Captured CIA Agent
The CIA Agent had become separated from her squad during the raid on the Columbia drug compound. The goons had grabbed her and dragged her deep into the jungle. Now she lived in the confines of the compound of the notoriously brutal Drug Lord Sancho Martinez . Sancho could not believe his luck, that he now possessed a beautiful, educated, blonde, American CIA agent as his personal sex slave. The woman who had lead the fighting to destroy him and his drug empire. The greatest thorn in the side of his criminal organization was now his helpless sextoy. Was this really the tough solider who had waged relentless war on him?
Kayla had hated the indignity of having to ask her piggish male captors for tampons and feminine hygiene products. But her heart had stopped, when she realized that she had stopped menstruating all together. Could she be pregnant with the child of her worst enemy? Would she be the Mother of the child of America's Most Wanted? The criminal warlord who had massacred men women and children. She prayed against hope that somehow she was not pregnant, as her belly began to grow and her breasts swell.
Rationality told her it was hopeless to expect mercy from this monster after months of his sadistic abuse. And yet the pregnancy had caused emotions to re-circuit her mind. She got on her knees and tearfully begged the Druglord to allow her to get an abortion, promising anything in return, even her complete servitude and the betrayal of her country. The outraged kingpin, dragged her up by her long blonde hair and slapped her hard across the face. How DARE this degenerate American feminist puta propose to a 'good Catholic' like Sancho that he murder his own child.
Motherhood was supposed to be a beautiful process. But under these circumstances every stage of the normally magical process was torture, a dagger into her heart. She had tried to be a tough, assertive, macho, independent CIA agent. But her pregnancy reminded her of her biological role, that she was nothing but a fertile woman. Fertile soil for male seed to be planted in. A purely animal creature driven by her estrogen hormones. His sperm had invaded her body, broke through her defenses, fertilized and conquered her precious eggs.
Now there was life growing inside her. A fetus with both her DNA and the DNA of the druglord. Her entire feminine body was now devoted to serving her biological purpose and providing for this child. She hated her body for betraying her when she most needed its strength. She felt all the rationality and toughness that made her a CIA fighter melt away as she became pure woman. There was no gentle lover to guide her through her cramps, breast tenderness, cravings and morning sickness. Her whirlwind of feminine hormonal emotions, was just something for the macho guards to mock and laugh at.
The former CIA Agent felt as if she had truly been put in her place as a woman. That an umbilical cord was now inside her own body, connecting her nutrients with the child of her worst enemy, the mass murderer who had destroyed her life. She could feel the first kicks of her new child against her now bloated belly. Her fat breasts were preparing milk to feed it. She was nothing but a cow to be milked.
Poor Kayla could not imagine what the horrors of childbirth would be like under these horrific conditions. Sancho would occasionally visit his captive to abuse her and to check up on the status of the future mother of his child. The tough American CIA agent would have to learn to be a traditional Latina mother, and devote herself entirely to her young.
There was no going back now. She could not be rescued from this. He had changed her forever. No matter what happened in the future, she was now the mother of his child, a carrier of his genes into the next generation.
Degraded Scholar
The Feminist scholar had written several bestselling books on how the Princess craze damages girls' self-esteem and prevent them from being assertive, ambitious, modern feminists.Her scholarship turned to action however when she learned that the Corporation was holding a national contest for American's Next Little Princess. The outraged Feminist professor organized protests across the country.
She and her fellow Feminist activists decided to sneak into Corporate HQ and vandalize the Princess dolls. However she was caught by the CEO's hired goons. But not before her comrades had burned all the contest entries. Now there would be no Little Princess.
Looks to me, like we have our Little Princess right here, the CEO laughed looking down at the furious glaring Feminist activist. The poor Feminist scholar was subjected to weeks of humiliating, abusive, degrading, Princess brainwashing torture. Still her spirit refused to break. But she couldn't win even that small victory. They didn't need her womanly mind or spirit. All they needed was her body. They could dress her body up in anything they wanted.
They had stripped her of professional savy pantsuit. She could either remain stark naked surrounded by corporate male chauvinist pigs, or at least have that silly pink dress cover up her body. She burned with painful humiliation.
The arrogant Feminist glared furiously into the camera. If looks could kill, they'd all be dead. Her proud arrogant eyes still glimmered with the flames of defiance. She tried to give her fiercest look, praying it would take away from the power of her debasement. And yet there she was all in Pink from the stupid bow on her head to the little panties on her ass. The little pink skirt didn't even cover her ass, leaving the pink panties totally exposed. Even her face was pink, blushing with embarrassment.
When the College Dean had tried to fire her for her political activism he had claimed she was "Pink right down to her underwear!" Now her pink underwear was exposed to the entire world!
The silver heels were especially painful to her, they were far too small to begin with, but in addition as a Feminist she had made a point of NEVER wearing heels her entire life. The indignity of a grown woman being dressed like a little pink princess could break the pride of any woman, but it was especially grating on the mortified feminist college professor, who had devoted her life to combating princess culture. She had given lecture seminars critiquing the misogyny of every garment she was now forced to wear, piece by piece.
She wished she could flap those ridiculous silly little fairy wings and just fly away from her shameful debasement.
tomorrow morning this picture would be on the breakfast table of every family in America. The Feminist Activist was now America's Top Princess. This was only the beginning of her reign as the official Princess doll spokes-model.