Commission for anonymous

Sequel to:

https://www.deviantart.com/smokeysis/art/CMSN-The-Stepford-W...

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It was another sunny, warm Sunday in Stepford, Connecticut. Resting on the comfortable wicker chair on the wraparound desk of his Father's colonial-style home, Luke, 19 years old, was reading a comic book. It was one of his favorites: Mrs. Marvel #60, the one in which Kamala Khan, newly emancipated on her 18th birthday, fled to Saudi Arabia to get away from her awful, permissive, liberal parents in America. Once there, she was quickly married off to a rich man, who, a strict observer of Islamic Sharia law, mandated that she always wear a full niqab while in public, and never without a male escort.

She happily obeyed. Huzzah!

In fact, this was the last issue. The final page explained that she gave up her crime-fighting ways, and devoted herself fully to satisfying her husband's sexual and marital needs, even going on to give him eight healthy children, as was her obligation!

All's well that ends well! Make Mine Marvel!

What a shame, Luke, thought, that they did not have access to these kinds of comic books. No, out there, he understood, Kamala Khan was a so-called girlboss, a Muslim-in-name-only, the idealized image of a female superhero by way of white Brooklyn hipster.

What a damn, damn shame.

Oh well! Sucks to be them!

But that was one of the many perks of living in Stepford. It actually made him laugh now, to think about how much he had hated the place when he first moved there. It seemed like so long ago, when he, his father, his stepmom, and his two step-sisters had moved into this admittedly massive, gorgeous house. But then he had discovered the magic of the place: that one of its residents, Mike Wellington, a brilliant ex-Boston Dynamics engineer, had devised a process by which, through the use of advanced robotics and cybernetics, one could fashion the perfect woman.

All you needed was an imperfect one.

But that is just what his Father had done, bringing his new wife, Claire, and her daughters, Haley and Alexandria, here with the express purpose of transforming them all into said unblemished forms. And what a success it was! Claire, Alexandria, and Haley had all been among the biggest bitches on planet Earth, in Luke's estimation, and now they were the kind of female partners a lesser guy could only dream of!

Translation: they could – and would – do anything. Take, for example, Claire. As Luke read his comic, specifically the pages where Kamala permanently inflated herself to BBW levels to satisfy her beloved husband's refined tastes, Claire was mowing the lawn: with her legs! The way it worked was kind of interesting: to start, Claire would get into a kneeling position, at which point blades would shoot out of both of her lily-white shins. Then all she had to do to cut the grass was ride around on it like a human Roomba, vacant smile on her beautiful face all the while.

It was funny: on a gorgeous day like today, virtually every house had a living lawnmower servicing their yards. Sometimes, they would even wave as they passed one another by!

Luke looked up just in time to see Claire expertly maneuver around the Trump/Vance 2024 sign that had been up since summer, leaving the unruly grass under it for last.

Speaking of common sights in Stepford….

"Lunch, darling!"

Luke turned to see Haley, in a yellow sundress with a blue flower pattern, holding out a fine glass plate with a hotdog atop it, with a side of potato chips.

Haley leaned over as she placed the plate on the small metal table in front of Luke. The actual meat was completely frozen, but, like Supergirl, Superman's cousin-cum-wife (as seen in Action Comics #455, the issue where the Man of Steel claimed her as his bride), Haley had the ability to shoot lasers out of her eyes. She employed them now to cook the hotdog to a perfect crispness.

Luke shoved his right hand up Haley's skirt to grope her perfect, round hindquarters while the red beams that had shot forth from her pupils penetrated the meat, which like all hotdogs around the world, was of mysterious and indeterminate origin. This was another feature installed in the women of the neighborhood – the ability to alter the size of nearly every part of their bodies on demand.

A year ago, Haley had not had much of an ass on her at all, any weight she gained going mostly to her tits. Now, it stuck out so far that her frilly dresses clung to either cheek like plastic wrapping on a Christmas ham.

But her changes went far beyond the physical. Haley had been, literally, a whore. A squarely 21st-century whore, operating a moderately successful OnlyFans wherein she showed off her tattooed body to the anonymous creeps that made up her following. But it was more than just that: she was known to go clubbing with her equally-whoreish friends at least four times a week, hooking up with countless anonymous men every time she went out, some of whom even helped her make her "content".

Suffice it to say, she was headed to teenage motherhood, if she deigned to keep the bastard child she was perpetually in danger of conceiving. Which, let us be honest, was unlikely. Hoe probably had the local Planned Parenthood number already saved on her phone.

"Enjoy your lunch, honey!" she cooed, before planting a kiss on his right cheek, and leaving a bright red lipstick stain where her ample lips had made contact with his scruffy cheek.

Luke gave her ass another appreciative squeeze, then spanked it when she turned to re-enter the house.

"Oooh!", she exclaimed, before letting out a teasing giggle.

She opened the screen door, and went inside. But she was not going in there to relax, read, or even watch TV. No, none of those things were of interest, or necessity, to her now. When not in use, all of his girlfriends (that is what he considered them as), would simply find an empty space in the living room, and proceed to stand completely still there until summoned. In this mode, with perfect posture and perfect smiles, they were not unlike pieces of hyper-realistic art.

Speaking of, he could use Amber right about now. His poor balls were terribly full.

He took his smartphone from his shorts, and opened the app that had just been rolled out to the men of Stepford that same year. Another stroke of genius from Mike! Before, they had to use a remote control. Uh, how primitive! This was much more convenient, and offered so many more options to boot!

He clicked the button along the bottom of the App that featured a purple microphone as its icon. A pleasant "boop" sound emanated from his phone speaker, and he held it up to his face and spoke into it.

"Amber, get your ass out here and suck the cum out of my balls, would ya? Oh, and bring me another comic, and a blanket."

He liked to be gruff with them, harkening back to the same idealized past as the rest of Stepford, even if it made no actual practical difference what his tone of voice was.

Just moments later, Amber walked through the front door, wearing a tight white tank top and black yoga pants, blanket and comic in tow as ordered. She handed the comic to Luke, got on her knees before him, and placed the blanket over herself and his lap. She then pulled his gym shorts down to his ankles, and dutifully began to suck his stiffening cock.

"Hey, make it a slow one, huh? I don't want to blow my load before I finish my comic."

"Mmmmm-mmm," Amber responded affirmatively, not bothering to remove Luke's dick from her mouth to answer him. She learned well.

She had chosen the comic well. This was Avengers #366, the issue where it was revealed that Jennifer Banner's – She-Hulk – vagina and ovaries transformed into a colossal cock and pair of balls every time she hulked out. After revealing this fact to Black Widow, the two proceeded to fuck over the next 30 pages all over Avengers Mansion, in every room, in graphic detail. This was actually the beginning of the arc that featured She-Hulk fucking all of the female members of the Avengers, culminating in her taking Storm and Scarlet Witch – the ones that had satisfied her most - as her wives. In turn, that led to a conflict with Quicksilver and Black Panther, which led to the Planet She-Hulk event, and so on and so on.

It was appropriate that Amber chose this particular issue, because, like She-Hulk with her green-purple penis, Amber was also a futa. Well, that was how Luke thought of her at least, and she certainly looked the part, with her absurdly round boobs and ass, swollen lips, and, naturally, 8-inch long cock.

Amber, it should be said, was not part of their family, at least originally. She had been Alexandria's friend, and somehow got caught up with her in becoming Stepfordized. Whatever, the details didn't really matter. The point was, she was now part of his menagerie.

A real-life futa! How cool was that? Fortunately, her parents didn't take much convincing to let her live full-time with Luke and his other girlfriends. They were sick of her shit anyway, and whatever resistance that might have been left was quickly obliterated by him sending Alexandria and Haley over to give the Patriarch of the family a sisterly double-blowjob that almost literally caused his eyes to pop out of his skull (to hear Alexandria and Haley tell it) as a gesture of goodwill.

In some ways, Amber was his most prized possession. Every guy in Stepford had a woman (or two), but none of them, as far as he knew, had a goddamn futa. He wouldn't even let his friends borrow her (and how they had begged!), so jealous was he of this rare and wonderful part of his collection.

Case in point, Amber had begun fondling his own testicles, in such a way that the pleasure it gave Luke was almost beyond description. That was the difference with a futa – the women could download and analyze every porno known to man with their computerized brains, and they still wouldn't be able to work a set of male genitals like a futa could.

It was just at that very moment that Amber brought Luke to orgasm, and Luke gripped both sides of the wicker chair as he ejaculated into her expert mouth, and Amber, in turn, gladly swallowed every solitary drop.

"Yowza!" he screamed, almost involuntarily. Another retro affectation, but it amused him to say it.

As Amber began to lick the spit and cum off of his rapidly-shrinking cock, Luke leaned over, put the comic down on the table in front of him, and lifted the blanket slightly so that he could see her.

"That won't be necessary", he told her, even as she had already started running her strong tongue down either side of his dick to lap up the refuse that now coated it. "Go inside and tell Alexandria to come out here and clean me up."

Amber nodded, rolled out from below the blanket, and started to walk back to the front door, her own erect cock brushing up against the inside of her tight yoga pants, threatening to break out of them and spray the whole front deck with her load.

Luke empathized with the poor pent-up bitch.

"Hey, Amber," he called to her.

She turned and grinned at her master.

"Yes, honey?"

"Go release all that into Haley," he said, nodding at her bulge.

"Oh goody!"

Amber turned, and went back inside, a noticeable pep in her step.

Alexandria appeared shortly afterwards.

Alexandria was in the same kind of dress as her sister and mother: brightly colored, lacy, etc. etc. But Alexandria was voluptuous in a way that they weren't, so the dress in question hugged her every thick curve in a way that it just did not for them.

Now, it was true that Luke could have plumped up his stepmother and other step-sister in a similar fashion as well, if he had wanted to. But they weren't Rubenesque in the same manner as Alexandria was even before her Stepfordization, and Luke kept it that way to add even more variety to his foursome, along with maintaining some continuity with the otherwise regrettable before times.

Having already been told of Luke's wish by Amber, Alexandria silently got under the blanket and began to clean Luke's genitals with her tongue.

Luke liked to reserve these even more humiliating tasks for her, because, as much as Claire and Haley had been cunts to him before they were perfected, Alexandria somehow even out-cunted them.

It had started that very first time he had met Alexandria and Haley, over dinner at that local fancy Italian restaurant. He already greatly disliked Claire, who had made it openly known how much she disapproved of his comic reading and video game habits, disparaging both as hobbies unbecoming of a "real man." Still, he had held out hope that the bitchiness genes had skipped a generation, and maybe he could get along with her daughters instead. That would at least make the next few years more tolerable until he graduated college and moved to the city for work.

No dice. Haley was dumb as a stump, and Alexandria made even less of an attempt to mask her contempt for him than her mother had.

"What a fucking dork," he had overheard Alexandria whispering to her sister as they ate their pasta and chicken parmesan.

But she barely tried to lower her voice. She wanted him to hear her pointed barb.

Dork, nerd, incel, faggot, bitch, geek - she had leveled them all, and more, at him in the intervening time since.

That's why she got the short end of the stick now. When he needed a stool to rest his tired feet, guess who took the weight of them on her back? Who unclogged the toilets with their bare hands? Who disposed of the garbage – by eating it? And who ate his cum out of Claire and Haley, when they lay back feigning exhaustion after a marathon sex session?

Alexandria, eternally repenting for her many, many sins against Luke.

But that last example did bring up the whole "incest question," and just how did Luke address it? That taboo of taboos, that was broken so regularly in the Dunphy household that it didn't even register with him anymore.

Well, first of all, it wasn't like Claire, Haley, and Alexandria were his own biological family members now, was it? So the fuck did he care? Plus, he would wager one would be hard-pressed to find another red-blooded man out there who wouldn't jump at the chance to have two unrelated-to-him sisters at the same time, or even an (again, not related to him) mother and daughter-pairing. And if they started doing things to each other while in the throes of passion, do you think said man would suddenly call the whole thing off in disgust, or would he find himself getting more turned on at the (hot, hot, hot) display?

Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question.

And secondly, they weren't people anymore: they were things. Was your phone "related to" your laptop? Was your coffee pot related to your coffee maker? Of course not, the idea was patently absurd!

Between the two arguments, the matter was settled in Luke's mind completely. The only thing left was to enjoy it, and that he did.

Finished cleaning his genitals, Luke dismissed Alexandria, allowing her to take her place inside alongside her sister and Amber, who, based on the satisfied sounds that had come from the living room earlier, had finished rutting and resumed their automaton's watch.

It was just as well. Even with Luke's teenage vitality, he still couldn't go more than twice a day, and that was with a moderate refractory period in between. So he likely wouldn't need his girlfriend's services, at least in that sense, until later that evening.

Claire had just about finished mowing the lawn. She placed the Trump/Vance 2024 sign atop the neatly trimmed grass, the final step of this maintenance routine, and walked briskly over to her lounging master, her blonde hair blowing slightly in the gentle breeze.

"Honey, I finished mowing the lawn!" she declared cheerfully. "Is there anything else I can do?"

There really wasn't, actually, the interior and exterior of their home were the perfect picture of suburban domestic living, every forgotten corner and centimeter of dust properly seen to over the course of the weekend.

So he let her retire inside.

Not that they needed to rest, or sleep, or eat. No, all of the energy they required they got from the Sun, absorbing it constantly throughout the day, whether they were inside or outside.

Mike was a fucking genius.

Still, Luke enjoyed having dinner with them every night, taking his rightful place at the head of the table while his girls delicately consumed the food they prepared but didn't actually require.

Okay, not "every night." And therein lay the rub: he only had them when his Father wasn't home. Granted, his Father was a successful businessman, and traveled frequently for his byzantine, didactic work.

So when he was gone, off to some convention or presentation, Luke was the Man of the House. But when his Father was home, he had exclusive ownership of the girls, forcing Luke to administer some "self-service", if you know what he means. Imagine the humiliation, his Father sleeping in his Alaskan-size bed, Alexandria and Haley on one side, Amber and Claire on the other, while Luke was relegated back to his room, the only sensual comfort left to him only what he could find in the stale glow of his personal computer monitors!
And that was bullshit. Luke was a Man now - a Man of Stepford - and a Man of Stepford needed, nay, deserved, a harem of his own, like the legendary Sultans of Arabia in Antiquity!
But that meant he had to ensnare (read: date and marry) some spoiled, pampered bitch out there in the world, and with the way things were for men now that could end up taking quite a while. At least, that was what he understood to be the state of things based on what he heard on the Internet. That wasn't an issue in Stepford, for obvious reasons.

Just then, as Luke mused over his misfortune, a moving van pulled up to the house next door, along with a dirt-stained green truck that drove up and parked behind it.

This caught Luke's attention for more than the obvious curiosity over who he would be living next door to, at least for the foreseeable future. Luke loved the before and after, the contrast between how the personalities shifted pre and post-Stepfordization.

So he wanted to get a good look at the female members of this new family, before they received their blessings from the man in their lives.

The first figure to step out of the truck was the mother, a slim thick middle-aged woman with short black hair. With her scattered tattoos (a big portrait of a man on her right bicep, and something scribbled in cursive along her left wrist) and functional choice of clothing (just a plain white tank top and blue jeans), she had a definite tomboyish vibe. This pleased Luke - her Stepford self would be a radical departure indeed from this current persona.

Next, emerged her daughter, a goth chick that looked to be, like Luke, in her late teenage years. She had her mother's wide hips and small breasts, but had taken it even further with the tattoos, the most prominent being a large black spiderweb that had been etched upon her chest. This was in addition to her septum, eyebrows, and lips piercings to complete the look.

Lastly came her "son." One could be forgiven for mistaking him for another daughter, on account of his painted fingernails, pierced belly button, and crop top. But the large bulge rising from the crotch of his jean shorts dispelled the illusion entirely. He was perhaps a "femboy," to borrow a term, not much younger than his sister.

The daughter immediately noticed the Trump/Vance sign on Luke's lawn, rolled her mascaraed eyes, and pointed it out to her brother.

"I knew these people would be a bunch of chuds," she complained, loudly.

"I told the stupid bitch that this place wouldn't be tolerant of LGTBQ+ folx like me," he replied with a scoff.

The Mother overheard the remark, and the clear reference to her as a "stupid bitch," and ignored it totally, going around to the front of the moving truck to talk to the portly driver instead.

Luke was delighted. These three did not stand a fucking chance. He silently commended the unseen Patriarch of the family, hoping for his sake that the two teenagers were his stepchildren, and therefore could be made into objects for his pleasure as well.

This was a subtle but no less important distinction. If a Patriarch applied to move to Stepford, he had to provide some important documentation before he was granted permission.

One was to demonstrate that his Wife was a bad partner: mean, ungrateful, and especially, feminist (with bonus points granted for a dead bedroom). The kind of prototypical disrespectful shrew that his own stepmother had exemplified before her transformation.

Two, if he sought to have his adult children Stepfordized as well, he had to prove they were not biologically related to him. Anything else was strictly verboten.

This city had decency.

The daughter and son trudged up to the entrance of their new home, and by their misery you would think they were on Death Row and their executions via firing squad were slated to take place inside of it.

The mother had opened up the back of the moving truck, and retrieved a couple of unboxed vintage Barbie dolls from its interior.

She followed her children, moving carefully so as not to accidentally drop the collector's items she held tightly to her flat chest.

Her children looked over their shoulders at her, and turned back around without bothering to offer her any help. Nor did they open the door for their poor mother, letting it slam in her face, and forcing her to awkwardly maneuver her fingers around the toy boxes to get it opened again.

Fucking brats.

But don't think the Mother was off the hook either – her obvious failure to instill respect in them was a severe character flaw in its own right. So she'd be getting what she fucking deserved too, along with her misbegotten offspring.

With that, Luke joined the rest of his family in the living room. He was tired after his lunch and blowjob, and was eager to take an afternoon nap. He should command Claire to give him a relaxing, naked massage with her strong mechanized fingers while he lay prone on the couch. That always put him right to sleep.

Luke lay on his Father's expansive bed, reading Wonder-Wife #58. It had just been released the previous Wednesday, and he had sent Haley to pick it up from the town's one and only comic book store. Its proprietor, Frank, wrote the scripts, and his wife, with her inhumanely fast fingers, translated his words into expert-level illustrations.

In this installment of the long-running series, Wonder-Wife taught her daughter, Elizabeth Prince, how better to please her new stepfather, Ultraman, who had traveled across the multi-verse with the express purpose of conquering the Amazonian mother and daughter. They had gone willingly, but only after the Kryptonian had bested both in battle, and thus proving his worthiness to own them.

Luke envied Frank's endless well of creativity, and was thankful that he was willing to endure reading the torturous "real" comics to better subvert them with his own versions.

And soon, with advancements in AI, along with Mike's own contributions, Stepford could have its own versions of popular films, television series, and video games. Imagine it: "Lara Croft, Supermarket Raider" (got to get that on-sale stuffing for Thanksgiving before it sells out!) or "No-Longer Wicked, Part 2," wherein Glenda could use her magic to make the unruly Elphaba into a good, albeit still green, witch, the loyal servant of the noble Wizard of Oz.

In the meantime, they would still have their bespoke comic books, and Luke eagerly looked forward to this week's release, which, based on Frank's hints when he saw him at the Men's Association, probably included the Invincible Iron Man, Tony Stark, permanently trapping his nemesis, the Mandarin, in a pink, feminized version of the iconic Iron Man suit of armor.

He could see how it would work: the female-voiced artificial intelligence system would be the armor's vocal interface with the outside world, on top of controlling its movements, and the suit's systems no doubt could convert sunlight and water vapor into sustenance to keep the redundant male body inside of it alive.

The concept would have sent a tingling through Luke's nether regions, but he was, once again, drained, his scrotum as deflated as a punctured balloon.

After a filling dinner of beef stroganoff, mashed potatoes, and garlic bread, perfectly prepared by Claire, they had gone upstairs to his Father's bedroom.

Then, they fucked.

Haley had sat on Luke's face, while Claire rode him reverse cowboy style as Alexandria licked her mother's pussy, touching herself as she did so.

Haley's juices could taste of anything, and he had chosen strawberry cream. He had never liked eating pussy - okay, he was a virgin before he moved to Stepford - but if he had eaten pussy, he doubted he would have enjoyed the taste. But Haley's vaginal discharge was what he imagined Ambrosia - the nectar of the Gods - would taste like.

And Claire's cunt...the way it gripped his cock...he could only imagine how loose it had been when she first married his Father. She was married before, obviously, and he could guess how many male partners she had had before and after her first divorce. Fucking her back then was probably like throwing a hotdog down a hallway.

Now, its internal contours molded themselves automatically to best fit his dick, and he pitied any poor sucker that would never get to experience the sublime bliss this induced.

Alexandria....well, he wasn't actually in physical contact with her, but he was sure she was licking her mother's clit with the expertise that came from analyzing thousands of Lesbain pornos.

That was about all he could muster to think about her.

When Luke finally came, ejaculating into his stepmother's wanting pussy, all three women climaxed as well, activating their orgasm protocols to synchronize with Luke's release. They had moaned loudly throughout their fornication, and it wasn't fake: using his app, he had heightened their sensitivity to the max. But their final release would not occur until his own was imminent. That was how he had programmed them.

Alexandria, as was always her duty, had handled clean-up, using the towel that the erect Amber had laid on her long cock as she stood at attention in the corner of his Father's bed chamber.

When the room was back to normal, Luke had sent the girls away, relishing the opportunity to collect his thoughts now that the "poison" was out of his system.

At dinner, while they were eating dessert – a carrot cake – he had gotten the idea to use the promise of food to find his way into the new neighbor's house. He could tell just from his observations that afternoon that their metamorphosis was sure to be a drastic one, and the more he could learn of their rotten natures now the better the contrast would be when they had been corrected.

With a full belly and empty balls, he could now confidently decide on a definite course of action.

He picked up his phone.

As he walked up to the front door of the neighbor's house, he remembered the previous owner, an old codger that, the fellas down at the clubhouse said, had been struck dead at the exact moment that he came inside his Stepfordized wife, who had been riding him like he was a goddamn horse. He had been a Vietnam veteran, and she had been a mail-order bride he had flown in from the Philippines.

Luke supposed the geezer had assumed that, being from the Third World, she would have been a little more grateful to be in America. Maybe she had been, at the start, but by the time they moved to Stepford, she had turned shrew, modern American culture being what it was.

But Mike had fixed her right up.

The downside was, after her owner had plotzed, they had to...decommission her. You might think it a waste, but what kind of precedent would it have served to distribute her to a new household? That you could knock off one of the Patriarchs, and maybe get his concubines as prize? It would create chaos, potentially setting off a turf war that could threaten the very existence of their suburban paradise.

No, for the good of the community, "widows" had to be destroyed. But not fully, Mike had explained to him one day. He recycled and reused as much as he could.

Waste not, want not.

Well, Luke thought as he knocked on the door, lime jello mold, baked by Claire, in his other hand, that was neither here nor there now. Best to focus on the present.

The Mother opened the door. Busy with unpacking, she hadn't changed from the decidedly masculine outfit that she had worn when Luke first saw her that afternoon.

He smiled at her and lifted the jello in offering.

"Howdy, neighbor! Thought you could use a snack after a long day of moving!"

They made their introductions (her name was Karen), and she invited him into the kitchen.

Score!

But on their way, Luke couldn't help but notice a theme: Barbie. There were Barbies everywhere. Old, new, boxed, and unboxed. But it wasn't just the dolls. She had Barbie paintings, Barbie pillows, Barbie blankets...Luke shuddered to think how much Barbie crap was still left to be revealed in the brown cardboard boxes that were strewn haphazardly about the place.

When they finally sat down at the kitchen table, Luke was not surprised to see that she had Barbie plates and Barbie placemats. Oh, and Barbie cups, which Karen filled with limited edition Barbie pink lemonade.

They began to chat, as they poked absentmindedly at their slices of Jello. Karen explained that her daughter's name was Jenna, and her son's name was Ashley. Jenna was 19 and Ashely was 18, which was just about as he had guessed.

Luke, wisely, attempted to artfully dance around the exact nature of his living arrangements as they stood now. Wouldn't want to scare her away, would he?

"And where is your husband?" Luke asked. He was eager to meet him, and shake his hand, even if they had plenty of time to get to know one another over cigars at the Men's Association later.

"Oh, he died over ten years ago now. Cancer. Same as his parents."

"So...are you engaged to someone else now, or just dating..." Luke awkwardly tried not to ask his actual question. She was still fully human, and he had to be mindful of that.

"No, no, it's just me."

That didn't make any sense. But before Luke could inquire further, Jenna entered the kitchen.

She had changed into fancier "going out" clothes, though they were no less gothier than her earlier get-up. She had changed into a black dress and thigh-high boots, and had even placed a spikier ring through her septum.

"I'm taking the truck. Don't ask me where I'm going or how late I'll be out."

Karen just nodded, and Jenna left the kitchen. Luke could hear her rummaging through her Mother's purse, which he had spotted hanging on a (pink) hook by the door when he had first come in.

"I'm taking some cash, too!" she called from the hallway. "What's the point if you don't get fucked up, right?!?"

Karen again did not protest.

The front door opened and closed, so loudly that their Barbie glasses shook a little.

At the same time, a cacophony of noise erupted from somewhere upstairs. Even muffled and distorted by the walls in between them and the source, Luke recognized it as hyper-pop, a genre favored by some of his gamer friends.

"He'll be blasting that until one or two in the morning," Karen said. "It's the background music he uses when he's camming for older men. I know because he doesn't even bother to minimize his windows when I go in there to give him his dinner anymore. Or when I come back to collect the plate."

Luke was still confused. Why had Karen been allowed to move here, if she wasn't planning on using the Stepfordization process? Unless...but no, that couldn't be. Mike would never allow it.

Karen raised her eyebrows at Luke.

"But it won't matter for much longer, right? I mean, you know. That's the only reason I can put up with it now. They'll pay me back, oh yes they will, when that bitch is sucking on my tits, and the little faggot is pumping me good with his big fucking donkey dick."

Luke stutted and stammered, at a complete loss for words.

"And when they're not helping me, around the house, or in the bedroom, they'll be standing stock still in the living room, just like big fucking Barbie dolls. I already have a place picked out for them and everything."

Luke again said nothing.

"Two should be enough, no? How many do you have?"

Luke stumbled from the neighbor's house, stunned and disorientated. This could not be. A single woman, allowed to move here, to assume the role of a Patriarch? And to use her own biological children...It was beyond the pale.

There must have been some mistake. Maybe she had lied to Mike, deceived him in some to get through the application and screening process. She must have been smarter than she looked, to get one by Mike like that!

He would get him on the horn right away, and get things cleared up. Mike could get her kicked out, evicted, without giving her any of the money back. Karen and her corrupted spawn would be on the streets sucking cock for cash by the end of the week.

Because what she could do, really: go to the police? They owned the police, along with the mayors and city councils of all of the surrounding townships (robot pussy went a long, long way toward buying you favors). They even had connections at the Federal level, if she foolishly went that route.

There was a reason Stepford had never fallen under any real scrutiny, and it wasn't just because of the 24/7 manned gates at every entrance to the community.

Sitting on his couch, Luke dialed Mike's phone number from his smartphone. Amber was standing close by, a bag of chocolate malt balls hung around his erect cock, and Luke was anxiously reaching into the bag, shoving handfuls of the treats into his mouth in a futile effort to calm himself.

Mike picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?" Mike sounded distant, dreamy. He was probably getting his dick sucked by his Asian Stepford wife.

"How the hell are ya, Mike. It's Luke." Despite his outrage, he found himself falling into the usual Stepford speech pattern.

"Oh, I'm doing a-okay."

He was definitely being blown.

"Well, I wanted to talk about my new neighbor. You know, Karen?"

"Yes, Ms. Osgold. Did you meet her?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And?" Luke's voice started to rise in volume. "And? Mike, she's planning to give her own kids the Process. Her own natural-born offspring. You know I respect you, and everything you've done, but what the fuck were you thinking?"

Mike let out a long sigh, and Luke didn't think it was because his balls had just been emptied by his Asian fuck toy.

"She's a woman. I didn't think anyone would care..."

"Really? Well, wait until this Friday's weekly Men's Association shindig. I guarantee you're going to find that a lot of us care!"

Luke angrily hung up on him.

It never occurred to him how audacious it was for him, a teenager to speak like that to a man more than twice his age. Fucking one's own step sisters and stepmother so regularly gives you quite the ego.

He took some more malt balls out of the bag drooping from Amber's phallus and popped them into his mouth.

It was the following Monday, and Luke was back in that big wicker chair on the deck, reading another comic book. This was Joker #97, the thrilling issue where the Clown Prince of Crown won his rightful squeeze, Harely Quinn back - and convinced her girlfriend, the lethal redhead Posion Ivy, to join them as a supervillain throuple!

His classes were over for the day, and his homework had taken all of five minutes to complete: because Haley did it, using her Internet-connected brain!
He attended a local State School, opting not to matriculate into the more prestigious Ivy League he had been admitted to because it meant he would have been living away from home, in some crummy dorm with some slob loser of a roommate, coordinating around each other's goon sessions. More importantly, though, he would be apart from his girlfriends.

But it ultimately didn't matter much where he went to school. He had a job lined up at his Father's firm no matter where he graduated from, or what his GPA ended up summing to (which was good, because he was not doing so well on the tests).

He looked up from his comic to see Karen's green trunk pull into her driveway. He hoped, for her sake, that she had just come from a meeting with Stepford's sole realtor, Gary, who lived on the other side of town.

The driver's door opened first, and it was not Karen who stepped out from behind the wheel. It was Ashley, wearing the kind of bright summer dress that served as the unofficial uniform for all of the women of Stepford. His long brown hair had been dyed platinum blonde, and he walked with a certain lightness as he nearly skipped over to the passenger side door, and opened it.

That's where Karen had been seated, and Luke was astonished to see her change in demeanor (and clothing). She was adorned in a smart, form-fitting grey and black business outfit, dark sunglasses perched on her upturned nose. As her high heels clicked on the pathway that led to the stairs to her front door, she called over her shoulder:

"Get the bags, Jenna. And you, Ashley, open the front door for your Mother. Jenna can handle them all by herself."

Jenna manifested from the back seat of the truck, and as Luke had expected, she was as preppy-looking as her brother was now. And she didn't need Ashley's help, it was true: using the super strength that came with enhanced limbs, she easily carried three brown shopping bags in each of her thin arms.

Ashley, nearly as quick as The goddamned Flash himself, shot past his Mother, and opened the front door for her.

Karen didn't say "Thank You" as she briskly moved past him, and into her home.

Jenna brought up the rear, and Ashley followed her inside.

Motherfucker (literally).

Mike had gone ahead and Stepfordized the two of them, even after their conversation over the phone last night.

Mike had completely ignored him.

He needed time to think. He needed to clear his head. He felt himself almost floating off the ground as he retreated into the air-conditioned living room.

He spotted Amber in her favorite corner of the room, stiff cock forming a tent in his pink dress.

"Get over here and suck my cock, bitch," he barked at her.

Amber was fucking Haley on the floor of the den, missionary-style, while he rested his bare feet on Alexandria's straight back.

Periodically, he would yell "Stop!" at the couple, and would then gawk at how perfectly they ceased all movement on a proverbial dime. When he was finished admiring the unnatural stillness of their bodies, he would yell "Go," and they would resume their fornication until he said otherwise.

It was lazy, cheap entertainment, but it was just unstimulating enough to allow his own thoughts to flow, and he had a lot to process right now.

There was the outrage, yes, along with the shock at Mike's audacity at so flagrantly breaking the community's hollowed rules and traditions. Rules and traditions that Mike had been such an instrumental part of establishing!

But Luke was wrestling with another emotion on top of it. As he stared at Amber's dick as it moved in and out of Haley's immaculate pussy, he admitted it to himself: he was jealous of Karen.

The sight of the Stepfordized Ashley and Jenna had activated something within him, and he couldn't get the images of their reformed selves out of his head. He had even inflated the secondary sexual characteristics of his girlfriends, expanding their busts and butts to their absolute limit, and his heart of hearts still yearned unabated for the siblings.

Getting to know them before their alterations had backfired, clearly, very badly.

He tried to ameliorate his impotent longing by focusing again on the matter of Mike's betrayal.

Was he related to Karen? Did he owe her a favor or something? Was she blackmailing him? Did she help him bury a fucking body?

He adjusted his feet again on Alexandria's back, unable to get fully comfortable.

"Stop!" he screamed again at Amber and Haley, and they froze as if God himself had hit the pause button on all of reality.

"Beer, baby?"

Claire had brought the bottle over, and used her own titanium teeth to remove the cap. She swallowed it whole on her way back to the kitchen, where she would continue preparing supper (tuna casserole and Baked Alaska for dessert, for the record).

Did it need to be explained that normal alcohol laws did not apply in Stepford?

He stared at Amber and Haley's perfect spherical asses, and perfect spherical tits. Their perfect glossy hair, and perfect, unblemished skin.

Perfect faces.

Perfect legs.

Perfect arms.

Perfect feet.

Perfect cock.

Perfect pussy.

Holy shit. That was it. Luke understood.

"Alexandria, stand up."

She obeyed, not like there was any other option.

"Stand next to the wall facing Karen's house, turn on your thermal vision, and record everything you see. No breaks. Don't stop for anything until I tell you to."

It was so obvious now.

He directed Haley and Amber to resume fornication.

Every Friday a little shindig was held down at the Men's Association. Over beers and cigars, the Patriarchs of Stepford would regal each other with tales of sexual conquest (along with plenty of dirty jokes).

Attendance was optional, but why would they miss it? These parties were the only time any of them could talk openly to other men about what was really going on in Stepford.

You couldn't really say any of this shit at the office, or on the train ride home from the city. Obviously.

And whenever Luke's Father was gone he had permission to take his place. The other guys didn't mind. They liked having the little fucker around. The kid had balls.

They couldn't say the same for Mike at the moment, who boldly chose to attend even though word had by now gotten around to everyone present regarding the Karen situation.

So now, under all of the smoke and laughter, there was an underlying tension, and Luke knew that each Patriarch was wondering who among them, if any, would have the balls to confront their benefactor over his transgressions.

The awkwardness had reached an almost unbearable level when Karen walked into the clubhouse.

The room went so silent you could hear a pin drop.

Dressed in a stylish women's suit, complete with necktie, she sauntered over to one of the empty leather chairs, and sat down.

"What's the matter, boys? Have you been around your fembots so long you don't remember how to talk to a real woman?"

She reached over to the coffee table placed in the dead center of the room and picked up one of the unused cigars lying there. Taking a stainless steel lighter out of her breast pocket, she lit the cigar, took a drag, and blew a perfect circle of smoke out of her red-painted lips.

"That's not it and you know it," said Chris, one of the other Patriarchs, who lived a few streets over from Luke, with his Stepfordized Wife and her Stepfrodized sister.

"Then you're just offended I'm a woman? I knew this place went for a 50s thing, but I didn't think you would take it that far."

"That's not it either," this time it was Kirk who interjected, a man that Luke didn't actually know very well, but could safely assume loved golf whiskey, and the soothing sounds of Yacht Rock.

"Oh, so you're all just offended that I'm fucking my own, natural-born son and daughter. Please, like all of you aren't building human centipedes with your stepkids and their mothers every goddamn night."

"That's different," said Chris.

"Barely," she retorted.

She exchanged a brief glance with Mike, who was sweating so badly it was seeping through his grey polo shirt. It was quick, almost imperceptible unless you were already looking for it. But Luke was.

"Maybe you don't get it because you're a broad." This was said by Bob, who was good friends with Luke's Father. He had been over for Sunday dinner with his Stepfrodized adult stepdaughter enough for Luke to know that he had used "broad" deliberately, certainly trying to provoke a reaction from Karen, though to what end was beyond Luke's ken.

She didn't take it, opting instead to lean over again to empty her ashes in the nearest available tray.

"You fellas got me all stressed out. I think it's time I head on home, and let my son help me blow off some steam."

Provocation had been met with provocation.

The Patriarchs stared silently at her as she got up and walked out of the clubhouse, all the while still puffing away on the cigar she had claimed.

Mike, who now looked like he had just gone swimming in his clothes, such was his level of perspiration, ran after her as fast as his stubby little legs would allow him.

"Twisted fucking bitch."

Luke didn't turn to see who said it.

It was audacious. Outrageous. Unbelievable. Incredible.

It was just what Luke needed.

It was Saturday night, and Luke had spent nearly the entire week wracking his brain, trying to figure out a plan that didn't end with Mike having the upper hand. As of the previous evening, he still couldn't envision a scenario that didn't result in his death (or worse).

But Karen had changed all that.

Karen and Mike were fucking, and Mike had hours of footage proving it stored in Alexandria's brain. Yes, it was all filtered through the amorphous images of heat signatures, but it was clear that the short, stocky figure was Mike, especially when you considered that the relationship explained why he had so bent over backward for her, at such great reputational risk to himself.

But why did Mike want to have sex with a human, when he had a bionic bimbo at home that could fuck his brains out with mathematical precision?

Luke had a theory: Mike was the progenitor, right? The OG. The Hank Pym of Stepford. He had been at this longer than any of them. Throwing fuck after fuck into his fat-assed, big-tittied Asian wife night after night

He had bored of perfection, simple as that. Now he craved boobs of slightly different sizes, an ass that wasn't totally round and firm, and labia that stuck out slightly too far. He dreamt of birthmarks and sun damage, of faded tattoos and grey strands of hair.

But Mike was far too accustomed to his robo-wife's unyielding obedience to pull a real woman at this point, his social skills long atrophied. So somehow he had met Karen, and arraigned for her to move here and Stepfordize her kids, in exchange for giving Mike a daily pity fuck.

To avoid deception, Mike had built a tunnel connecting his house to Karen's, undoubtedly using his wife to excavate it. Luke could see it in his mind's eye: Sue's hands and arms morphed into miniature pieces of heavy machinery, furiously scooping away dirt, roots, and other debris.

That's what Alexandria had captured with her video eyes: the portly figure of Mike climbing through a trap door in Karen's basement, then joining her in her bedroom, while Ashley and Jenna waited outside, standing at the ready like the guards at Buckingham Palace.

Neither Mike nor Karen were there now, he had confirmed with Alexandria. He could guess that they were instead still at Mike's, arguing about her little stunt at the Men's Association. Luke was sure that Mike had told her explicitly not to come, and she had gone because he had. See, Mike: this is what you get messing with these free-thinking hoes…

Luke walked down to their own basement, and climbed into the tunnel bored by Claire, Amber, and Alexandria while he had been witnessing that spectacle down at the clubhouse.

Even if Karen hadn't inadvertently given him the opening he needed, he still wanted access to her house. He just had to have a go with Ashley and Jenna. But now it would be more than just a one-time thing.

As he ducked through the dirt corridor, he marveled at his girlfriend's handiwork. Claire had done the scooping, Amber had set up the lights and support beams, and Alexandria had eaten all of the dirt.

He hit a dead end. Well, it just looked like a dead end. It was a false, earthy wall, meant to hide his own tunnel from the one Mike had created. He opened it, and entered the section that Sue had built.

Luke laughed. It looked identical to the one his girls had created. Guess they had pulled from the same YouTube tutorials and Do It Yourself Subreddits!

Luke reached the end of this wing of the tunnel system. He reached up and opened the trap door above him, and climbed into Karen's basement.

Maneuvering his way through the piles and piles of army memorabilia, Luke made his way through the cellar, found the stairs to the upper floor, climbed them, and emerged into Karen's living room.

Now that it was fully furnished, it looked like a fucking Barbie museum, and, along one wall, each standing under pink neon signs bearing their names, were Jenna and Ashley, wide smiles exhibiting their crystalline teeth.

Karen had made it easy for him. Between them, mounted on the pink wallpaper, was their Remote.

He had been slamming Jenn's colossal, pale ass while she blew her brother, all of them never having left the altar to kitsch that was the main floor of their home.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY PROPERTY, YOU LITTLE SHIT!!!" she screamed at the absolute top of her voice.

Luke knew she was coming. Alexandria had sent him a text as soon as she spotted her heat signature materialize in the basement.

Karen leaped forward, manicured hands at the ready to wring Luke's neck, but her attack was cut short by her's son firm hold on her wrist. He hadn't even needed to get up to stop her, instead shooting his arm up to catch her fast enough to have swiped a fly out of the air.

"LET ME GO, YOU STUPID LIVING DILDO!"

"Sorry, Mom." Ashely calmly replied. "Luke is our owner now."

Luke held up his phone and shook it mockingly at Karen.

"First thing I did. Don't blame yourself. You chose a pretty good password. But it was never going to be a match for my three girls next door when they combined their computing power together."

Luke removed himself from Jenna's wet pussy, and have her left ass cheek an appreciative slap.

"Jenna, please start dumping all of this Barbie crap downstairs. It's really not my style."

He had resolved to be nicer to Jenna and Ashley. He didn't bear them the same ill will that still lingered with his stepfamily.

Karen was still struggling futilely against her son's grip. With her free hand, she gestured wildly at Luke, a trapped animal desperate to thrash anything within reach, regardless if it would have any positive effect on her current situation.

"Ashley, please restrain your Mother's other arm. I don't need her taking out my eyes with her claws."

"Sure thing, babe!" Ashley responded, and took his Mom's left wrist in his right hand.

Now they were face to face, looking like they might just start dancing together on the pink carpet.

Karen spit in her son's face. Fortunately, the gesture did nothing to dampen his mood.

Luke opened his contacts app, found the entry for Mike, and called him.

"Hello?" Mike sounded dreamy and distant again. Luke was sick of this "getting a blowjob while talking on the phone" bit.

"Hey, buddy. I'm here with Karen."

"What?"

"I'm in Karen's house."

"Doing..."

"Detaining her. Warm up the workshop, and I'll bring her over as soon as I can. Ashely can carry her there with one arm"

"What are you saying right now?"

"I'm saying, you're going to give her the Process."

He looked over at Karen and winked. This sent her into even more of a rage. She leaned over and bit Ashley's nose. It had no effect. They only felt pain when they were told to.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you have to."

"I really, really don't. In fact, I can see right here that you're using Ashley to restrain Karen. I can take direct control of him and release her."

Luke had figured that, even confirmed it with Haley's self-diagnostics routines. The protocols were there, built in by Mike, and they couldn't be deleted or altered. And he had tried.

"I have footage, of you sneaking in here. It's obvious it's you. I have Alexandria ready to send it to all of the Patriarchs."

"And I have control of the networks. It'll be deleted long before they see it, and then I'll access Alexandria and permanently get rid of the files."

The existence of such a capability was an easy assumption to make, once it was established that Mike had backdoors into all of the Stepford wives.

It was okay. Luke had planned for all this.

"It doesn't matter. All of the Patriarchs are ready to revolt after that display yesterday. They don't need hard proof. They know something's going on. I'm sure more than a few have figured it out on their own"

"You think that matters? I can have them all at the lab within an hour, including you, hand-delivered by your own toys. Hell, I'd start with you. I'd enjoy starting with you, you little punk."

"Yeah, like that won't arouse suspicions. All of us disappearing from our jobs and schools. Even you wouldn't be able to keep the authorities out if you tried that. There are too many important people here"

"Not if I do it right. I can fix it so that no one would know you had been through the Process. You'd appear to be your normal self, but underneath, you'd be mine."

"Do you even have what you'd need right now to convert us all?"

"I'll break down the existing cyborgs for parts."

He was right, but there was still one card left to play. The only card, really, from the beginning. The rest had just been a feint, a test to see if Luke could get away with more for less.

Time to use it.

"But Mike, listen, if you did all that, who would be left to genuinely lick your ass?l

Silence.

That was the kill shot. Mike would be rich under any circumstances, and he'd still have Sue to slam into, but in no other scenario would he have the respect of the kind of men that made up the Patriarchs. Big Law. High Finance. The respective Alphas of their industrial kingdoms.

With the setup he had here in Stepford, Mike had the admiration of all of them, the same exact type of guy that used to push him into the lockers back in High School.

Yes, we'd still worship him if we were Stepfordized, probably even more so, but it wouldn't be real. That was the thing Mike desired most. The Revenge of the Nerd. The meek inheriting the Earth.

Checkmate.

But one last appeal to sweeten the deal. An appeal to ego and masculinity.

"C'mon, man, are you going to let a piece of cooze ruin all this?"

...

...

"Alright, bring her over. She was fucking pissing me off anyhow"

As another pleasant Stepford Sunday drew to a close, Luke climbed through the trap door into his house. His Father was back from his most recent business trip, and that meant he would be spending the next few weeks here. Karen, Ashley, and Jenna were there to meet him, in matching light blue dresses, high heels, and satin gloves.

"Dinner's almost ready, sugar!" cooed Karen, her boobs inflated to the size of beach balls. Her hair was long and blonde now, to match her children's, and her unsightly tattoos were gone.

Mike had ceded them to Luke, on condition that none of the other Patriarchs find out. As far they knew, the three bimbos sat around in standby mode all day, a waste yes, but a necessary one to keep the peace.

Eventually, after enough time had passed and things had presumably cooled down, Luke would be gifted the house and its residents, and, by then, hopefully, no one would care that a Patriarch technically had absorbed an old family.

Admittedly, it might be a while before they could make it all formal.

Whatever, they could work out the details later. Right now, there was supper to enjoy: meatloaf and pineapple upside-down cake.

Then, there would be sex. Luke would shove it right up Karen's asshole, and have Jenna lick her clit while Ashely sucked on her tits.

You know, the usual Sunday night activities

Finally, he would read last week's new comic release, while laying on the same bed he had just dominated them all on. He had heard from some of his friends that it was a good one. It was issue #342 of The Amazing Spider-Man, and word on the street was it saw Peter Parker taming the villainess Silver Sable, and subsequently adding her to his stable of women (which already included Mary Jane, Gwen Stacy, and the Black Cat). It was the thrilling conclusion of a multi-year story arc, and, if what he heard was correct, what an ending it was! Rival to lover!

It all sounded kind of familiar, didn't it? Perhaps some of the other Patriarchs knew more than they were letting on? If they did, he didn't sense any hostility from them at the clubhouse each Friday. If anything, they came off as even friendlier than usual, like they saw him as more of an equal than before.

Maybe he could be the Man of the House sooner than he thought?