TOTAL CORRUPTION 5 by Pika

Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as the story describes. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may play different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain at all times adults.

Feature Writer: Pika

Feature Title: TOTAL CORRUPTION 5

Published: 21.03.2025

Story Codes: Dark Corruption, Transsexual, Bimbo-Tranformation, Young Ones, Gay, Domination

Characters:

• Mr Xavier Percival (65 years old pervert who controls Stepford and president of XP Corp enjoys corruption)
• Mr Bill Harper (45 years old, married, 2 kids, accountant. Moved to Stepford after being offered a job)
• Mrs Steph Harper (38 years old, married, 2 kids, housewife. Reluctant to move Stepford)
• Allison Harper (15 years old, was rebellious but is making new friends and conforming to Stepford)
• David Harper (11 years old curious and adventurous spirit)
• Coach Tyrone (33 years old Allison’s cheer coach has a big black cock)
• Nina (29 years old trans-bimbo whore and Bill’s manager at XP Corp)
• Bella and Becky (dominatrix twin trans-bimbos)

Synopsis: Stepford is a suburban utopia of green pristine lawns, white picket fences, clean streets, good schools, safe neighborhoods. Mr Xavier Percival is the founder of Stepford a mysterious man. Stepford hold dark secret under its sterile veneer.

Total Corruption 5

CHAPTER FIVE — DISCOVERY AND DEPRAVITY

The night had painted a cloak of darkness over Stepford, the moon a sly witness to the town’s hidden perversions. Inside the Harper home, the clock chimed a solemn melody that echoed through the empty hallways, marking the hours that had passed since Bill’s departure. His absence grew more pronounced with each tick, a stark contrast to the forced cheer that had become the town’s hallmark. Allison was at a sleepover, and David was with Mr Percival again!

Steph Harper paced the living room, today was their anniversary Bill had promised her to speak with Mr Percival about moving back to California, but he hadn’t come home yet. She had hoped that this would be the week they could finally leave this nightmare behind, but the house remained eerily silent.

Her thoughts were a tangled web of doubt and fear, her mind not even able to conjure up why Bill was so late all night. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the ticking of the grandfather clock that had been a wedding gift from Bill’s mother, a constant reminder of the life they once had. She picked up her phone for the umpteenth time, the screen’s glow casting a spectral pallor over her anxious features. No calls, no messages, not even a hint of where he might be.

Her heart pounded in her chest like a caged bird, desperately trying to escape the grip of dread that was slowly suffocating her. The house felt like a tomb, each room a testament to the happiness they once shared, now haunted by the specter of the Stepford Illusion. The very walls seemed to whisper the town’s dark secrets, secrets she had been trying so hard to ignore since their move.

She called Bill’s phone. There was no answer. She called Allison. No answer. She called Mr Percival’s house.

“The number you have dialled is currently not in service,” a robotic voice responded, adding to the eerie silence of the night.

The town’s dark underbelly seemed to stretch its tendrils into every corner of their lives, leaving no room for light or truth.

Her hand trembled as she searched around Bill’s files in his office ‘Nina’s number’ she had heard Bill speak of her at work, She needed to know where Bill was. She dialled the number with a hopeful heart.

“Hello, Nina speaking” the voice was sweet like honey.

“Hi Nina, it’s Steph Harper, Bill’s wife, is Bill still at the office?” She asked trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

There was a brief pause.

“Oh, Mrs Harper, Bill had his performance review with Mr Percival today, I understand it to be a very long meeting, there was a lot of feedback and Bill I believe is back on probation and didn’t take the news well. I couldn’t exactly say where Bill is I imagine he would have left XP Corp by now?” her words hiding the truth. Steph’s heart sank.

A performance review on their anniversary? It was unlike Bill to forget, but she had noticed a change in him lately. He was distant, lost in thought, and his eyes had a glazed look to them as if he was seeing something that wasn’t quite there.

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice, “Thank you, Nina. Have a good night.”

The line went dead, leaving her with nothing but the echo of the dial tone. She set the phone down gently as if it were a fragile egg that might shatter under the weight of her fears. With a heavy sigh, she walked back to the living room, her thoughts racing.

Her gaze fell upon the bookshelf, a testament to their shared love of literature and escape. Her eyes scanned the titles, a novel titled “The Stepford Wives,” a dusty relic from the pre-move days. It was a cautionary tale of a town much like their own, a place where men held the reins of power and transformed their wives into docile, obedient robots. The irony was not lost on her.

As she reached out to pick it up, her hand paused. The bookshelf’s order was off, slightly askew. It was a small thing, but in the meticulous world of Stepford, such imperfections were unheard of. With trembling hands, she pulled the book out, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was a USB drive, nestled among the dusty spines.

She pulled the chord exposing wires and a camera …” Bill didn’t install cameras without me did he?” Her heart hammered in her chest as she plugged the USB drive into the computer. The screen flickered to life, and she was greeted by a video that seemed to be from a hidden camera in their own home. The footage was grainy, but the images were all too clear. It was Bill, dressed in lingerie, his face painted with makeup, being led around the room by a leather-clad Nina, her trans bimbo persona in full display. The sight was like a punch to the gut, a twisted reflection of the man she thought she knew.

Nina’s voice was a siren’s song, coaxing and taunting him, her words a blend of sweetness and dominance.

“Look at yourself, Bill,” she purred, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor, “You’re such a pretty little thing, your wife is out shopping you invited me over to cheat on her.”

Bill’s eyes were vacant, his movements stiff and forced, as if he were a marionette under her control. The scene played out like a twisted ballet, a macabre dance of power and submission that left Steph feeling sick. She watched in horror as Nina’s hands roamed over his body, her fingers tracing the lines of his corseted waist, her lips curling into a smile that was more predatory than seductive.

The video showed Bill being led into their marital bedroom, where he was strapped down to the bed, his body quivering with fear and anticipation. Nina straddled him, her oversized breasts bobbing as she reached for something off-screen. When she brought it back into view, Steph gasped. It wasn’t a strap-on — instead, it was a monstrous trans-bimbo cock — that seemed to pulsate with a life of its own.

The camera zoomed in, capturing every second of Bill’s degradation as Nina slid the phallus into his mouth, his eyes watering as he choked on its girth.

“That’s it,” she cooed, her voice a mix of pleasure and malice, “Take it all, like a good little sissy.”

The video was a montage of humiliation and depravity, a slow descent into the madness that had consumed her husband. She watched as Bill was transformed before her eyes, his masculinity stripped away piece by piece until he was nothing more than a whimpering, obedient shell of his former self. The sight was both arousing and repulsive, a testament to the power of Mr Percival’s perverse influence.

The video ended with Nina leaning over Bill, her hand wrapped around his cock, her voice a seductive whisper.

“Bill, you making such good progress I should go before your bitch wife gets back, clean yourself up sissy-boy.”

Steph stumbled back, her legs giving way beneath her. The room spun as the implications of what she had just seen crashed down upon her. She was vaguely aware of the sound of the door opening, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up, her eyes still glued to the black screen.

Back at Mr Percival’s mansion, a light flashes up on a dashboard.

”Mr Percival it’s Stanley we have a situation at the Harpers residents your ‘hidden camera’ has been found, do we move to the next stage of the plan?”

Mr Percival smiled at Pika on his knees sucking his cock by the fireplace.

“Pika is time to test your mommy?”

“Yes, Master,” Pika replied between slurps, “if you kill Mommy, can I have her bras?” Pika asked greedily.

“Hmm, we will see my young-femboi-slut.”

“Stanely move to the phase.”

“Understood sir.”

The next morning, Steph Harper woke up with a heavy heart, the images from the USB drive playing on a loop in her mind. The sun streamed in through the curtains, casting a mocking glow on her tear-stained pillow. The house was eerily quiet, the absence of her husband and children a stark reminder of the night’s revelations.

Her hand hovered over the phone, unsure of what to do next. Her thoughts were a tumultuous storm, torn between anger, fear, and a strange, perverse fascination with the world she had uncovered. Finally, she found the strength to call the police, her voice shaking as she tried to explain that her husband was missing.

Officer Jenkins, a man with a thick moustache and a paunch that stretched his uniform, arrived promptly. His eyes scanned the house with practiced efficiency, noting the spotless floors and the rows of identical flowers lining the street outside.

“Mrs Harper, can you tell me the last time you saw your husband?” he asked his voice a monotone that seemed to suck the emotion out of the room.

Steph took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Yesterday evening, after work. He said he had a meeting with Mr Percival.”

The policeman’s gaze grew cold, his pen pausing over his notepad.

“Mr Percival, you say?”

“Yes, Xavier Percival, the founder of Stepford, the president of XP Corp.”

Jenkins nodded, his expression unreadable.

“I see.”

He walked through the house, his boots echoing on the floorboards, the very essence of authority. His eyes lingered on the bookshelf, the USB drive still sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Mrs. Harper?” he asked, his tone suddenly sharper.

“No,” she lied, the USB drive and its contents a heavy secret she wasn’t ready to share, “Bill just didn’t come home last night.”

The search was thorough but fruitless. There was no sign of Bill, no hint of the depraved world that had swallowed him whole. The police left, their assurances that they would do their best to find him sounding hollow in her ears.

Three days crawled by, each one heavier than the last, like a lead blanket suffocating her spirit. The town’s gleaming façade had lost its shine, the smiles of the neighbor’s now grotesque parodies of the happiness she once sought. She knew in her bones that the police weren’t looking for Bill, that the town had closed ranks around its dark secret.

And then, the day came when the doorbell chimed, sending a jolt of electricity through her veins. It was Mr Percival, dressed in a suit that seemed to drink in the light, his eyes a cold, calculating blue. She knew she had to play along, had to pretend she knew nothing of the twisted games he played.

“Mrs. Harper,” he said, his voice a velvet purr, “How are you holding up?”

Her smile was brittle, a mask that threatened to shatter at any moment.

“I’m managing,” she replied her voice a tightrope walk above the abyss of her fear.

“I have kept Allison and David home from school while their father is missing they dont need to be exposed to the freak show that is Stepford.”

Mr. Percival’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface.

“Ah, such a devoted mother,” he said, his voice a soft caress, ”But I’m sure they’re in capable hands. After all, we take care of our own here in Stepford.”

“I need to find Bill,” she said, her voice tight, “I can’t just sit around and wait for him to come back.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

“What did you say to Bill during his so-called performance review …. and why are you leaving footage of my husband’s affair for me to find …”

Mr Percival paused for a moment impressed by Steph’s quick brain.

“Mrs Harper,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “I assure you, Bill’s whereabouts are of the utmost concern to me as well. As his employer, I have a vested interest in his well-being.”

Steph felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

Mr Percival took a step closer, his aftershave wafting towards her, a mix of sandalwood and something darker, something she couldn’t quite place.

“I mean, dear,” he said, his voice a silky whisper, “That your husband’s performance at XP Corp has been … less than satisfactory. He’s been missing deadlines, and neglecting his duties. I had hoped the move to Stepford would invigorate him, but it seems it has had the opposite effect.”

Steph stiffened, her mind racing.

“What are you implying?”

“Merely that Bill has been a disappointment,” Mr Percival said, his smile never faltering, “But maybe I was too honest, too brutal in my assessment of him, after he left my office he said he was coming home to you … something about an anniversary, but maybe he stopped in for drink somewhere,” he shrugged, his eyes glinting with something that was not innocence.

Steph felt her blood boil.

“What are you playing at?” she spat, her fear morphing into anger.

Mr Percival leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.

“Mrs Harper I just came round to check up on your welfare, and perhaps offer some counsel. Bill’s disappearance is. .. troubling, to say the least. But fear not, I have ways of dealing with such matters.”

Steph backed away, her heart hammering in her chest.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate through the room. “

Why, my dear, I simply mean that I understand the … complexities of human nature. Sometimes, people need a little nudge in the right direction.”

“What kind of nudge?” she demanded, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Let’s just say that in Stepford, we have certain … techniques for correcting behavior that is less than ideal,” Mr Percival replied, his gaze flicking to the USB drive still lying on the coffee table.

The air grew thick with tension, a silent battle of wills playing out between them. Steph’s mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of her husband’s transformation and disappearance. The images of Bill’s degradation played through her mind, a sickening reminder of the town’s dark underbelly.

“Your husband,” Mr Percival began, his eyes gleaming, “Was offered a chance to become one of us. To embrace the perfection that Stepford represents. But he was weak, Mrs Harper. He could not handle the gift we offered him.”

Steph felt a cold rage building within her.

“What gift?” she spat. “You turned him into some kind of … of … “

Mr Percival held up a hand, his smile widening.

“Ah, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mrs Harper,” he said, his eyes glinting with amusement, “I’m a reasonable man, but before you make accusations please think about consequences. I am sure will show up maybe he went away for a while just to get away and clear his mind of distractions.”

Steph felt her cheeks flame with anger and embarrassment. How could she have been so naive? To think that Bill would leave her and the children for a bimbo like Nina, and to engage in such perverse behavior? But the evidence was right there, staring her in the face, a digital testament to his betrayal.

“I assure you,” Mr. Percival continued, “That all will be revealed in time. For now, let us focus on finding your husband and ensuring that your family remains … intact.”

Steph nodded, her thoughts racing. She knew that she had to play along, to find out what had truly happened to Bill and what kind of monster lurked beneath Mr Percival’s charming exterior.

The next afternoon, as Steph was going through the motions of preparing dinner for her children, the phone in the kitchen rang shrilly, startling her out of her thoughts. She picked it up, her hand trembling slightly, and was met with the sound of Bill’s voice, muffled and distorted.

“Steph, it’s me,” he whispered, his tone urgent and desperate, ”I need you to come to the Rosebud Motel on the edge of town.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and hope swirling within her.

“Bill, where are you? What’s going on?”

“I can’t explain over the phone,” he said, his voice cracking, “Just come, please. It’s important.”

The line went dead, leaving her staring at the receiver, her mind racing. The motel was a dive, a place that had seen better days, a stark contrast to the pristine perfection of Stepford. It was a place where secrets were whispered and sins were committed behind closed doors.

Without a second thought, she told her children not to leave the house and she had to run an errand and grabbed her purse, her heart pounding as she climbed into her car and sped towards the outskirts of town. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a cold, unforgiving light as she pulled into the parking lot.

The motel was a sad, dilapidated place, its once-pink paint peeling to reveal the grey wood beneath. The neon sign above the door flickered erratically, casting a sickly glow across the cracked asphalt. As Steph approached the reception desk, a bell chimed, sending a shiver down her spine.

The man behind the counter was a study in indifference. His eyes barely flickered up from his newspaper as she approached.

“Room 213,” she said, her voice a whisper, ”Is anyone there?”

The clerk’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded and handed her a key attached to a plastic fob.

“It’s been reserved,” he said, his voice gruff, ”But I ain’t seen nobody go in or out all day.”

Her hand trembled as she took the key, the weight of it feeling like a brick in her palm. She made her way down the dimly lit corridor, the carpet sticking to her shoes with every step. The walls were adorned with faded floral wallpaper, the pattern obscured by years of neglect. The door to room 213 was ajar, the light within spilling into the hallway like a beacon of hope in the oppressive gloom.

Steph pushed the door open, her heart racing, only to find the room empty. The bed was made with military precision, the pillows fluffed into oblivion. The air was stale, the scent of cigarettes and cheap perfume lingering like a ghost. She moved through the room, her eyes searching for any sign of Bill.

And then she saw it. In the corner, a glint of metal caught her eye. It was a USB drive, identical to the one she had found in her living room. She picked it up, her stomach churning with a mix of dread and curiosity. The was a laptop on the desk, she stuck it in. The files on the drive were labelled with dates, each one more recent than the last.

Her fingers hovered over the play button, her heart racing as she debated whether to watch. But she knew she had to know, had to understand the depth of her husband’s betrayal. With a trembling hand, she inserted the drive into the television and pressed play.

The images that filled the screen were a nightmare come to life. Bill, her Bill, the man she had loved and trusted for years, was in a room similar to this one, surrounded by a group of trans women, all of them dressed in office outfits that were far too small for their ample bodies. They were all over him, their hands and transforming him into something … else.

Steph watched in horror as Bill’s eyes glazed over, his body responding to the ministrations of these strangers. The scene grew increasingly depraved, the women using their newfound power over him to push his boundaries, to corrupt his very soul. And as the video played on, she realized with sickening clarity that this was not the first time he had been here.

The video ended with Bill collapsing onto the bed, his body a map of red marks and bruises, his cock still erect despite the abuse. The women giggled, their eyes gleaming with a malicious satisfaction that made Steph’s blood run cold. A message appeared on the screen — “You should have stayed home with the kids.”

David and Allison were not at home when Steph rushed back, her heart racing from the horrors she had witnessed. The house was eerily quiet, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway, each second echoing like a judgment. The USB drive in her pocket felt like a hot coal, searing her skin with the truth of her husband’s descent.

Her eyes fell upon a folded piece of paper on the kitchen counter, the edges crisp and white against the dark granite. Her trembling hands picked it up, revealing an elegant script that could only belong to Mr. Percival. It was an invitation to the town’s general meeting, an event she had heard about but never attended. The words — “We strongly suggest you come.”

Were written in a way that didn’t leave much room for interpretation.

That night Steph made her way to the town’s general meeting with a sense of dread that weighed heavier than the USB drive in her purse. Mr Percival’s mansion was a foreboding place, even more so under the cloak of darkness. The grandiose building stood tall with its gothic spires piercing the night sky, casting long eerie shadows across the pristine lawns. The wrought iron gates parted as her car approached, and she drove up the long, winding driveway, her headlights cutting through the inky blackness like a knife through velvet.

As she climbed out of the car, the cacophony of crickets was the only sound to greet her. The mansion loomed before her, its windows like the eyes of a sleeping giant watching over the town’s dark secrets. She took a deep breath, straightened her dress and walked up the steps to the grand entrance. The door was open, and the warm light from within spilt out, inviting her into the belly of the beast.

Inside, the mansion was a whirlwind of activity, the townspeople milling about in their Sunday best, their faces painted with the same forced smiles that adorned the portraits on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and cologne, mingling with the faint odor of fear and desperation. She scanned the room for any sign of Bill, her eyes darting from face to face, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Percival stood at the top of the grand staircase, his arms wide in welcome, his smile as warm as a serpent’s embrace.

“Ah, Mrs Harper the master has been expecting you,” said Stanely, the same vacant-eyed butler who had greeted David nearly two months before.

His voice was a monotone, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the gathering below.

The townspeople of Stepford turned in unison, their eyes all landing on her, their smiles as plastic as the flowers that adorned the banister. She felt like a lamb walking into a lion’s den, but she knew she had no choice. She had to find Bill, she had to save her family.

Steph made her way through the crowd, each step heavier than the last. The whispers grew louder as she approached, a symphony of innuendos and accusations that made her skin crawl. They knew she could feel it in their eyes, see it in the way their smiles grew wider, their eyes darker.

The room was a hive of activity, a masquerade ball of suburban nightmares. The women were all dressed in clothes that were too young, their bodies transformed into hourglass figures that defied nature. Their eyes, once vibrant and alive, now held a vacant stare, a reflection of their lost identities. The men, on the other hand, were all versions of Bill, eager and hungry, ready to devour whatever morsel of power Mr. Percival threw their way.

Steph’s heels clicked against the marble floor as she made her way up the grand staircase, each step echoing through the mansion like a death knell. The bannister felt cold and unyielding under her grasp, a silent testament to the fate that awaited her if she didn’t find Bill. The walls were lined with portraits, each one showing a townsperson with the same vacant expression she had seen in the video, the same forced smile that had once graced her husband’s face.

As she reached the top, a door at the end of the hallway caught her eye. It was slightly ajar, a faint red light spilling into the corridor. Her heart racing, she approached, the cacophony of the party downstairs fading into a dull roar. The door swung open with a soft creak, revealing a sight that made her blood run cold.

The room was a high-tech laboratory of sorts, a stark contrast to the opulence of the mansion’s public spaces. Banks of monitors and computer screens lined the walls, displaying a montage of images that made her stomach churn. She recognized the local school, the park where her children played, and even her bedroom, the camera angles suggesting a level of surveillance that was both invasive and obscene.

In the center of the room stood a contraption that looked like something out of a science fiction film. It was a chair, but not just any chair. It was a throne of chrome and leather, designed to restrain and reprogram its occupant. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine, the implications of its existence too horrifying to fully comprehend.

But it was the figures in the room that truly shocked her. There was David, her sweet, innocent boy, on his knees before Mr. Percival dressed in a maid’s uniform. The old man’s pants were around his ankles, his engorged cock standing proudly before the femboy’s eager mouth. David’s eyes were glazed, his movements mechanical, as he serviced the founder of Stepford with a fervor that spoke of deep-rooted conditioning.

“Bill?!

Steph’s scream pierced the air, a sharp contrast to the muffled groans and giggles that filled the room. The scene before her was a tableau of twisted debauchery, a reflection of the dark heart that beat beneath Stepford’s pristine façade. Bill looked up, his eyes glazed over with a mix of pleasure and despair. Nina, her once sharp features now bloated and vacuous, straddled him, her oversized breasts bobbing as she fucked Bill’s ass in his frilly lingerie.

Allison in cheer uniform legs spread on the couch, Coach Tyrone’s thick black cock pumping in and out of her, her eyes rolled back in pleasure. The room was bathed in the red glow of the screens, the only sound was the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh and the low, guttural grunts of the coach’s pleasure.

Steph’s scream died in her throat as she took in the scene before her. Her son, her baby, on his knees, mouth stretched wide around Mr Percival’s cock, his eyes vacant, his body moving with the jerky precision of a marionette. Bill, her husband, her rock, impaled on Nina’s monstrous strap-on, his cock limp and forgotten between his legs, a look of utter despair etched onto his face as she bounced on him. And there, in the corner, Allison, her daughter, her sweet girl, lost to the depravity that had consumed her father, her body writhing in ecstasy as she was claimed by the very man who had been entrusted with her innocence.

The room was a symphony of corruption, a masterpiece of Mr Percival’s twisted genius. The screens around them showed a montage of similar scenes, each one more disturbing than the last. The townspeople she knew and loved, transformed into mindless playthings for the old man’s perverse desires. The realization of what had happened to her husband, her children, and her entire world, hit her like a freight train.

Mr Percival looked up from his conquest, a smug smile playing across his lips.

“Ah, Mrs. Harper,” he said, his voice like a serpent’s hiss, “You’re just in time for the grand finale.”

Steph stumbled back, her hand over her mouth, trying to hold back the bile that threatened to spill forth. She felt the USB drive in her pocket, the proof of Bill’s betrayal now a distant memory in the face of the horror before her.

“What have you done to them?” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Mr Percival chuckled, his eyes glinting with malice.

“I’ve given them what they truly desired,” he said, gesturing to the screens, “I’ve shown them their true potential, allowed them to embrace the darkness within.”

The old man’s words sent a cold shiver down her spine. She had seen the hunger in Bill’s eyes, the desperation that had driven him to betray her, to seek out this twisted version of perfection. But to see her children like this, her babies, her everything … it was too much.

Mr. Percival took a long draw from his cigar, the embers glowing like the fires of hell that danced in his eyes. He stepped closer to Steph, his movements fluid and predatory, a stark contrast to the rigid formality of his attire.

“You see, my dear,” he began, his voice a purr that sent shivers down her spine, “Stepford did not become what it is today by mere happenstance.”

He said running his fingers through David’s hair.

”You see, my dear, Stepford was once like any other town, a mere blip on the map. A place where imperfection reigned supreme. But then, my beloved wife, a saintly woman, was unjustly accused of so-called crimes of loving children in ways society frowns upon,”

Mr Percival spoke with a tinge of bitterness, his eyes misting over with the memory of his lost love.

“The world did not understand her methods, her dedication to purifying the youth. They took her away from me, from us, and locked her in a cage to wither and die.”

He paused, his gaze lingering on the monitors displaying scenes of Stepford’s citizens engaged in various acts of depravity.

“But in my darkest hour, when I had lost all faith in humanity, I was visited by an entity that offered me a new path, a way to honor her legacy.”

Steph’s heart raced as she pieced together the puzzle of Mr. Percival’s madness.

“Satanism,” she murmured, her voice trembling with disgust.

The old man nodded, his eyes gleaming with a feverish light.

“Satan, the ultimate rebel, the one who offered freedom from the shackles of a puritanical society. He showed me the way to create a utopia where those who are misunderstood could flourish, a place where the purity of innocence could be transformed into something … more.”

Mr Percival took a deep drag from his cigar, the smoke swirling around him like a fog of malevolence.

“I dedicated myself to his cause, and together, we forged Stepford into a bastion of perfection. A place where every man, woman, and child could find their true purpose, free from the judgments of a world that fears what it does not comprehend.”

The room grew colder, the air thick with the stench of burning tobacco and the acrid scent of corrupted innocence. Steph’s eyes darted between her husband and her children, her mind racing to understand the depth of their conditioning.

“You see,” he continued, “My wife had a vision. A vision of a world where the purest of souls could be molded into instruments of pleasure and power. And with Satan’s guidance, I’ve made that vision a reality.”

Steph felt the blood drain from her face as the gravity of the situation settled upon her.

“You’ve turned them all into … into your playthings,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the party below.

“Ah, but it’s so much more than that,” Mr Percival said, his tone taking on a conspiratorial edge, ”It’s about creating controlled chaos, a symphony of pleasure and pain, where the purest souls are shaped into beings of unbridled desire.”

He took a moment to appreciate the sight of Bill and Nina’s depraved coupling, his eyes gleaming with a perverse pride.

“You see, my dear, it’s about providing a service, a sanctuary for those who crave a world free of the constraints of morality and societal norms.”

He gestured towards the monitors, each displaying a townsperson in various stages of transformation and debauchery.

“These people,” he said, “Are the true pioneers of our age. They have embraced their desires, their darkest urges, and in doing so, they have transcended the mundane existence that once shackled them.”

Steph’s eyes darted to the screen displaying Allison, her heart breaking anew as she watched her daughter’s youthful body writhing in pleasure under Coach Tyrone’s powerful frame. The coach’s eyes met hers, a smug satisfaction in his gaze that made her stomach turn.

“You monster,” she spat, her voice shaking with rage.

Mr Percival’s smile never wavered.

“Call it what you will, but we are the architects of a new world order,” he said, his voice rising with the fervor of a preacher, “A world where the purest of hearts are not crushed by the weight of judgment, but rather, set free to indulge in the pleasures that lie just beneath the surface.”

He stood up, his grip on the chair tightening as he approached her, his erection bobbing in time with each step.

“You see, Mrs Harper, the beauty of Stepford is that it caters to all tastes,” Mr Percival said, his voice a sinister purr that seemed to resonate through the very walls of the mansion, ”Some find pleasure in the purity of youth, while others crave the transformation of those they once knew. The important thing is that everyone gets what they truly desire.”

He stopped in front of her, his breath hot and acrid with the scent of cigar. His hand reached out, and before she could react, he had her chin in his grip, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

“And what is it that you desire, my dear?”

Steph tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Let me go …” she snarled, her voice a mix of fear and defiance, ”Desire?” Steph repeated back to Mr Percival, her voice trembling.

For a moment, she felt a strange warmth spread through her, the flames of anger flickering and giving way to something else. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“What could I possibly want?”

Mr Percival leaned closer, his breath hot against her cheek.

“Everyone has a deep, hidden craving,” he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper that seemed to coil around her like a serpent, “Even you, Mrs Harper.”

Steph looked into his eyes, searching for the lie, for the madness she knew had to be there. But all she saw was a deep, unsettling knowing as if he had peered into the very core of her soul and found the secret she had buried deep. The secret she had never dared to speak aloud.

Her thoughts drifted back to the long, lonely nights in her marriage, the unspoken needs and the frustrations that had built like a dam threatening to burst. She had devoted herself to her family, to her home, to her role as the perfect wife and mother. And what had it gotten her? A husband who had thrown her aside for a bimbo, children who had abandoned her for the perverse allure of Mr. Percival’s twisted utopia.

Her eyes fell to the USB drive in her pocket, the cold plastic a stark reminder of Bill’s betrayal. She had come here for answers, for revenge. But now, she found herself questioning everything she had ever known about love, about herself.

“What if … what if I just want ONE simple orgasm from a cock that will please me, and not his pathetic thing that hadn’t made me reach orgasm since the nineties?” Steph whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Mr Percival’s smile grew wider, his grip on her chin loosening slightly.

“Ah, so it’s a pleasure you crave,” he said, his voice a caress that sent shivers down her spine, “Pleasure that your husband could not provide.”

The room felt like it was closing in on her, the walls pulsing with the obscene images on the screens, the sounds of Bill’s whimpers and the wet smack of flesh echoing in her ears. But amidst the horror, there was a spark of something … hope? Desire?

Mr. Percival leaned closer, his cigar clenched between his teeth, and whispered in her ear.

“Would you like me to show you what true pleasure feels like?”

The room spun, and the cacophony of depravity grew fainter as Steph found herself contemplating his offer. The thought of betrayal, the thought of indulging in something so taboo, so far beyond the confines of her marriage, was a siren’s call that whispered sweet nothings into her soul. She felt a warmth between her legs, a betrayal in itself, as the images of the transformed townspeople continued to dance in her mind’s eye.

Her gaze fell upon David, now dressed as a French maid, serving drinks, his vacant eyes and forced smile a silent scream of despair. Her stomach churned with a mix of anger and arousal she had never felt before. Instead of her anger at her son, loss of innocence and purity, a feeling of despise how weak he had been to resist Mr Percival’s advances, how weak Allison and Bill had been. She stood strong a thought she never thought of before, the words escaped her lips — “I am better than my family.”

Mr Percival hearing the disgust of her family smirks,

“Indeed you are better than them. You have the strength to stand before me, to see the truth of this world. To embrace it,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck. 


He released her chin and took a step back, gesturing towards the monitors with a flourish.

“Your request for a simple orgasm is the most unique request I have received in twenty years my dear. You truly are a mind and body only seen in Merrybelle my wife” Mr Percival said with a smirk, his eyes flickering over Steph’s form, taking in every curve and line with the scrutiny of a connoisseur eyeing a fine piece of art.

The room grew eerily quiet, the only sounds were the rhythmic grunts from Bill and the wet, slapping noises from Allison and Coach Tyrone’s encounter. The air was thick with the scent of sex, a scent that seemed to cling to every surface like a sticky, cloying fog.

Steph felt a strange mix of revulsion and fascination as she watched her husband’s degradation. The sight of Bill’s pathetic form, so desperate for the bimbo’s attention, filled her with a burning anger. But there was something else, something that made her stomach flip-flop with an unexpected arousal.

The “French-maid-David” offered her a drink with a forced smile, and she took it, her hand trembling slightly. She took a sip, the cold liquid sliding down her throat like a silver bullet of liquid fire, setting her nerves alight.

“You see, Mrs Harper,” Mr Percival said, his voice a purr that seemed to vibrate through her very bones, “The key to true power is in embracing one’s desires, no matter how dark they may be.”

Steph looked into the old man’s eyes, and for a moment, she saw a reflection of herself, a woman on the edge of a precipice, staring into the abyss of her own needs.

“Can you make me cum like my pathetic husband never did?” she asked, the challenge in her voice.

Mr Percival’s smile grew wider, his teeth gleaming in the dim light. He took her hand, of course I can, his voice a seductive purr. He led her to the chrome throne in the center of the room, a chair that seemed to gleam with the same dark promise as his eyes. The leather was cool against her skin as she sat, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged animal.

The old man’s hand was surprisingly gentle as he traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. “

You’re so much more than just a housewife,” he murmured, his breath warm against her cheek, “You’re a goddess in waiting, ready to ascend to your rightful place.”

Steph felt a strange thrill at his words, a feeling she had not experienced in a very long time. The anger and frustration she had felt towards Bill and her children seemed to melt away, replaced by a burning curiosity about what Mr Percival had to offer. As the old man’s hand touched her, she couldn’t help but shiver with anticipation.

“Now,” Mr. Percival said, his voice a sultry whisper, “Let us begin your transformation.”

He gestured to the chrome throne, and Steph found herself standing in front of it, her heart racing with a mix of fear and excitement. The chair looked like something out of a dark fantasy, gleaming and cold, a symbol of the power and control she had always craved.

“Sit,” Mr Percival instructed, his voice firm but gentle, and she obeyed, her legs trembling slightly.

He took a seat beside her, his hand sliding up her thigh, his touch as soft as a feather.

“Relax,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear, ”This will be unlike anything you have ever experienced before.”

Steph closed her eyes, her mind racing with images of the transformed townsfolk, their vacant smiles and lifeless eyes. Yet, the warmth of his touch was undeniable, and she found herself leaning into it, her body responding despite her racing thoughts.

Mr. Percival leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her neck. He traced a line of kisses from her earlobe to her collarbone, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. His hand continued to move up her thigh, inch by agonizing inch until it reached the apex of her thighs. He cupped her mound, his thumb rubbing gently through the fabric of her dress.

Steph gasped, her eyes flying open. This was wrong, she knew it. But she couldn’t deny the heat that was building inside her, the desperate need for release that she had been denied for so long.

“You’re so wet,” Mr. Percival murmured, his voice thick with desire, “It seems your body knows what it wants, even if your mind resists.”

With a deft movement, he slipped his hand beneath her dress, his fingers finding her slick folds. He began to rub her clit, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

The sensation was overwhelming, the years of unsatisfying sex with Bill a distant memory. She could feel the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring being wound by an invisible hand. Her hips began to rock in time with Mr. Percival’s touch, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

The room around them faded away, the sounds of the party below becoming a distant buzz in her ears. All that mattered was the feeling building within her, the promise of a climax that seemed just out of reach.

Mr Percival’s hand moved faster, his fingers slipping inside her with a practiced ease. He watched her face, his expression one of intense concentration as if he was tuning into her very soul.

Steph felt a tear slip down her cheek, the reality of what she was doing crashing over her like a wave. Yet, she couldn’t stop, her body moving of its own accord, responding to his touch with an urgency she had never felt before.

“That’s it,” he cooed, his voice a dark melody that seemed to echo through her very core, “Let go, my sweet. Embrace the pleasure I’m giving you.”

And with those words, the dam broke. The orgasm hit her like a thunderbolt, stealing her breath away. Her body convulsed, her muscles tightening around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.

As the spasms subsided, she opened her eyes to find Mr Percival watching her, his smile a twisted parody of satisfaction.

“You see,” he said, his voice low and triumphant, “The power of true desire.”

Steph looked down at her trembling hands, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of her climax. She felt … changed. Dirty. Yet, she couldn’t deny that she had enjoyed it.

“Oh, Xavier” she moaned.

Mr Percival instantly came … It had been years since he finally met a woman of Merrybelle intellect and strength.

 Mr Pervical smiled.

“Steph you are my new Merrybelle …”

xxxxx

Six months later.

“Harder! Faster! Oh, Yes!”

Steph’s voice echoed through the opulent mansion, a desperate chant that seemed to resonate with the very walls themselves. The transformation was complete; she had become the very essence of Stepford’s perversion, a bimbo goddess with silicone-enhanced breasts that defied gravity and a bottom so round it could have its own zip code. Her eyes, once filled with intelligence and skepticism, now sparkled with the vacant lust that had come to define the town’s female population.

Patrick, her new twelve-year-old pool boy thrust harder into her, his youthful enthusiasm a stark contrast to the jaded indifference of Bill, her husband. Steph moaned again, her voice bouncing off the pristine backyard as Steph tits bounced in sync with the rhythm. The pool water sloshed around them, the ripples spreading outward like the waves of depravity that had engulfed the once-innocent town of Stepford.

Steph had succumbed to the dark allure of Mr Percival’s world, and in doing so, she had discovered a hunger that could never be satiated. The transformation was complete, and she had become a living, breathing embodiment of the town’s twisted ideal. Her mind was a fog of lust and obedience, her thoughts a jumbled mess of desires that she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before.

The young boy’s cock was surprisingly large, a testament to the strange alchemy that Mr. Percival had introduced to the town’s water supply. It stretched her, filled her in a way that no man had ever been able to do. Each thrust was a reminder of her new reality, a reality where the only thing that mattered was the pursuit of pleasure and the worship of the male form.

“Oh wow, Mrs Harper! Fuck, your husband won’t beat me up will he?” the new pool boy said nervously.

“No Patrick that useless cuck couldn’t hurt a sly, he isn’t much of a husband anymore,” she chuckled thinking about Bill now being Britney, a trans-bimbo whore.

“Oh, Patrick tomorrow could you bring your Dad, Mr Reynolds, around a wanner and give him a proper Stepford welcome,” Steph chuckled.

THE END OF CHAPTER FIVE