The Assimilation Protocol Phase 2

 

Euphoria – that's the right word for it. Who can resist euphoria? Not Devin Grady – nor any man since who has experienced the nymphoids. Mr. Grady wasted no time in seeking out his new derrière after hearing those voices and no sooner had he done so was what remained of him transformed. Not just a perfect female backside, but an entire woman of breathtaking beauty, guided by the whispers in her ear.

Phase 2 of the Assimilation Protocol would be known as Transmission. This is the phase that begot theories of the Assimilation being a virus. Not just transmission to Mr. Grady upon seeing his own rear, but anyone else who subsequently got to see it became subject of their own implantation. I should caution you here not to panic. Transmission cannot progress through a medium – you will not experience transmission merely looking at Mr. Grady's photograph, just as his colleagues watching through the webcam as he was first slumped over his office chair and then transformed. No, successful transmission requires a first hand viewing. Small difference that made to Anton Potter, Mr. Grady's line manager, who after seeing the whole situation unfold during the online meeting, hurried over to his colleague's house to check on him. Mr. Potter's transformation was also captured on the same meeting recording, as was the sexual encounter that followed between the freshly female versions of Mr. Grady and Mr. Potter – though I am advised that part is only available on pornographic websites for the sexually morbid of our species.

It was this display of sexual appetite, and others like it, that earned the Nymphoids their name. I have seen transcripts of the recorded intercourse between the two subjects and it is full of x-rated discourse clearly initiated by the nymphoids themselves. The word 'harder' is recorded as having been used 56 times in the space of 4 minutes. I should add here that the transformation of the two men was complete with one significant exception. Both subjects retained an admittedly shrunken version of their sexual organs. Theories have concluded that this was in aid of the nymphoids exploiting the masculine instinct of spreading ones seed to accelerate the transmission phase.

This is where another comparison to a virus arose. Once infiltrated by the nymphoids, the male hosts eagerly sought out other males to infect via exhibition of their female backsides. The second photo attached to this file is an infamous example of this. It depicts Don Kellogg, a bartender in Tennessee standing before his shelves of drinks displaying himself invitingly to the bar's patrons. The picture became so well known because the image of the irresistible rear of the subject besides the known addictive alcoholic drinks seemed somewhat allegorical. Security footage shows Mr. Kellogg going into a storeroom before returning 10 minutes later fully transformed. This still shows the moment he initiated implantation simultaneously into no less that 25 men. Woman who were present at the time describe how the bar descended into an all out orgy within moments. A Mrs. Bradley is quoted as saying - “One second I was toasting our anniversary with my husband, the next he was shoving his tiny cock into a shemale's ass while another spanked him with a bar towel and shouted 'fuck her harder, you whore!”

The Assimilation Protocol Phase 1

 

What would eventually be known as the Assimilation Protocol took hold of the earth's male population in four distinct phases. The source of the phenomenon is still not understood – the most prominent theories being that the personas that came to be called 'Nymphoids' were inter-dimensional beings, an alien culture, a virus that came from deep under the ocean, or even a synthetic bio-weapon that escaped from a Chinese laboratory. What is known is that the Nympoids were, and still are, unstoppable, inevitable, and...insatiable.

Those that have studied the Assimilation named the first phase 'Implantation' – often referred to colloquially as 'Assplantation'. It is characterised by the attachment of one of the nymphoids to the victim's backside with an immediate aftermath of the subject rapidly developing a perfectly sculpted, sexually speaking, feminine rear. This is perhaps an ideal time to mention that at the time of reporting there have been zero confirmed female victims of the Assimiliation.

The attached image is by now world famous and depicts Devin Grady, who is possibly the earliest known victim of the Assimilation – or 'patient zero' if you will. Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for Mr. Grady, he was on a business call with work colleagues upon the moment of Implantation, and Mr. Grady's webcam, along with the recording of the Zoom call, allowed for flawless documentation of the entire episode. In one moment, the victim is talking about projected sales figures, and in the next he is leaping from his seat as if the subject of an enormous electric shock – so violently in fact that he ended up folded over the very office chair he had been sat in just seconds before, resulting in the famous image attached to this file.

The underwear is another unknown in the study of the Assimilation. Should we assume that Mr. Grady wasn't already wearing the female thong panties at the time of the Implantation, we must conclude that they were introduced by the nymphoids. This all but rules out theories of a virus, or any other organic source behind the phenomenon and rather leans into more extra-terrestrial or supernatural conclusions – as unlikely as they seem.

Furthermore, careful analysis of the recording of Mr. Grady's implantation detected faint voices. Cleaning up the audio confirmed these to be numerous, female and rather sultry and seductive in nature. We can conclude from their volume and tone that they were intended for Mr. Grady alone rather than the audience watching via his webcam. I will play the audio for you now – unedited but for a significant increase in volume.

“Give in...give in to us now. Surrender. You will surrender and be ours. You will be us. We will be you. We will be one with you serving us. But you you must look. Look...LOOK. You want to look. We know you want to look. Look what we have done to you. Look and the transformation will be complete. Look and you will become one of us. You will be our first...but there will be many more. You will be us. We will have you. You will serve at our feet...at our ass. You will be a slave to our asses. And, we will be...euphoria!”   

Saving Grace Part 2

 18/25

This is from my Pink n Prissy Collective series. All captions for this ongoing story are in order on my index page.

Grace watched Terri working away furiously at the touchscreen of the tablet with quiet admiration. The Pink n Prissy Collective's tech guru was like its leader Josie in that she was a certified tomboy, but where Josie was thick and muscular from hours in the gym, Terri was slender, passive and wore spectacles perched on her freckled nose.

“I know the other girls think I try way too hard with this,” Terri said without looking up, “but without me, the Pink n Prissy Collective wouldn't have a website,” she finished typing with a flurry, “or any of its best projects!” She beamed at Grace with satisfaction and looked down the corridor. “Any minute now...”

Both girls watched in silence as a figure pushed through the high-school's double doors dressed in platform heels, white knee-high socks, a knitted mini-skirt and a fitted cardigan.

“Someone's late...” Terri muttered and Grace realised that even though they were the only other people remaining in the corridor after the students had all gone to class, the new arrival did not acknowledge them at all. “Must be still getting used to the dressing process...” Terri nodded profoundly as if realising something. “He'll get used to it.”

“He?” Grace stared hard at the face of the oblivious newcomer. It was heavy with thick and clumsy makeup but she thought she saw the hint of an Adam's apple. Regardless, the outfit and cosmetics combined gloriously to make a creation indistinguishable to the untrained eye from a regular, albeit slightly slutty, female student. “You did this?” She stared in wonder at her friend.

“He did it to himself.” Terri's head was in her screen once more. “With a little help...watch!” They watched as the girl stumbled awkwardly on the platforms over to a locker and fumbled at the combination with long acrylic nails. Finally, the door was open and the girl was staring mesmerised into it. “Six inch flatsreen glued to the back of his locker.” Terri explained. “Programmed to show hypnotic suggestion of the feminising variety. He has seen it five times a day for the past two months – long enough for him to accumulate what he needs for his new wardrobe without questioning why. At end of day yesterday, I pulled the trigger. The video changed to activate his dormant thoughts so that we may witness his debut this fine morning.”

“So this is him now?” Grace marvelled. “He will just go to class? As a girl? Not knowing why?”

“For the most part,” Terri smiled as her, “except when the bell rings... Every time that happens, he will remember who he is and realise what he is doing...just long enough to be humiliated, but not long enough to do anything about it.”

Whatever Happened to Jacob? (The Apprentits)

 Jacob was a losing contestant on the Apprentits. He was eliminated in episode 3 but you can find the whole story on my index page.

Jacob had been a NEET but he'd never been an idiot. He had always known there was a chance he wouldn't win the Apprentits and the enormous salary that went with it. He had known the risks going in and had made peace with it. Never having to work at nine-to-five, never having to run the rat-race, it was worth chancing ending up with a bit of lip filler and hair extensions. Nothing was irreversible. Sure, he might end up with some big fake tits or even butt implants, but while living with his parents, he had amassed a fortune from trading comic books and if needs be, he could use it to get any procedures they threw at him reversed. Or so he had believed...

Kylie's decision to eliminate him in Episode 3 had caught him totally off-guard, and as she read out his forfeit, time seemed to stand still – an entire year working as security at the Network as some latex clad bimbo version of Supergirl. But that was nothing compared to the final sting in the tail, his kryptonite, the one thing he couldn't just buy away – hypnosis.

Working security for the Network proved to be as awful as expected. There was little threat to deal with working for a television studio, even with Femnonymous lurking, but Bryce Murphy, the Network's CEO and mastermind, loved to torment him every chance he got. It was clear from day one that Bryce got off on it, and it was not surprising really considering he ran a television company that made money from transforming men into big breasted women for entertainment. Yet, it was more than that – some of the things he did were utterly psychopathic. He knew the triggers that had been given to Jacob meant he would spring into action in his Supergirl persona at the slightest hint of danger, and so he would manufacture apparent crimes on a daily basis just so he could watch Jacob jiggling around in his latex outfit. Alarms would get pulled, stooges in balaclavas would run onto the set, loud bangs would go off when Jacob was least expecting it, and the end result was always the same – his humiliation.

His one year working security felt like ten but finally it was over and he could get to work reversing the surgeries he had been subjected to. Or so he had thought... He had first noticed the problem trying to cut out the blonde hair extensions. He had angled the scissors towards his head but he just couldn't raise them past his chest no matter what he tried. He also found that while he could remove the blue latex super-suit, every morning he felt compelled to put it back on. He just couldn't help himself. Squeezing big fake tits into blue rubber isn't easy, but without fail he would be lubing himself up and getting back into costume. And then there was the fitness regime. Apparently, superheroes needed to stay fit, and Jacob found himself heading to the gym every day to maintain his crime fighting sharpness. He felt ridiculous sprinting on the treadmill in full costume and red high-heeled boots.

The years passed and, in a way, Jacob got his wish. He never did work a 9 to 5. The closest he ever had was posing for photos with tourists on Hollywood Boulevard. When the Apprentits Lost Tapes started to air, there was a surge in public interest in the shows original contestants, and he was able to make money doing interviews and photoshoots. He was glad for the money, he just wished the photographers didn't insist on such degrading poses.

An Alma-Mater for My True Self Part 4

 

“Are you sure this isn't a bit...much?” I asked. Don't get me wrong, I was almost giddy with excitement. The outfit that I was wearing was streets beyond anything I had ever worn at Camp Ihduhapi, both the reunion and ten years earlier. The silk stockings that encased my legs felt divine and the towering heels were luxurious, even if I couldn't walk in them properly. Simply put, there were levels to my experiences so far, and the red designer dress with the thigh splits, the lacy lingerie set, the padded bra that gave me the illusion of real cleavage – they made my wildest dreams seem like a cheap Halloween costume.

“Nonsense, Darling,” Penny grinned, watching as I tried to figure out how to sit femininely in the hotel's ornate chair. “This is Broadway – if you don't upstage it, it will upstage you!” She moved across to where a huge mirror stood so she could put the finishing touches on her own outfit. “Besides...have you seen this room?!” It was true – we had spared no expense on our trip to New York and the five-star hotel suite dripped with moulding, delicate trimmings and over-stuffed upholstered furniture like the chair I was sitting on. You only get one second chance to introduce yourself to the world, Penny had explained, and on our first trip with me exploring the part of myself I had discovered at camp, we were going to do it right. We had spent the afternoon up and down 5^th Avenue, shopping for clothes and visiting salons, making sure we would be ready for the evening. I had been waxed in places I didn't know wax could go and my skin glowed. I had spent 90 minutes in a chair while two separate women groomed and painted my face. It was a strange experience – I am not going to pretend all this feels normal yet, and it was the first time any one other than Jonathan had done my makeup – more on him in a minute, but with Penny by my side, I feel supported and celebrated. I don't want to be on a pedestal, she understands that now, but I do want to be seen. I want to be the person who makes me feel at home in my own body and while I don't completely know who that is yet, it is an old dirt road that I continue to walk.

Okay, so back to Jonathan – we're here in the Big Apple to see the Broadway musical he works on. It has been three months since the reunion and it felt like the perfect excuse to explore my identity a little more. New York is a long way from Minnesota and I am taking baby steps – anything bigger and I will fall on my ass in these ridiculous heels. Besides, who doesn't love a musical? And, Jonathan got us backstage passes.

“Hey, you know your dress isn't fastened all the way up at the back, right?” Penny asked as I finally stood up to collect my purse. I blushed and she gave me a curious smile. “The only reason you would do that is if you wanted to be able to get out of that dress easily.” She knitted her brows and I could see the cogs turning behind her eyes. “But, why would you want that? That dress is exquisite.” She continued, frowning – and then her lips parted as realisation dawned on her. “Hey, did Jonathan promise to get you into the theater's costume room?” She grinned as I smiled coyly, tucking the roomkey into my purse.

An Alma-Mater for My True Self Part 3

 

That week back at camp progressed far too quickly, and, to Penny's credit, she found so many different and creative ways to get me into a dress without making it obvious what she was doing. In her role organising activities, she had me assigned as the now legendary Girls' side Head Counsellor for a skit, join the girls team for tug-of-war to even the sides with the caveat that I had to look the part, and made me raise the flag in a cocktail dress as a 'forfeit' for sleeping through breakfast.

All roads, as they had during my eleven summers at Ihduhapi, led to 'Play'. Traditionally, 'Play' was a musical production that always took part on the last night of camp to close Color War. The two teams would face off across the gym and produce competing musical productions with singing and dancing in full costume to win the final available points from the judges. At our reunion, we hadn't gone as far as having a Color War, but we would be doing 'Play' and, as with everything else that week, Penny was running the show, casting me in the titular role of Mary Poppins.

I should make it clear – I don't blame Penny for doing this. Everything I had done up to that point had suggested I would love nothing more than to sing and dance the last evening of the reunion away with petticoats and an umbrella, but the idea left me feeling empty. I had taken part in two pageants, yet it was never above making an exhibition of myself. In fact, being on stage had been my least favorite part of the experience. It was about how it made me see myself, not how it allowed others to see me that I enjoyed. I didn't want to perform in a musical any more than I wanted to do the talent round of Miss Ihduhapi. And so, I told Penny I didn't want to take part and left the gym to sulk by myself while a clear offended Penny attempted to direct two dozen half-drunk adults around a rendition of 'Let's Go Fly a Kite'.

“You would have made a terrible Mary Poppins.” A voice called out to me as I tried to hold back tears. I saw that it was Jonathan and I shivered nervously. We were alone in the bunk and he was the last person I wanted to console me. “She was practically perfect in every way.” He raised an eyebrow. “You on the other hand, haven't even had your makeup done...” Wordlessly, he walked over to his cubby and removed a small steel case. “Let's fix that, shall we?” He said as he flicked over the clasps.

As Jonathan worked his magic on my face with a flurry or powders and brushes, he told me about his life as a makeup artist at a theater on Broadway. I know it's easy to stereotype, and I never asked, but as a male makeup artist, I supposed he had done his own fair share of hiding his true self over the years. I thought back to my memories of those summers of him as the sullen sarcastic lifeguard and realised we probably had a lot in common.

“You don't always have to be the belle of the ball,” Jonathan told me as clipped on some costume jewellery. “You don't have to be the main attraction.” He flipped over the lid of the case so I could see myself in its mirror. “But the true version of yourself will always be the hottest one.” My mouth dropped open at the sight of myself and Jonathan smirked at my reaction. “Simply scrumptious...” He mused.

An Alma-Mater for My True Self Part 2

I didn't win Miss Ihduhapi. That honor fell on a senior counsellor wearing a DIY Hawaiian skirt and a shaving foam bra. In fairness he played the whole thing for laughs and that was kind of the point. I did get a lot of compliments though. General consensus was that I made easily the most convincing girl and I got a ton of people commenting how brave I was and how I was a good sport. I showed just how good a sport I was by staying in costume long after the evening activity had ended and later that night I kissed Penny for the second time down by the lake under the huge Minnesota sky while I was still wearing her skirt. I kept my nails painted for a whole week afterwards and all my co-counsellors seemed to treat it as a good natured joke – with the exception of a Lifeguard called Jonathan who seemed to be one of the few people not onboard with my performance at the pageant.

I didn't know it at the time, but it would be my last summer at Camp Ihduhapi. It was never a conscious decision not to go back – life just got in the way. First there was needing to retake some classes to make up college credit, then there was a summer job to pay for books, and before I knew it, I was grown up and in full time employment. I would never again sing the alma-mater around the campfire, and I never again connected with that version of myself that came into being while standing on stage in a skirt. My holiday from real had finished.

Ten years passed before I received the invite to the reunion. Ten years of hiding within myself, living inside the frame of the life that had been built for me. I wasn't unhappy during this time, I just felt like I was merely persisting, longing for something that didn't exist. The reunion was in spring not summer – Camp Ihduhapi's off-season. One week on camp grounds, living in bunks with now grown up former campers and staff reliving traditions and activities from our youths. Penny was there, she had a husband and two kids now, as were countless other friends who in those summers had made me feel more accepted than any other time in my life. I was surprised to find even Jonathan had returned for one last week by the lake.

Penny had by now matured into a full mother hen and slid naturally into a kind of master of ceremonies role. It was with a wink to me that she announced on the second night we would be doing a Miss Ihduhapi pageant. There was minimal protest from some of the guys but once the rest of the girls got behind the idea they started giving themselves up to be drafted to the women for their makeovers in no time. Only Jonathan, with a sarcastic eye-roll flat out refused to take part.

And like that, I was in heaven again. Not a home away from home – just home. Wearing a flowery summer dress and strappy heeled sandals, I closed my eyes in the cool Minnesota sunshine and was reunited with a long lost part of myself. There would be no kissing Penny this time, but this was a greater gift than she could have given me with her lips.