Transformations - Travelers Ch. 01

Comments welcome!

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Now

Five years have passed since the bimbo flu and futa virus ravaged every major city on earth.

Five years since a young man named Adam first bent time.

Five years since a White Witch named Sugar Tits realized that, inside, she was still Angela Owens and always had been.

In those five years, the Church of Morpheus has infiltrated cities throughout the world. Each major city has a 'Red Zone' controlled by the Church where all manner of sexual fantasies become reality.

'Sexcations' to the new Cuba have gone from being taboo to mainstream.

Cuba is the new Riviera.

All major airports have terminals owned and controlled by the Theocratic Republic of Cuba - Church controlled areas. Miniature Red Zones.

The Church of Morpheus is bent on world domination.

They have a plan.

But, Whore Caste and the growing Church of Adam have a plan as well.

While governments tremble and two living gods gather their forces, common people are learning to navigate the new normal...

***

Nancy

Chicago, Illinois

Nancy Davis gripped the crisp, white sheets and held on. Her lover had just removed her butt plug and replaced the chrome, pear-shaped device with two of his fingers.

He was loosening and lubricating her, as he always did before using her.

'Using her'... that thought made her smile. Their relationship was one of mutual benefit. In many ways, it was impersonal - he used her, she used him. No attachments, little if any talking.

He was Richard but she only thought of him as 'her lover'.

Their trysts in downtown Chicago hotels always involved frantic naked coupling. Oral first, with 'her lover' bringing her to orgasm with his talented lips and tongue. Then she would reciprocate, taking him to the brink of climax.

He was in control, pushing her away when he was drawing close to cumming. This could go on for hours.

Nancy was playful, trying to make him cum, knowing that he would take charge and push her away.

She craved that.

He would take her when he tired of oral.

How many times had she cum from the pounding of his thick cock into her pussy today? Three times? Yes, at least.

But, her pussy was not his ultimate goal.

He had told her that during their first frantic fuck in the country club ladies room. "I'm going to fuck your ass."

She had been terrified. Her husband had never even tried to do that to her in ten years of marriage and, there she had been in the ladies room with the flimsy lock and her husband not thirty feet away laughing over cocktails with their friends, with her sensible skirt up over her hips and a junior partner in her husband's law firm taking her last virginity with animalistic grunts and thrusts.

Nancy had never felt so turned on and dirty and... needed.

Back in the present, her lover removed his fingers and replaced them with his thick cock.

His heavy balls slapped against her pussy as he enjoyed her 'second pussy' as he liked to call it.

Over the last three years, he had trained her second pussy with butt plugs that Nancy had to hide from her husband.

It no longer hurt to be ass fucked, and, while there was no inherent pleasure for Nancy? The feeling of being used and lusted after more than made up for it.

Her tight sheath gripped him hard as he tried to pull out, then she relaxed her practiced muscles when he thrust back in. She smiled with each retreat and thrust, confident that her body was pleasing him.

She felt him tense, his movements growing erratic.

He pulled out and she spun around on her hands and knees, smiling, his swollen cock inches from her lips.

He jerked his dick and cum shot out.

She opened her mouth, letting it shoot onto her tongue, her lips, her face. She licked the head as the spurts became dribbles.

Nancy looked up at him as he grew limp. She smiled.

He stared down at her for a moment, expressionless. Then he turned away and walked into the bathroom.

***

Nancy fell asleep curled on the sheets. She woke momentarily when he used a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean the cum from her face and then to soothe her ass and pussy.

She smiled at him.

He gave her a one-sided grin - this was 'her lover' at his most loving.

She drifted off again, confident he would wake her in time for her to return to the suburbs.

When she awoke, she found him standing naked at the big window looking out at the city.

She rolled out of bed and stood beside him.

Outside the hotel and across the street was the entrance to the Chicago Red Zone. The entrance was lit in garish, red neon.

City health workers stood outside the entrance, examining the people trying to enter, checking their IDs to make sure they were of age.

On the other side of the queue, people were exiting the zone and dutifully spitting into a machine that scanned them for bimbo flu or futa virus.

"Have you ever been in the zone?" Her lover asked.

She tried to take his hand. It was limp and lifeless, uninterested in her touch.

"No," she said. "They record your ID. Can you imagine if the list ever got hacked? Eric would divorce me." She looked up at him. "Have you been there?"

He nodded. "Three times now."

She looked out at the walls of the zone that reached to the fourth floor of the buildings within. "What's it like?"

He cocked his head to the side and looked far away. "Paradise. Shangri-La. Xanadu."

Nancy laughed. "It's just sex, right?"

He shook his head slowly. "They're changing the world." He looked down at her. "You're going to Cuba. You'll see."

***

Nancy stepped out of the hotel onto La Salle Street as the rain came down. She held her umbrella high as people dashed past her, many with only a newspaper to cover their heads.

Each time she stepped out of some four star hotel, she half-expected a private investigator to snap her picture. He would take it to Eric and that would be that.

Part of her wanted the charade to be over.

Unfortunately, part of her was still in love with her husband - would always be in love with him.

But, Eric Davis gave his ass fuckings in a courtroom. If he gave them in their bedroom instead? She would never have taken 'her lover'.

Her phone beeped to show her the Uber would pick her up in three minutes down the block, in front of a restaurant where she had supposedly been having lunch with girlfriends.

She began to walk, her high heels splashing in the tiny puddles.

A woman was staring at her: a poster across the street showed a caramel skinned nun with ruby red lips, dressed in rubber nun's robes but without the coif, her eyes obscured by dark glasses. The words at the top of the poster read: Morpheus is Freedom.

At the bottom, some graffiti artist had spray painted the words: ADAM SAVES! in bright red across Sister's breasts.

Something moved at the corner of her eye - her lover had exited the hotel behind her. He didn't look at her.

He had no umbrella, not even a copy of the Tribune to shield his blond hair from the downpour. He walked across La Salle Street and straight to the entrance to the Red Zone, his silk suit becoming drenched.

He's not coming back, she thought. She wasn't sure why she knew this. Perhaps it was something about the way he walked so deliberately, or maybe it was the way he had ignored the rain.

But, she knew that her lover was not planning to return from the Red Zone. More and more people did not. They would either stay there enjoying the non-stop hedonistic orgies or they applied for citizenship in the New Cuba and caught the next flight out.

Nancy wanted to follow him. She wanted to throw away the umbrella and run to his side, take his hand, walk through that gate with him and not look back.

Was it love for Eric that kept her from doing that? Was it fear that her lover would reject her and tell her to go home?

Or, was she simply a coward?

The Uber pulled up to the curb and the driver called to her. She looked toward her lover once more as he stood in the rain waiting his turn to enter Shangri-La.

Then she got in the back seat of the Uber and let it carry her back to the suburbs.

***

Monica and Terri

University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign

Monica Chamberlain cursed under her breath for the thousandth time. She should have put her foot down. She should have. It didn't matter if the university was overcrowded - she was a grad student and there was no way, no earthly way, she should have been saddled with a freshman roommate.

But, it was far too late to get out of this now.

Her roommate, Terri Thompson was dancing around their room in nothing but lace panties, her tiny breasts bouncing as she gyrated her nearly non-existent hips. In her left hand was something that looked like a daiquiri, in her right was something made with Jaeger-Meister.

She grinned like a Cheshire Cat at Monica. "Bitch! Get up! It's spring break! Stop fucking studying!" Then she downed both drinks one after the other.

Monica closed her book on international finance.

No normal nineteen-year-old who weighed ninety-eight pounds soaking wet could imbibe that much alcohol and remain standing; however, Terri Thompson wasn't so much a party animal as a party 'machine' - like some alien android who never seemed to get drunk no matter what rocket fuel passed her lips.

Or, perhaps it was simply that Monica had never seen Terri sober.

The two of them were opposites: Monica was quiet and reserved, Terri was boisterous and loud. Monica had long blonde hair and curves, Terri was stick straight with black hair in a pixie cut.

Monica was in grad school on a scholarship.

Terri was struggling through undergrad on Mommy's considerable monetary support.

Terri Thompson was the daughter of Illinois State Senator Teresa Thompson, next in line to become the democratic governor of Illinois and after that? The US Senate, maybe even the White House.

And, frankly, that was the reason Monica was still Terri's roommate and hadn't found other accommodations.

On the first day Terri moved in, Monica had been on her way to tell the university there was no way in hell she was going to share a room with this walking poster for Alcoholics Anonymous.

Then Terri's mother had cornered Monica without Terri in the room. "My daughter is an unholy terror, but I love her. Be her friend, keep her safe, don't let her embarrass herself or me, and I will pay you $70,000 a year."

So, Monica was now a twenty-two-year-old babysitting a nineteen-year-old.

"Get up!" Terri squeaked and dragged Monica to her feet.

She half-heartedly danced across the dorm room floor with her nearly-nude roommate.

"We're gonna have so much fun this week! Mom said to use the credit card and fly anywhere."

"Where's it going to be?" Monica asked. "Lauderdale?"

"Fuck Lauderdale! This one's going to be epic."

"Where are we going?" Monica said.

"You have your passport, right?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, but no." Last Valentine's Day, Terri had dragged her to Thailand. Twenty hours on a plane just to drink shots and eat grilled scorpions and tarantulas.

Terri laughed. "No, this won't be like Thailand, I promise."

"Where are we going?"

She put her arms around Monica's neck and stared deep into her eyes. "You'll see."

There it was, that little spark of sapphic romance that Terri liked to turn on. How many times had she given Monica that look that said there might be something between them?

Monica couldn't tell if it was just a game Terri liked to play or if there was something more behind her flirting.

As for Monica, she would have been fine with it. She always considered herself to be 'hetero-flexible' even before she had done the Amy Lynn Challenge back in the day.

Terri dashed away though, a tease as always.

Monica wasn't exactly disappointed - the skinny brunette wasn't her type, if she had one.

Plus, there was the fact the undergrad was the human equivalent of an excitable Yorkshire Terrier.

***

Nancy Davis arrived home to find her husband already there.

He was pacing in the kitchen between a quickly cooking omelet and the refrigerator, his ever-present Bluetooth earpiece blinking blue in the marble kitchen. "No, you tell that cock sucker from Treasury that if he wants our cooperation? Phillips serves no jail time... not one minute. This wasn't Amalgamated's cluster fuck, it was the fucking Swedes."

She leaned up to kiss him, confident the scent of her lover's cum was no longer on her breath.

He kissed her quickly and returned to his discussion. "No, goddamn it! That's a non-starter. I'm not hanging the CEO out to dry just because Treasury wants a scapegoat for a show trial! Let them go after the Swedes; otherwise, we'll bury them until the next election." He nodded. "Call me back."

Eric pressed the Bluetooth earpiece and ended the call. "Sorry, babe."

She leaned against the kitchen island. "It's okay. Trouble?"

He sighed. "A little. Treasury sharks smell blood in the water. Secretary has his eye on a White House run."

She looked at him expectantly. "But we're still going? Right?"

Eric looked at the floor. "Nancy..."

"No, Eric! You promised. You said we were going to Cuba. The tickets are bought, the hotel is booked..."

He set his omelet off the heat and put his hands on her shoulders. "This is a really big deal, Nancy."

She shrugged away. "So is this, Eric. We need this vacation. I need this."

He nodded. "Okay. Okay, you win."

She smiled and hugged him.

"Reynolds will just have to handle it," Eric said. "Won't be easy. One of the junior partners resigned this morning."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Richard Stevens. Just sent out a memo saying he was quitting. Damnedest thing."

Nancy tried not to react at the mention of her lover's name.

***

Chicago O'Hare International Airport

Next Morning

Monica chased along after Terri as she dashed from the taxi and into Terminal 6 at the airport. She still had no idea where they were going.

Terri had told her last night to only carry her backpack and to pack nothing but shorts, t-shirts, swimsuits, and lingerie.

"Terri! Slow down!" Monica yelled as she closed on the skinny brunette.

"For fuck's sake, come on!" Terri yelled.

Something roared behind the terminal.

Monica skidded to a stop and watched as a huge blue and pink jet rose straight into the air, its engines pointed down toward the ground.

It looked as big as a basketball stadium.

"Jesus," Monica whispered.

A red pentagram emblem glowed on the tail fin.

Below it were the words: Air Cuba.

The eight huge engines on the wings began to rotate, the thrust blowing back. The jet that looked like it could never have flown except in some imaginary dream began to pick up forward speed and then rocketed away toward the east.

Terri grabbed her hand and dragged her into the terminal. "Come on!"

"Wait... where are we going?" Monica had a bad feeling.

Terri just laughed. "You'll see."

The terminal walls were painted light blue, the floor was pink marble.

And, everywhere, there were the inverted pentagram symbols of Air Cuba.

***

"I am not going to Cuba with you, Terri. Let's just go to Lauderdale," Monica said. She stood firm in the bustling hallway. A few yards ahead, a velvet rope marked off the entrance to Air Cuba.

An ominous sign read: U.S. Territory ends beyond this rope and becomes the Territory of the Theocratic Republic of Cuba.

Terri grinned mischievously. "I'm going to Cuba. I'm taking a Sexcation!"

Sexcation. Some marketing guy had invented that term to describe vacationing in the new Cuba.

No one under the age of eighteen on the entire island. Clothing was optional, public sex was encouraged.

At least, those were the stories. Rumors on campus were that Havana was a non-stop orgy, 24 / 7. Of course, it was all word of mouth because the press weren't allowed on the island and the internet was forbidden. All their information came from grainy cell phone videos smuggled out that claimed to show professional, state employed whores engaging in unimaginable sex acts - although, all Monica could see in the images were flashes of big boobs and curvy butts that may or may not have been engaging in sex with thick boy parts.

Terri glared at her. "Don't be a party pooper!" Then a smile crossed her face, and she ran to Monica. She grabbed her hands and tried to pull her toward the counter. "Come on, bitch-o-saurus, it'll be fun!"

Monica rolled her eyes and strained against Terri's relentless tugging. "Don't call me that!"

Terri turned her back and gripped Monica's left hand with both of her own. She strained to pull the much taller girl. "Why... not? You're sexy... as fuck... and tall as a... T-Rex..."

Monica jerked her backward and caught her before she could fall on the imitation marble airport floor.

Terri smiled up at her. "Come on. Please? I'll be good, I promise - I won't even screw anybody." She held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

Monica shook her head. "You weren't a scout, ditz."

"No. But I did sleep with one once."

Monica started laughing. But, no way in hell Terri was going to win this one. "No Cuba."

Terri's eyes sparkled, and she yelled out, "Two tickets to Cuba, please!"

Monica looked up at the counter. Three ticket agents: a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead, stood behind the counter. They each wore identical bright pink uniforms. They must have been standing on a platform behind the counter, because they all seemed incredibly tall.

"No, no!" Monica yelled. "Excuse her, she has issues"

The ticket agents were giggling.

Monica steadied Terri on her feet. "I promise we'll have fun in Lauderdale."

"Cuba," Terri said. "And, I'm doing this for your own good. It's not natural to be a virgin at twenty-two. That cherry is going to turn into cancer or some shit."

Monica glared at her. "Not so loud, asshole."

Terri poked her in the tummy. "It's nothing to be ashamed of - but... it... needs... to... get... fixed!" she said, emphasizing each word with a poke below Monica's navel.

She grabbed Terri's hand. "Stop it!"

"Don't go."

Monica spun around. A boy about her age was standing behind her. "What?" she asked.

The boy was wearing jeans and a white shirt. His eyes looked sad. "You're right not to go. It's dangerous."

"Hey, weirdo, beat it," Terri hissed. "Whatever you're selling, we ain't buying."

The boy searched Monica's eyes. He held up his cell phone. "Look this is my sister, Rachel," the boy said. The picture on the screen was of a pretty girl with dark brown hair and green eyes. She was wearing a crisp white blouse. She was smiling. A silver cross hung from a chain around her neck.

"She went to Cuba last summer, part of a youth outreach for Christ. She never came home."

Monica stared at the girl's eyes in the picture.

"Well, duh, Jethro - that's what happens to you holy rollers: girls finally get fed up and run away, right Monica?" Terri said.

"Excuse me," the blonde ticket agent called from behind the counter in a high, sweet voice. "Young man? You've been warned before - stay away from our rope barrier, please."

The boy just glared at the blonde. "She didn't run away. They did something to her, something awful." He swiped his finger across the front of the phone. The picture changed.

It might have been the same girl. The eyes were the same, but the woman in this picture was sitting on her haunches in a dark alley. Her back was to the camera. She knelt in front of a man who leaned back against a brick wall with his eyes half shut.