giving me.  I thought about the way my body had been changing.   I saw again the way Mommy put me to sleep every night by waving a pocket watch in front of my eyes.  I had been having errant thoughts but they always came with a voice that sounded like Mommy's, not my own. 

"Do you want to be my special little girl?" she asked me.

"Yes, Mommy," I said, realizing that voice is now mine.  Taking possession of it. 

"Oh, that's good.  I have so many plans for you."

As if on cue I heard the front door open.

"Oh good," Mommy said, "Daddy's home."

Those last two words lit something inside of me. I turned toward the door and got to my knees, my eyes down,  my knees spread, my mouth ajar. 

My dad.... my Daddy came through the door.  "Is it done?" ha asked.

"It's done," she assured him. "She's all yours, Daddy." 

My heart lifted at her words.  I felt small, delicate, and completely submissive.  I felt like I was in the place that I belonged.  Daddy didn't want a boy.  He wanted a girl.  A good girl.  A special little girl.  And that was me.

He came to me and I instinctively reached up to undo his belt buckle and unbutton his pants.  He unzipped his pants and I moved to fish his cock out of his pants.  Feeling it, seeing it, smelling it, I admired his manhood, seeing what a real man looked like. Kissing it, tasting it, sucking it, I felt his power over me. 

Mommy was at my side, watching intently, giving me pointers. Encouraging me to make Daddy feel good. Encouraging Daddy to fuck his girl's throat.  He began thrusting into my mouth, his cock cutting off my air. 

"Daddy is too much for me," Mommy told me as I gagged on his cock.  "And you're no good as a boy so decided to make you our little girl.  Our special little girl." I began working Daddy's cock more vigorously, wanting to show him how much I needed to please him. 

He moaned and this sounded like beautiful music to me. I took him deeper, feeling truly complete, knowing that I was pleasing Mommy and Daddy for the first time.  I was their good little girl and would finally be what they wanted. 

A wave of pleasure coursed through me as I heard Daddy grunt before filling my mouth with the warm wetness that came out of him.  It tasted salty and strange but I swallowed it anyway, reveling in its newness and my new place in the world. 

Eye-Catching

 

Classic Beauties

 

Photo Dump

 

Three Beauties

 

Photo Dump

 

In His Arms

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Fiona