Femworld

James risked a quick glance around the room at the stacks of dirty plates and half-eaten snacks covering every table and counter within sight.

"You have forty minutes to clean this place up and eat whatever you can find. You are to report to your rooms at exactly one-o'clock to prepare for the fashion show. I trust that I don't need to tell you what happens if you're late."

With that, Angelina turned and left them there and Britney took over. "You heard Mistress Angelina, get your asses moving, NOW!"

Scarlett hauled James to his feet by the leash while Deepika and Halle did likewise with Rajesh and Mark respectively. Once on their feet, the fembots began unlocking their cuffs, but only on one wrist. Rajesh's now freed left hand was cuffed to James' right wrist, and Mark's right cuff was fastened to James' left wrist leaving only Mark's left hand and Rajesh's right hand free. James, meanwhile, had free use of neither.

"Now," Britney said, "I want every surface clean enough to eat off of. If this place isn't as clean as it was when you arrived I'll throat-fuck all three of you."

The three of them stood there for a moment, unsure of how to begin until Britney shouted at them, "Move it girls! My balls are getting full again!"

All three of them panicked and tried to go in three opposing directions, nearly dislocating both of James' shoulders in the process. Rajesh began dragging them in one direction as he reached for a plate of half-eaten hor d'oeuvres but was yanked in the opposite direction before he could get hold of the plate as Mark dragged the entire line towards a silver tray of crackers and sweat-speckled cheese that'd been left out overnight.

"Guys!" James cried, "this is getting us nowhere, we have to work together or we'll never get this done.

It took another fifteen minutes or so to get in sync with one another, but eventually they began to make some progress. Occasionally either Mark or Rajesh would pop a morsel into their mouths; perhaps a Jalepeno popper or half a sandwich with a bite already taken out of it that had been sitting out all night, but not James. Eating was the furthest thing from his mind; he could still taste the cum Scarlett had fed him, and even the simple act of opening his mouth to breathe made him taste it even more and made him want to vomit. After a while, the men looked over to find the living-room empty . . . the fembots had gone, but to where and for how long?

They moved all the plates and bowls and glasses to the sink and began to clean them, pausing occasionally to take nervous glances over their shoulders, half expecting to see all five of the fembots to be standing there, watching.

Rajesh was the first of them to risk speaking, "What are we going to do?" he whispered. "We have to get out of here!"

"Shut up, Raj," James hissed under his breath. "They might be listening."

"He's right," Mark said hoarsely. "I can't take any more of this shit, we gotta get out of here."

"Look at us!" James exclaimed, desperate to end the conversation as quickly and quietly as possible. "How far do you think we'll get like this? And what about our phones . . . our keys . . . our CLOTHES? Even if we made it out of here, how to we explain what we're wearing, and why we're handcuffed together? This is a fucking trap house, and whoever is behind all of this knows exactly who we are."

"What do they want from us?" Rajesh asked sheepishly.

"My guess would be money," James said plainly. "My guess is they'll threaten to expose us unless we pay them."

"Fuck," Mark sighed, a little too loud. "Just my fucking luck."

"Yeah," James scoffed. "Thanks again for talking me into it, by the way."

"Hey," he snapped, "you're a grown ass man, nobody had to twist your arm . . . "

From behind them, seemingly appearing from nowhere, Britney appeared, almost as though she'd materialized out of thin air rather than a hidden passage in the wall. "What are y'all talking about?"

The three men froze, terrified. Rajesh managed to answer her, "Nothing, Mistress Britney, we're just cleaning."

"Uh huh . . . remember what I said about keeping your mouth shut?"

"Yes, Mistress Britney . . . "

"What did I say?"

Raj gulped and answered, "That if I can't keep it shut, you'll fill it for me?"

"Exactly. Now shut the fuck up and those dishes done. All three of you cunts are expected upstairs in five minutes, don't waste your time."

The three of them hurried their pace, forming a makeshift assembly line with Rajesh washing and Mark drying. James, whose efforts to help would only hinder their progress stood between them, allowing his arms to be pulled to and fro like a marionette as they worked.

The men had just finished with the last of the dishes when they heard the clomping of heels behind them and turned to see the fembots.

"Un-cuff them," Angelina commanded.

Deepika approached them with a key in her hand. Once removed, she tossed the cuffs and the key onto the kitchen counter. James noticed Mark staring at the key and mouthed the word, "No."

Angelina took a quick walk around the kitchen, shaking her head in disgust. "This is NOT how it looked when you first arrived . . . when I give you an instruction, you are to follow it to the letter. Return to your rooms with your hosts, they'll instruct you further."

With that, the men followed their "hostesses" back upstairs with their heads down, like condemned men. It occurred to James that less than 24 hours before, he'd been climbing those same stairs with one hand on Scarlett's ass, with visions of all the depraved things he intended to do to her running through his head. Not anymore, now the roles were reversed and Scarlett was pinching his ass as he climbed while Deepika and Halle did likewise to his friends. Once back to his room, James saw that three outfits had been laid out for him on the bed. He tried not to look at them as though ignoring them would somehow make them disappear.

Scarlett closed the bedroom door, turned to face him, and said, "Strip."

His heart sank but he did as he was told, stripping off the women's bathing suit while Scarlett selected one of the outfits laying on the bed and handed it to him. "We'll start with this one," she said indifferently.

James felt his heart stop for a moment . . . the outfit she was holding out on the end of her finger was a "naughty schoolgirl" outfit, typically found in adult stores and sex shops . . .

White knee high socks . . .

A pink pleated tartan skirt . . .

White satin panties . . .

And a white short-sleeved collared shirt tied into a knot at the midriff along with a short black neck tie.

He'd once bought one similar for a girlfriend back before he met Rebecca, and he suspected that most women had probably worn one for the men in their lives at one point or another. The sexualization by adults of something normally worn by underage girls had somehow slipped under society's radar screen, and outfits like the one he was accepting from Scarlett were somehow deemed as acceptable; hell, the real "Britney" had launched her career as a pop icon by donning one in a music video, and back then adult men seemed to have few qualms about announcing the degrading (and messy) things they'd like to do to her, despite her age. Strippers wore them en masse, and God could only imagine how many "naughty-schoolgirl" themed adult films were in existence. James had certainly watched his share, perhaps more than that.

"Put it on . . . now," Scarlett said firmly.

James reluctantly took the outfit from her and sorted through it, deciding he'd start with the underwear. He dropped the rest of the ensemble on the floor and stepped into them, sliding the thin satin up his thighs and covering his genitals and buttocks. Next he unzipped the skirt and wrapped it around his waist before re-zipping it. Almost as though she were reading his thoughts as they occurred to him, Scarlett asked a question that stopped him dead in his tracks as he dressed: "Do you think you'll stop fantasizing about fucking teenagers once you have a teenage daughter of your own?"

His jaw dropped open and he stood there gawking at her, dumbfounded.

"Don't bother trying to deny it, I've seen your browser history."

"No!" James blurted. "They're not teenagers . . . they're . . . it's not like that!"

Scarlett flapped a hand at him dismissively. "Oh save me the 'performers are over the age of eighteen' disclaimer bullshit. They're made to look much younger than they are, and that's what you're watching when you jerk yourself off. You're not alone . . . not hardly, those kinds of fetish sites wouldn't exist if there weren't men watching, and they are watching. Not surprising, I suppose, since most men are basically hebophiles, whether they admit it or not."

James could only continue to stare at her, wide-eyed and mute.

"Psychologists say that since most men first become attracted to females during their adolescence, the attraction to girls that age becomes the foundation of their entire sexual identity as they grow older. Most men grow out of it and continue to date females of the same age as they are . . . some don't. Some end up in prison, some run movie studios . . . and some buy their wives little outfits like that one so they can get their jollies."

James realized that there was nothing he could say to prove her wrong or defend himself, so he shut his mouth and began the process of stuffing his freshly-shaved legs into the white knee-high socks. When he had them pulled up, he untied the knot in the shirt so he could stuff himself into it before retying the knot.

Scarlett approached him and took the last item from his hand; the black necktie with an elastic collar. She stretched it around his head and down his skull until it was around his throat. She straightened it before standing back to appraise him. "Very nice . . . very . . . 'sex-slavey'. Now for the hair . . . I'm thinking blonde."

She went to the closet and opened it. On the top shelf there were a variety of different wigs of varying color and length perched atop faceless decapitated heads made of Styrofoam. She reached for one with long locks of blonde hair, but at the last moment seemed to change her mind. "On second thought, let's go with purple."

Scarlett approached him with the wig and shoved it down over his head, making adjustments to it and feathering it into shape using her fingers like combs. Their faces were inches apart and he found himself entranced once again by her beauty, just as he had been the night before while he was inside of her. He caught a whiff of her fragrance and felt the warmth coming off of her body. Once satisfied, she stood back and admired her work.

"Here's how this is going to work," she said. "You're going to stand at the door and wait your turn. Rajesh is first, then you, then Mark. When you see Rajesh coming up the stairs, that's your cue to come down. Walk across the living-room, stop in front of Mistress Angelina, spin around in a full circle, then walk away."

Just then, loud bass-heavy music began reverberating throughout the house causing the light fixture in his guestroom to vibrate and ring. Raising her voice over the din, she went on. "Come back up here, put on the next outfit, and wait for your turn. When you get down there, walk slow but don't linger. Remember to smile. Any questions?"

James felt the familiar sensation of his mouth filling up with spit as though he was about to vomit. He kept his teeth jammed together and he breathed heavily though his nostrils as he nodded in response.

"Good," she said, turning to leave the room. "Be sexy, don't make me look bad, and don't miss your fucking turn."

Chapter 11

James stood in the doorway of his guestroom . . . the house had become a discotheque, or (more accurately), a gentlemen's club. Every light fixture in the house was rotating through the entire spectrum of color, a spinning disco-ball had been lowered into the main foyer through an unseen hatch in the ceiling, and the air was filled with the dry haze of a smoke machine that had lowered the ground floor by a foot or more. The house was thumping with bass from the music being played and the disco-ball cast a kaleidoscope of patterns and orbs on the walls and ceiling. Down the hall, Rajesh and Mark were both peering back at him from the safety of their doorways, each dressed in equally humiliating attire; Rajesh dressed like a ballerina in pink, and Mark in a navy blue "naughty-police officer's" outfit, which was basically no more than a tight spandex club dress with a black vinyl belt, and a plastic gold badge pinned to his ample pectoral. It was at least four sizes too small for him, and he looked like an overstuffed sausage in it.

James began waving at Rajesh frantically, urging him to go downstairs, but Raj shook his head in the negative like he had a spring for a neck, gesturing for James to go first. They were four turns into their little 'Canadian Standoff', fighting over who should go first, when Angelina's voice reverberated off the walls over the boom of the music, "What's the hold up, ladies?!?"

The fear of angering Angelina finally unglued Rajesh's feet and he made his way down into the wall of multi-colored smoke wafting up the stairs. For about ten seconds there was no reaction, then came an eruption of whistles and catcalls coming from the fembots, followed shortly after by Raj crying out for help. Though barely audible over the pounding rhythm of the club music, James distinctly heard him screaming, "NO PLEASE!" followed by the sounds of a struggle and the sound of an adult male hitting the floor amidst the clomp of heels as though the fembots were trampling him.

James looked over at Mark, standing there in the open doorway to his room, his eyes and mouth open wide with disbelief and fear (James imagined his own expression looked much the same.) The fembots began laughing and cheering downstairs, and it made James sick to hear it; he could only imagine what they were doing to poor Rajesh, but he wouldn't have to wonder for much longer.

Rajesh appeared through the heavy fog on the stairs as he crawled back to them on his hands and knees. The pink ballerina outfit he'd been wearing had been torn to shreds and was hanging off of his body in tatters.

"Raj!" Mark cried.

"Help him!" James said as he bolted down the stairs and took hold of Raj's arm. Mark, however, seemed frozen in place in the doorway of his guestroom. "What happened to you?!?"

"They were all over me like a pack of wild animals," Raj gasped. "And they're so STRONG!"

James helped him up to the second floor and onto his feet. He looked completely traumatized by what he'd experienced in his brief absence, and he still had two more outfits to display for them. Somewhere from behind the thick haze and the strobing lights, Scarlett called up to James, "One right after the other, girls. Don't make us come up there!"

He left Rajesh on the second floor landing and descended into the fog; he'd never been so scared in all his life. As he ventured past the kitchen and towards the living room, it occurred to him that he'd actually have felt less humiliated and vulnerable if he were naked. As he entered the living room, he saw the fembots waiting for him. With the exception of Scarlett, four of them were seated on the couch with their legs spread and their massive cocks in their hands. He nearly turned around and ran until Scarlett's voice stopped him, "Don't . . . you . . . dare."

He stopped short and turned slowly to face her.

"Walk to them, spin, smile, and walk away," she commanded him.

James knew it couldn't possibly be that easy, but he also knew he had to obey. He gulped once and began his walk, his arms hanging at his sides as he attempted to hold down the hem of his skirt. All five fembots began whistling and cat-calling him and it took everything he had not to look down at the four massive cocks poking up from their laps.

"Now spin," Scarlett said.

James awkwardly spun in a circle and attempted to walk away, but the fembots sprang to their feet and Scarlett seized hold of him by the wrists. "What's your hurry, sweetie?" Angelina asked, her massive cock hanging heavily between her legs.

"He looks good as a school-girl," Halle said, grinning at him.

Next, Britney brushed the hair of the wig away from his face and touched his brightly painted lips with two fingers. "Scarlett, was right, he's got a hot little mouth."

Angelina stood back while the other four surrounded him. James tried to back away only to find himself being poked in the back by Deepika's hard-on. "No, please," he said feebly.

"What's the matter, Jamie?" Angelina asked with an evil grin. "Don't you want to fuck us anymore?"

Britney answered for him, "She didn't dress up like that for no reason. I think Jamie wants some dick in her."

James attempted to break from the circle but Halle grabbed him by the back of the neck and slowly pushed him down to his knees. "Is that right, Jamie, are you looking for some dick?"

He shook his head, no, which made her chuckle. "Aww, don't be shy. Scarlett says you suck a mean cock, we want some too."

"No please," he begged. "I've had enough! We'll pay whatever you want, just tell us how much!"

"You'll pay?!?" Scarlett scoffed. "You think we want money?"

All five fembots began to laugh, and James felt like he was missing out on the joke . . . and he was.

Angelina stepped forward and the music stopped. "How typical. You bought your way into trouble, and now you're trying to buy your way out of it. Men have been buying their way out of responsibility for their actions for ages . . . it's so common that nobody even notices. Not anymore. You and your friends took the bait, and now you have to pay, but we don't want your money."

"What do you want then?" James asked, frustrated.

Angelina placed a finger under his chin and forced him to look up at her before delivering her answer. "What we want, is to break your toxic masculinity, and to get you and your friends to stop objectifying women as nothing more than a pair of holes for you to cum into. And do you know how we're going to do that?"

James shook his head, no.

She answered, "By cumming into yours until you'll never watch another woman being brutalized without knowing EXACTLY how it feels, and how it tastes." Angelina gave a slight nod to the others to indicate that the conversation they were having was over.

Deepika, with an identically offensive cock as the others that was the same shade of brown as the rest of her, was the first to assail him by shoving that massive cock into his mouth. When he instinctively flinched away from it, Scarlett grabbed hold of the back of his head and held him still with both hands. The fact that he'd already had his mouth fucked earlier by Scarlett's identically sized cock did nothing to improve the experience; if anything, he gagged a little harder on it.

James closed his eyes and tried to block out what was happening to him, and to some extent it worked. Though he could still feel what was happening to him, he felt somewhat transported out of his body. Strangely, the place he was transported to was only a few feet away from his actual location. It seemed he was now standing with the fembots, looking down at this pathetic excuse for a man having his mouth fucked . . . dressed like a prostitute, tears mixed with fresh cum and snot hanging from his chin. He snapped back into his body briefly as Deepika withdrew from him and Britney took her place and began thrusting.

After what might have been minutes or hours, he became vaguely aware that the floor beneath him was vibrating and the music was blaring once again, and probably had been for some time. He could still feel the cock sliding in and out of his mouth, though the muscles of his body that he would have employed to defend himself against the assault were now limp and exhausted into stillness save for the occasional twitch of his gag reflex. But it all seemed to be happening to someone else, not him, and his mind began to wander. Angelina seemed to sense this and she placed a foot on his shoulder and shoved him down on the floor, abruptly yanking Britney out of his mouth. "That's enough," she barked. "Get upstairs and put your next outfit on, and fix your fucking makeup before you come back down."