After the outbreak had died down, only surviving in a few isolated pockets, attentions shifted. No longer concerned over avoiding the disease or isolating in attempts to curb the spread, vast swathes of society came to focus on the harm done by the selfish and greedy in the recent times of need. For the first time in what felt like decades, almost every bracket of society alike had found a common enemy: panic shoppers. Moronic buffoons who had stockpiled supplies they did not need, emptied the supermarket shelves and hoarded resources from those who desperately needed them – young mothers no longer able to find nappies, the elderly deprived of toilet roll, low-income families robbed of the tinned food and ready meals they could best afford.
Rarely had the greed of select people been so evident, nor the state of community spirit come into such visible disrepair. Disgust became anger, anger became outrage and, inevitably, outrage became activism. Furious crowds took to the streets to denounce the selfish creatures who had made times harder for those around them, demanding that something be done to punish them.
The measures that came into effect, however, were a stroke of genius nobody could have expected. Any man or woman identified to have unnecessarily hoarded supplies during the crisis was to be forcefully transformed. Using government-sanctioned Blue and Pink Pills, the suspects were shifted into the opposite sex and put to work in strip joints, sex clubs and even government-approved brothels set up purely for the purpose of housing these transformed criminals. Even critics of the measures could not deny they were an effective solution; hundreds of millions of hoarders across the globe had been charged, numbers which the existing prisons simply could not accommodate, yet this punishment did not put them in prisons. What was more, with unemployment rates at record highs, it made it easier for others to land new jobs without competing with those who had worsened the situation, while the opportunity for the rest of society to take out their frustrations on the vast numbers of new sex workers who had made things so difficult for them was effective catharsis. The ironic fact that the punishment was literally putting the hoarders into somebody else’s shoes – something they had failed to figuratively do for themselves when the crisis was ongoing – only sweetened the deal.
Before long, the measures were an international initiative, spreading across the globe even faster than the virus which had catalysed them. Soon even the critics abandoned their arguments of infringed human rights – after all, how often was it possible to legally take your own anger out on the perpetrators of a crime instead of letting the courts put them behind bars?
Over time the new brothels, clubs and orgy dens became a part of society, but perhaps the more dramatic change could be seen in the transformed hoarders themselves.
Take Cece, for example. During the outbreak she had been Cecil, a middle-aged selfish bastard who had stocked his truck full of toilet rolls, hand sanitiser and dozens of bottles of bleach as though he could ever use them all by himself. The thought of being fucked every night by one of the local strippers he had deprived of supplies in front of crowds of laughing onlookers would, at one time, have repulsed him. Now, however, it was Cece’s life, and it was a life she had no intention of giving up.
Her nightly sex shows were just the tip of the iceberg, too. By now she was streaming every other evening, working as a maid with benefits in the day, and for the rest of the time when she was not sleeping or admiring her hot, bimbofied body, she was gladly submitting herself to the mercy of her stripper mistresses who were happy to practice their routines for the night ahead. Women like Cece were lesser in every way than the natural strippers, little more than pets for them to use at their leisure, but despite that she had never been more content.
It was a sentiment widely reflected in the transformed populace. Whether it was their new libido from the pills, or the constant fucking and exhibitionism that had become their daily lives, the countless men and women subjected to the punishment overwhelmingly elected not to revert back when they had served their sentence. Everything about their lives was too good to give up and, suitably rehabilitated, they became an accepted part of society.
Cece, however, wanted more. The man she had once been was now only a distant memory, and she had been putting in plenty of practice for a key reason. As they said, dream big, and she was doing so in more ways than one, because above all things she craved to one day see a neon sign above the entrance to her club: Home of Cece Sucker, the World’s First Transformed Pornstar!
Thanks for reading!
I can’t imagine it is particularly difficult to figure out what inspired this little piece, and I hope reading it provides you a little catharsis for the idiocy of some people that is going around right now as much as it provided me to write it.
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