Femworld

James began to stand and Scarlett slapped him across the face hard enough to knock him back down. "Nobody told you to stand, slut. Crawl back upstairs like the fucking snake you are."

Chapter 12

James awoke on the living room floor, unaware of how long he'd been lying there. Both he and the floor he was sprawled out on were covered in cum, and there mere smell of it was enough to make him gag, and then there was the taste in his mouth. He looked down to see he was wearing an outfit he had no recollection of putting on: a black teddy with matching garter and silk stockings, but that wasn't all. Beneath the bulge of his groin there was something hard and heavy with smooth rounded edges. He was almost afraid to look at it out of fear that the fembots may have castrated him and what he was feeling was some sort of medical device intended to keep him from bleeding to death. Those fears quickly turned to confusion as he pulled the lace aside and saw that his cock and balls had been locked into a metal prison. He'd seen cock cages on the internet before, but never up close, and he'd certainly never had any inclination to wear one.

As he began feeling around the edges of his taint looking for some way to remove the device, he realized that something else was going on down there as well. Something was hanging from his ass, which he quickly identified by touch as a string of some sort. Tugging on it, he realized that it led inside of his body.

Then he realized.

He'd bought enough feminine hygiene products for his wife and girlfriends' past to recognize what he was feeling inside of him was a tampon. He tried to pull it out of himself but the string and his hands were so covered in cum (his and his friends') that it kept slipping between his fingers as he tried to get a good grip on it. Cum was everywhere.

In his hair and his eyes . . .

All over the living room floor . . . even between his toes.

The smell was making him nauseous.

He struggled into a seated position and began clawing the cum out of his eyes. Once his vision began to clear he was able to make out his surroundings, and the two men sharing space with him on the living room floor.

Rajesh was laying on his side wearing a womens' superhero outfit made famous by Linda Carter back in the 80's, and Mark was dressed in a 'naughty nurses' outfit. James realized he had little or no memory of putting on the second outfit, and no memory at all of putting on what he was wearing now, nor could he remember what had been done to them that led to their current state.

"Are you guys okay?" he asked his friends as he staggered to his feet, slipping and sliding on the cum soaked floor as though he was standing on ice.

"No man," Mark grumbled as he struggled to sit up. "I'm pretty fucking far from okay."

Neither of them needed to ask how Rajesh was doing, because he was curled up in the fetal position, crying quietly.

James tore off his wig and threw it on the floor with a splat as he continued to paw the cum out of his eyes with his cum soaked hands. He staggered into the kitchen followed by Mark and the pair took turns holding their heads under the kitchen faucet turned up full blast. Rajesh remained curled up on the living room floor, whimpering to himself.

"Where do you think they are?" Mark asked, drying himself with a handful of wadded up paper towels.

Looking up at the flatscreen, James saw that it was ten minutes past three, and according to their itinerary, the fembots were scheduled to recharge from three till five o'clock so that they'd be a maximum power for a long night of whatever brutality they had planned for them. James had no intentions of waiting around for two hours to see what indignities they had in mind. "We have to get out of here," he said, decidedly.

"I'm with you there man, let's see if we can get a door or a window open."

The pair rushed past Raj curled up like a sick dog on the floor and into the main foyer where they'd come in. They found the doors predictably locked tight, and worse; they swung inward so their chances of breaking them down were less than zero. Nonetheless, the men picked up one of the sofas from the living room and used it as a battering ram against the heavy oak doors to no avail. Next, they tried the floor to ceiling windows, panel by panel, and found each of them just as solid as the doors were. They were so thick that James had no doubt that they'd stop a bullet; at one point, Mark even picked up a huge potted plant in a three foot tall vase and heaved it into the window out of frustration; he succeeded only in shattering the vase and murdering the plant. After half an hour, the pair collapsed on the floor, exhausted and out of breath. Not only had they failed to break out of the house, they'd also made one hell of a mess, which they would now have to explain to the fembots.

"Well that didn't work," Mark commented dryly. "What now?"

James thought about it for a moment before answering, "Might as well try the second floor, maybe the windows are thinner?"

They weren't. The walls in each of the guest rooms were just as thick as those on the ground floor, and even if they could be broken, the house was shaped like a box, similar to the red hotels in that real estate board game where the objective is to bankrupt the other players. There was no place they could jump down to the ground floor, only to the pavement two stories below, and it wouldn't be much of an escape if they both broke their legs on the way out. Plus, there was the matter of getting Rajesh out. They had nearly given up when James had another thought.

"You know," he said, "underneath all the tech and the glitz of this place, it's still just a house. And, just like every other house, it needs electricity."

"Okay . . ." Mark nodded and then shook his head, indicating that he didn't know where James was going with this, but he was willing to play along.

"Just like any other house," James continued, there's a pole or a box out on the street with cables running inside . . . and they lead to another smaller box inside this house somewhere."

Mark snapped his fingers, a small smile appearing on his mug as he realized, "The basement!"

James grinned back at him excitedly, "The only room not on the tour. Now, there's a good chance that we're going to run into them down there, but if we get caught we're no worse off than we already are. But, if we can find the main breaker panel and kill the power to the entire house, it should release the locks on the doors."

Mark offered his fist, which James bumped. "I'm in."

Their first task was to find the basement, which they did relatively quickly through the process of elimination. They checked the five closest doors to the kitchen and found four of them to be closet space. The fifth door, however, was locked and James felt a cool breeze blowing on his feet from the space between the door and the floor. He rushed back into the kitchen and began rifling through the drawers.

"What do you expect to find," Mark scoffed, "keys?!?"

James found what he was looking for and held it up for him to see, "Nope . . . THIS." He extended it to Mark and said, "Here, take it."

"What are you giving it to ME for?" Mark said, frowning suspiciously.

"I don't know . . . you know."

"No, actually . . . I don't know. Why don't you explain it to me?"

"I don't know!" James stammered, "I just thought you might know how to use it to open a door . . . you know, because you work in construction and everything,"

"Okay, let me see if I get this straight . . . you figure that because I own the third largest general contracting firm in the region, that I know how to jimmy open a locked door with a fucking butter knife? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah . . . you know . . . I just figured you're probably more mechanically inclined and whatnot."

Mark laughed derisively, "BULL . . . SHIT. Why don't you just say it?"

"Say what exactly?"

"You think I can open a locked door with a butter knife because I'm BLACK."

"Hey," James said, raising his hands defensively. "I never said that."

"Oh yes you did, Jimmy. Yes you fucking did."

They stopped for a moment and both men burst into a fit of laughter over the ridiculousness of the conversation they were having, especially under the circumstances. Mark snatched the knife from James' hand and proceeded to slip it between the handle and the door-jamb. Within a few seconds he'd managed to slip the tip of the blade through the lock, disengaging it from the brass plate in the doorframe and pulling the door open. "Fuck you, Jimmy," he grumbled under his breath as James followed him down the steps. They had no way of knowing whether or not the fembots were awake and aware during their charging cycle, and not knowing gave them clay feet as they slowly descended into the basement.

Both men experienced a low hum that filled their ears accompanied by the flickering of lights on the walls and a ten degree drop in temperature beneath their naked feet. They were met first by a twenty-five foot long row of tall server towers, each humming and blinking lights at them like a slot machine. James felt as though they could (and would) be caught at any second, and the thought of his potential punishment made him feel sick, almost as sick as the idea of riding out the rest of the weekend trapped inside that house with those insane machines . . . almost, but not quite. Even the slightest chance of escape was worth whatever happened if they were caught.

As the pair passed by the servers and rounded the corner, they were met by a small alcove and an entire wall of flat screen monitors, each of them displaying video feed of a different room in the house, and the events that had transpired during their first night in the house. A small computer cart with a rolling desk chair and an open laptop was scrolling through a complex series of numbers, and James was inexplicably drawn to it. Though his own computer experience was limited, he recognized what he was seeing as a massive amount of data being uploaded to dozens of different locations. "Jesus," he gasped quietly, "do you know what this is?"

"No, what?"

Gesturing at the monitors, he told him, "Everything we did on our first night here, and everything they've done to us since . . . including the fashion show."

"Cool, well let's take the laptop with us, problem solved."

"You don't understand," James said, shaking his head forlornly. "They're being uploaded to dozens of sites, god only knows where or how many copies have already been sent. Taking the laptop won't do anyth . . ."

Before he could finish the thought, Mark grabbed the back of the office chair, heaved it over his head and brought it down like a sledgehammer on the laptop three times in quick succession, obliterating it. But he wasn't finished, yet. Next he began smashing each of the flatscreen monitors on the wall, the chair slowly falling apart with each blow until he was holding nothing but the seat-back, and all but one monitor was destroyed before he ran out of breath. To James' horror, he saw that the video being played on the sole-surviving monitor showed him on his knees being mouth-fucked by what appeared to be four MTF transgendered individuals. The fembots heads were cut off from view and he knew that could not possibly be an accident; to anyone who didn't know better, and for all intents and purposes, James appeared to be servicing four "chicks with dicks."

"What'd you say?" Mark asked, perplexed.

"I didn't realize I said that outloud," he chuckled. "But that's what that looks like, I'm blowing a bunch of chicks with dicks. From that angle you can't even tell that they're fembots."

"First off, there's no thing as chicks with dicks, only boys with boobs. Second, what difference does that make that you can't tell, you didn't want it, none of us did . . ."

"That's not the point," James reflected sadly, "it's how it looks. If you can't tell that they're fembots on the videos they uploaded, and you can't tell whether or not it's consensual, then it looks like we paid fifteen grand to spend the weekend with . . . as you said . . . boys with boobs. Imagine that . . . how much longer do you think you'll get contracts if this gets out? My clients would jump ship in a heartbeat . . . and just imagine what Rajesh's life would look like after."

After a moment, Mark handed him the back of what remained of the office chair and said, "What's done is done, let's not stick around long enough to give them more ammunition than they already have."

James shook his head, refusing to take the makeshift weapon from him at first, but the images on the screen of what they'd done to him ignited a rage within him and he snatched the back of the chair from Mark's grasp and threw it into the remaining monitor and the spider-webbed screen emitted a flash of protest before going black. Feeling a fresh charge of anger-fueled optimism (which, he hoped was contagious) he turned to Mark and said, "Let's kill the power and get out of this fucking place."

Mark nodded and stooped down to pick up the broken off arms of the office chair, one of which he handed to James before wielding the other in both hands like a baseball bat. "Let's do this." Then he added, "If you see one of those bitches, clock her across the face with that thing and then run like hell."

Easy for him to say, James thought; Mark was both big and strong enough to at least stand a chance at fighting his way out of there should the fembots be waiting for them around the next corner. In reality, if push came to shove, James' best bet for survival might be to jump on Mark's back and ride him out of there like a bull.

They followed a long hall lined with doors on both sides and began opening them one at a time; half expecting to find the main breaker panel, and half expecting to find the fembots. They found neither, with each room containing spare parts for their captors. There was a room for their left legs, and another room for their right legs, all of the above organized by size and skin tone. LIkewise, there was a room for left arms, and a room for their right. Another room was filled with headless, limbless and breastless torsos followed by a room filled with nothing but tits. Another room contained every conceivable size and shape of ass cheeks, and yet another was filled with shelves containing faceless/hairless heads. Finally, the last small room in the hall, and the creepiest of them all, contained nothing but faces . . . hundreds of them, and not just of their five "hostesses", but many MANY others; each well known to both men from the film, television, and music industries. There was no time to contemplate any of that, as they had no idea how long they'd been down there, or how much time they had left before the fembots would wake from their electronic slumber (assuming that they weren't already awake and waiting for them.)

Luckily, only one of those things turned out to be the case, or so it appeared. Leaving the hallway and rounding the next corner, they DID find the fembots, but each of them were partially reclined onto individual gurneys with small cables plugged into their right arms like an IV drip. Both men nearly jumped out of their skins at the sight of them, as all five of them had their eyes wide open. Mark actually raised his makeshift club as though to defend himself before James shushed him and said, "Wait! I don't think they know we're here. If you start clubbing them with that thing you're liable to wake them up."

Their eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling from their reclined positions, but they seemed to be dormant . . . dead even, as though these five women had simply stopped living. And then they saw it . . . on the far wall just beyond the gurneys . . . their objective. A set of four large breaker panels, and set between them: a single box with a foot-long lever set in the middle of it simply marked on and off. "That's got to be it," James whispered.

"How do we do this?" Mark asked, unable to break his stare away from the fembots.

"Beats me . . . slowly and quietly, I guess."

"And then what?"

"Honestly?" James shrugged. "I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Chapter 13

"Shit!" Mark hissed as quietly as he could manage. "That's your plan?!?"

"Hey," James said, feeling slightly defensive. "If you've got a better idea I'd love to hear it."

"Look at us man!" he said hoarsely. Then, pointing down at the device locked over his genitals, he added, "How am I supposed to explain THIS to Liz when I get home? I need my clothes, I need my keys, I need my phone, I need my luggage, and I need my fucking car! Ain't no point in breaking out of here like THIS."

Though James didn't like the sound of it, he saw that Mark was right; he'd been so focused on simply getting out of the house and away from the fembots that he hadn't really thought about what he'd do after he succeeded in getting beyond the main gates. He realized two things at that moment; his best odds of surviving this ordeal meant working together with Mark, and secondly, that succeeding also meant putting his faith and trust in the person who was most likely to get them both caught. He breathlessly followed Mark past the wide-eyed sleeping fembots towards the breaker panel; specifically, the main power switch. He watched the fembots very closely, completely expecting to see their eyes tracking from left to right as the pair passed by, like a portrait hung in a haunted house with eyes that seemed to look at you for any spot in the room. Except, in this case, these five particular portraits were capable of sexually assaulting them . . . killing them even. What they were doing was a blatant act of insubordination, and if caught their punishment would be severe; so severe that perhaps they might have been better off to accept whatever the fembots had in store for them. Given the fact that they'd already uploaded video evidence of their activities, escaping from the house might very well warrant (at least in their captors' minds) the release of that footage as punishment. That was the hell of it all.

Not knowing.

At BEST, accepting his fate and "riding out" the weekend (so to speak) also meant accepting the reality that he'd be taking more robot cock and swallowing cum, and not all of it his own, and who was to say that it would stop there? They'd already ass-fucked at least one member of their group, possibly even two; if so, that left James as the only virgin left at the party, and the realization terrified him. Having never been to prison, James had lived over forty years of his life never once finding himself in fear that someone was going to fuck him, and now he was trapped with five powerful and sadistic machines capable of passing him around like a party favor, tearing his ass open wide no matter how hard he fought, or begged.

Well, he thought to himself, if they were probably going to fuck him either way, then he'd rather get it trying to escape.

The pair passed the fembots without incident and stood at the main breaker panel, looking at the switch in anticipation. "I hope to God this works," Mark said under his breath. "You get the switch, I'll watch your back."

Mark took a defensive posture with the arm of the chair hoisted over his shoulder like a baseball player in the batter box, waiting for a pitch. James took hold of the switch with shaky hands and prepared himself. He gave one last glance over his shoulder to make sure the fembots hadn't moved. The switch was hard to move and he had to use both hands to move it, and when it finally did move it slammed down into the off position with a loud thunk. They were plunged into darkness as all the lights went out; they could hear the servers in the other room begin to wind down until there was no sound at all except for their breathing. They were met by another thunk as the emergency lights kicked on; a pair of spotlights mounted high near the ceiling in the corner of the basement. Thankfully, the fembots remained exactly where the pair had last seen them, though presumably no longer receiving a charge. That didn't make them any less dangerous, though; James was sure they had enough charge in them to prevent their escape and worse, should they awake.