Victory Alliance: GESTAPOPurgatoryProspectsSummary:
Secret police press their agenda on a mild mannered milquetoast in this parody of taboo fantasy.
Notes:
This completely fictional story is imagined as animation. A secret police initiative leads to a dark taboo exploration for an easygoing visitor in the misogynistic playground called New America. Heavy breeding and illicit temptation themes. If any of these topics are disagreeable please disengage now. Thanks for reading.
Work Text:
VICTORY ALLIANCE:
GESTAPO
By Duane O'Day
I mean … the whole of it … long story short … in a nutshell …
They're coming for me. My neighbors have been warning me about this for months. It's a national initiative and I've failed in compliance. I filed the paperwork, back home I was a tax auditor, I love paperwork!
But they don't seem to care. Helicopters thrum and fly low, floodlights pour in my windows painting the great room carpets a purple-blue tone. Drone enforcement flyers flit outside like red-lit fireflies. And the black vans are roving slowly and checking addresses. They'll pack in non-conformists like me and send them to re-education camps. Soon the yelling will start.
So I sit with a glass of gin, and wait. No sense in evading these officers, they already lock onto my bio-rhythm with the drone scouts. The government here knows everything about me. There's no hiding, only acceptance.
They know I'm Gill Bueker, immigrant from a different America. They say the inter-dimensional boundaries warble and weaken because of interdigital connections and communications. The Wi-Fi rift. Radiation highway. The government knows I watch babysitter porn and music videos with excessive booty shaking. They know I work at Modesty Tax Services, Counting Every Dime! They definitely know I've got no intentions of doing my civic duty.
For the love of Christ, how can I?
The magnetic lock on the door unlocks via a remote Gestapo skeleton key. A uniformed agent steps into my home and approaches me. I take a swig of gin, maybe my last. She's accompanied by a hefty, well armored drone. This interaction-interview is filmed. They record everything here. Life is footage.
Shoulda listened to the rumors at work. We all saw the vulture drones lurking during the week. There's 17 breeding mandates because of all the invasions and wars. And here my entire neighborhood is being raided.
And she walks right up to me. I'm wearing my work clothes, tie, slacks, wingtips. Everything in neutral tones, new shoelaces and polish before new shoes. Sensible choices for a professional bean counter. No sense in changing on a Tuesday night, knowing I'd be detained. At least I'd look okay on the news when they publicly shame me for degeneracy and failure to do my part.
She says that between the Syrup Wars, the Invasion of Mexico, our hostile takeover of Gyna (formerly China) and our overzealous importation of dusky skinned hijabi belly-dancers, we are having a civil war for the soul of our nation. She says I'm an upstanding citizen in most regards but my last 7744 Permission form to delay breeding was denied. They call it the All Hands On Deck initiative. They want every generation to Baby Boom, so to speak. We can never be overwhelmed by our adversaries if we outnumber them.
'Clothes off,' says the young constabulary assistant. These are literally lightweight agents sent to entice Americans to perform their civic duties. She's the compliance scout. I do as she says.
Her British accent is a fabricated atrocity. Guttural and as regal as a moldy scone. Her tall felt Bobby hat has a silver badge identifying her as a state agent. Her name is Officer Jericka. Henna hair peeks out from the edges of her officious headgear. Her boots are tall, high heeled equestrian riding boots. Her elbow length gloves are a glossy combination of latex and leather. Her 'uniform' is an olive, snap front wool onesie that might fit a very fat infant. Her sumptuous breasts are about to unsnap the buttons on the chest and spring free. She's a tiny baby girl with a daunting shadow and I'm naked, standing in front of her. She puts her hands on a low slung garrison belt and casts an authoritative glance, considering which technique to employ. She's likely broken hundreds of middle aged men like me.
I take another drink. She pushes me onto the couch and joins me, the size of a svelte koala against my pudgy, All-American body. The gloves she wears are so shimmering and tight, I can see her nails and knuckles through the liquid-black wet looking latex.
The sounds of the hovering choppers loom in my ears. Laws are enforced here. Courts issue harsh sentences of pillory and maiming. Insurgents are tortured in public plazas and then burned. Women and girls who step out of their lane are branded and tattooed as ornery slaves who require retirees with open schedules to tame them. Women are chattel here, subject to brainwashing, breeding, sadism and modification. Free Usage is in New America's Constitution. This forlorn dimension is a demented mockery of my heritage and homeland.
I'm not even handsome but I don't want to be tied in public to take abuse and then have my face melted by a blowtorch as the finisher. But what they're asking me to do is utterly vile. She's in bed at 9pm and I let her stay up and extra hour.
'Where is she?' Asks the Jericka in her awful, faux-regal Manchester accent.
'Asleep. She's 12 for god's sakes,' I murmur pleadingly. I cannot possibly breed my youthful ward.
'You enjoy a great life here, right? Truthfully, off the record, you anti-pervos make me sick. You immigrate to our dimension crying about wanting a better life, right? And here you are in a 4,000 square foot home, making 8 times your salary, enjoying subsidies and healthcare, and then when the nation calls on you—your spine turns to jelly! I guarantee you'll get hard for me and pound her little pudding.'
'Never,' I mutter defiantly. But somewhere in the tethers of resistance, with this nubile black clad dominatrix calling all the shots … I feel a spike of adrenaline. My taste buds clamor for the spice of waxy, bald young pussy.
She spits on my face and calls me a traitor. She smells like raw leather and violence.
'I'm 67 and she's 12, I cannot impregnate her,'
'Let me provide some motivation,' Jericka offers. 'When I'm done with you, you're gonna brick up like a Chicago bungalow and pound her pinky taffy until it's leaking man cream. Last wanker I had to train made triplets. Good thing too, he was facing the worst male demotion, public castration. Let's make everything better. Spangled and proud, let's fix this, innit?'
'It's scientifically proven that sexuality is just hardwired chemical triggers. You just need your switch flicked. You're just a rape-ape that needs your leash removed. We're going to go on this journey together. When the dust settles you'll thank me. I'll be at the hospital to watch the baby's birth. That sort of thing is stressful. Maybe I'll suck your dick while little Connie pushes out your child. She's gonna push out a giant poop along with the baby. She's gonna be bloated and sweaty. Is that what you're worried about, a preggo body? Gill, you know tons of options to get off while she's rotund. No worries, we can even give you another young one once you inseminate this one. I understand Connie is a sweetheart. Well, we'll get you a preteen twerk whore next time. Nice and nasty for you Gill innit? Ripe and tight for a big bloke boner,'
She grips my hairy old man penis in her tiny, velvety fingers. She rubs my balls and plays with my grundle, nails push just inside my anus. I've never thought of myself as an overly anal man, occupation aside, but her hard black nail tips tingle inside me. I'll admit it's not altogether unpleasant. She slaps my cock against my belly like a toy she wants to activate. The slapping noise alerts the drone that proceedings have begun. The drone floats closer and sprays us with 'highlights'.
So we glow like pornstars in the flattering purple-pink miasma of lights that show our hood hits and shadows that hide flaws. It feels … stellar … I'm a shaved ape of a man but this feels gorgeous. Evil. Sensual. The drone plays a fast-paced, honeyed loli-rap song. It's like an infestation that finds every festering seed of propaganda ever planted in my brain. Circuits connect like a network of ivy. This wicked place. And this commanding Ameri-Brit trollop isn't helping. Her voluptuous little body feels good against my naked skin. She's fully clothed while I'm stripped naked. My hands are on the couch, it's a federal crime to touch a Gestapo agent. I grow hard admiring her accent, the way her buxom maroon lips pucker before she enunciates. She struggles to handle my inflating penis. It's quite a penis when full grown.
Jericka removes her custodial hat and a silky thatch of gossamer henna hair cascades over her eyes. Cute little things. 'You're selfish. This isn't about you pervert. This is about the greater good.'
She probes her hard pinky nail into my piss-slit and it provokes an unholy bloat. She fingers my hole and giggles as I engorge beyond what her doll hands can hold. She wipes her hair from her bulging eyes and admires my filthy, dark haired cock. I wonder how old she is, relative to … my situation. My failure to breed young Connie.
'Old man you've got a fucking lolly of a cock. Girls love girthy pale grandpa cock erupting from a lion's mane of pubic hair. I'm 13,'
She pulls open her wool onesie. Her breasts bobble out and my jaw drops. One of her breasts has a colorful tattoo swaddled in American flags and Union Jack banners. It's sinful given her age. That she seeks attention towards her tawdry, ridiculously large teeny tits. It's just … wrong. But she puts her lips around my tan-red penis tip and she suckles hard. Giving me a painful, teasing hickey. It makes me want to fuck her. I scream groan and my glassy stare goes onto the drone.I know they broadcast these home invasion interventions sometimes. I think of Gestapo perverts at HQ getting off to my torture. I sort of … I like it.
She finally pulls her honeysuckle sized mouth off my sore, red mushroom cap. It's dribbling with saliva and precum. Her thick lipstick prints it wetly. She spanks her little palm on my powdery, bouncing ballsacks. Her tits shake as she spanks my testicles. I'm … no longer thinking straight. I feel … something in the music, hee touch, the lights, the witnesses. Something in the gin for all I know. My resurgent penis is bloated and hungry. I could use a horseshoe as a cock ring.
I cannot believe the beast arisen inside me. My milquetoast bean counting heart is beating like that of a born predator. I'm indulgently plump for a 13 year old slut. If she weren't Gestapo I would rape Jericka … but, on top of prison, I also want to obey her. I want to breed Connie because Jericka demands it. The structure of exchange makes me want to paint my little one's clenching womb with salty Daddy porridge.
Jericka mashes her little palm against my precum burbling tip. She makes circles and doesn't stop until a soapy draught of jizzum leaks out.
'Think of Connie,' whispers Jericka. 'Think of ripe pink pussy stretching around this massive ride, innit? Just a year younger than me, fuck it. I'm gonna wank you stupid until you obey me.'
She slaps my dick. I grope the couch cushions. She makes a tight hand-blanket around my shaft and roughly pumps me. And I do obey. I do think of little Connie's curvy baby-body. I think of her puffing with my growing child. Tits spurting milk from sore, engorged nipples. The wickedness here is poison. I can't-I can't slips into the molten slag of my lust.
'You just need to take this first step. Then I can write you a referral for the Whor-phanage! They need alleviation now more than ever with all those Mexican and Saskatchewoon whores packed in like sardines! Bring home something silky and sticky Gill. Hey, bring home 2. You get 22,000 in credits for each sweet little mouth you offer to feed.'
'Yes but Connie, Connie,' I begin with the excuses from my final sexual boundary. I've been assigned as Connie's ward for months. We have an emotional connection. A mentor and father figure to Connie after her parents were sentenced for conspiracy. I've also hidden from Connie in some ways. As her body bulges in the chest, hips, and vulva I turn my eyes away. I swaddle her in baggy clothes to keep her warm. And keep my eyes off her alluring tightness.
'Have you been giving her the hormone stimulation vitamins in vivid candy colors? They help a girl realize herself young. It makes her mind a receptive slurry of need. She wants to be filled up to the gills, Gill! Help her out. Help us all out. Innit, Daddy?'
I look into the lenses of the drone that thumps seductive loli-rap. I look like a golden titan, cock insatiably plump and readied by this beautiful sloshy British loli-domme. She's telling the absolute truth. My thrumming penis is longer than a rolling pin. The girls here are raised on pornography and music so sexual it makes priests into deviant perverts. The girls here take vitamins so saturated with steroids their bodies burgeon at unheralded young ages.
Connie isn't special, and neither am I. We need to serve our state. The Gestapo correction from Officer Jericka swells and surges my cock. She ties one of her latex and leather gloves around my balls. It's like a laurel in some old hall of wisdom and breeding. A laurel around my insane cock. I love her ownership. I love her temptation and offerings, a deflection of any ethical accountability.
My small dominatrix stands up. She pulls me upright by my pedo-cock with her fairy hand. She finishes my glass of gin and laughs as she gags on it.
'Are we ready for Connie's room, Daddy?'