Civilisations React, Round 1, Part 2

London-Vanite Estate

Kiona

When Lady Vanite disappeared, Kiona didn’t know what to think. At first, she thought that she was going mad. Sleepless nights due to nightmares were perhaps to blame and for a moment Kiona was convinced that she had imagined her conversation with Lady Vanite.

Then the television turned on, by itself. It was then that Kiona realised what was happening. She placed a hand to her mouth and watched with morbid curiosity as Lady Vanite was taken into the Harem Hotel contest. She didn’t know if she wanted Lady Vanite to triumph or fail. She was part of the war that killed Kiona’s father.

But then there was the moment that changed everything. The votes.

She didn’t care much for the Learning to Serve transformation; perhaps she felt some minor amusement to see Lady Vanite doing her job instead. But it was the other thoughts that made her shudder with fear.

What would happen if the race play fetish won? She had heard in the kitchens rumours from the maids of sexual exploitation by their employers in the nobility. Lady Vanite hadn't been one of those nobles, from what she heard, but would she become one if she had a sexy erotic maid from the Faroke Tribes?

And then there was the slavery transformation. Kiona prayed to the spirits that one wouldn't be chosen. Her people had been forcibly integrated into the Empire; her father had died resisting them. At times it felt like they were slaves, forced to get jobs for less pay than British men, denied education on a lark, and bitterly made unwelcome in clubs and churches. But there was a world of difference between that and being kept in chains. To be bred like livestock and sold off.

Please no…

But then there was the final option, Boobocracy. It was ridiculous, patently absurd. But what would happen if it was chosen, what would Kiona’s place become? She looked down at her chest. It was large, very large. She had never given it much thought before, apart from perhaps worrying about attracting the attention of the wrong noble. A fear that had disappeared when she had been hired by Lady Vanite.

But how powerful would she be in such a system? Surely not a maid any more? Was she big enough to be a noble? To never have to work for a living. She shook her head. Don’t get your hopes up Kiona, besides it really is a stupid transformation and the odds that anyone in their right mind would ever vote on it were minuscule. But it was strange.

"Why would anyone create this 'Boobocracy' transformation? It's already the natural state of things?" Prime Minister Morgana asked the Duchess Kiona as they made their way to the Queen's chambers. "What other way should there be to distinguish the class of a woman?"

"I couldn't say, Prime Minister, but perhaps we should count ourselves lucky," Kiona answered. Morgana was an iron-willed woman, ruthless and sharp. She was no fool or sadistic, but she had little patience for nonsense. She was intimidating, and Kiona often felt like she was two feet tall in her presence. "At least we seem to have avoided any of these transformations ourselves."

"It does seem strange, though." Kiona's expression became glassy as she lost herself in doubt. "Why were we spared a transformation compared to the other factions? It seems odd."

"Probably because of the sheer uselessness of our contestant." Morgana snapped. "Did you see the size of her chest? Flatter than the pavement, and most likely fit only to be stepped on. Did you find any intelligence about this woman?"

As Minister of Intelligence Duchess Kiona had been tasked with identifying their ‘champion’, a task that had proven significantly easier than anticipated. “I have, actually. She’s a maid on my own estate as it would turn out. Jennifer Vanite. She’s a nobody.”

“On your own estate?” Morgana asked, brows raising. “How surprising. Do you know anything about her?”

“Not much. She seemed fine enough, her supervisor said she was a bit strong willed, but patriotic enough. For a flat chest.” Kiona admitted, thinking back. Truly it was embarrassing that she didn’t know anything more about her. She was a faceless member of the crowd, one of a hundred of her servants. Nameless to Kiona.

“We should better hope that will be enough for Her Majesty.” Prime Minister Morgana made a grimace, like she had been forced to swallow bitter poison.

Prime Minister Morgana was of double D cup, a respectable enough class for any reasonable woman. Smaller than Kiona’s G-cup class to be sure, but still enough to be considered worthy of running for the post. But not to the Queen. The Queen of Britannia had a traditional view of politics and she seemed to view any woman elected to her position rather than granted it by the right of superior breasts.

“Your Majesty, we are here to report on the contest of nations.” Prime Minister Morgana said, curtsying before the Queen. Queen Elizabeth didn’t even grant her a look, her attention drawn to a Turing pad, her expression cold.

“You mean Harem Hotel? Isn’t that the correct name for this ‘game’?” Her voice was like an icy wind, cold and cutting.

“My Queen, I-“

“FAILED!” She shrieked, her icy blue eyes narrowed with rage. “Your incompetence has dragged my kingdom into this perverted mockery. My empire is now at risk of being upended by a force we cannot understand! And now my throne is at risk of being upended by flat-chested scum.”

“My Queen, I understand your frustration, but-"

"Don't talk." The Queen spat, holding up a hand. "Why the people of Britain thought to elect a dim-witted fool like you is beyond me. Your tits are beneath such a station. But then what can you expect from the flat-chested simpletons that make up our electorate? This Empire has been in decline ever since the poison of democracy was ever whispered in its halls."

"Your Majesty." Morgana spat the words like they were slurs, her patience broken. "I confess that we are in a dilemma, but do not insult my honour!" She rose to her feet, a hand gesturing to her chest. "My breasts may not be your equal but they are plenty big for the halls of Parliament.”

Queen Elizabeth threw her head back in laughter, but there was no mirth to her laugh. Only an icy cruelty. “I have no time for this. Perhaps you with a brain as small as your breasts don’t understand this, but my throne is in danger.”

“From Alex? We’re working on a solution as we speak, your Majesty.” Kiona spoke quickly, hoping to diffuse the growing tension. “We have begun analysing this Alex Mason’s personality and we’re confident we can control him.”

“It’s true what they say, the bigger the breasts, the bigger the brain.” Queen Elizabeth sneered, stroking her own mountainous K-cups with her right hand whilst her left tapped the Turing device. “Perhaps then only as a being of my divine right am I able to notice exactly what the wannabe man said.”

Kiona glanced at Morgana, she seemed to be nervous but not confused. Kiona suspected that she did know but opted not to say. Kiona did not want to get involved.

“What do you mean, your Majesty?” If Queen Elizabeth saw through the lie she did not say it.

“That the flatwalker covets my throne! And that she’s in a position to have her breasts enlarged and none of us would be any the wiser for it!” Queen Elizabeth snapped. “She’ll be taking full advantage of this Harem Hotel to enlarge her own status. But unlike the silicone stuffers there'll be no way to tell the difference! We might not even remember things being any different!”

“And what exactly…” Morgana was speaking through gritted teeth, her voice forcibly kept from raising. “-do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Shoot her, imprison her, shame her. I don’t care until she’s no longer a threat. Figure it out. Isn’t that why I bother with a Parliament in my government?” Queen Elizabeth sneered, her voice dripping with condescension.

“My Queen, even if she is flat, I’m sure she has learned her place is serving the superior bust class. If something were to happen to her, wouldn’t we be less well positioned to win this Harem Hotel?” Kiona deliberately avoided pointing out that Queen Elizabeth’s suggestions could incur Hera’s wrath.

“Don’t play games with me. I want this wannabe man taken care of before she becomes any kind of threat. Dismissed.” Queen Elizabeth demanded, waving their hands.

Kiona and Morgana left the room, both with anxious stomachs and shortened tempers regarding their Queen's behaviour. Strange how so suddenly it seemed like the temperamental goddess had become the least of their problems.

Christian States of America
Samantha

“Mom? MOM?!” Cadance had started sweeping the dirt where her mother had once been. As if she could dig her mother out of the ground.

Samantha, though, couldn’t speak or move. She could barely understand the whiplash she had just experienced. One moment she was suffering Mrs Adams' full wrath and being threatened with being reported to the Templars, the next moment she was gone. There was no flash of light, no smoke or mirrors. One moment she was there and the next moment she wasn’t.

She might have believed that God had saved her, that she had witnessed a miracle. But Samantha knew better. She wasn't deserving of any kind of miracle. She fell into temptations that others avoided effortlessly, allowing herself to lust for the fairer sex and being unable to resist. But perhaps she wasn't.

"Don't just stand there!" Cadance shrieked desperately, her hands working in a desperate panic, tears falling down her eyes. "Help me!"

Guilt. Guilt shot through Samantha's heart like a knife. She had been selfish, falling into temptation again because she was so weak. Selfish. She was so selfish.

"We should check your house." Samantha said, her words finally finding their way out of her mouth. "Perhaps she's gone home."

It was an absurd thought, and Samantha could tell immediately that she wouldn't be there. But at the same time it felt better than just digging around in the dirt. "Perhaps we can find a clue there."

Samantha hoped her secret, sinful hope didn't break through her voice. Cadance was her best friend, the only girl willing to risk association with Samantha after her. Samantha couldn't betray her by wishing her mother was gone. She had to help. Even if some selfish part of her hated to do so.

"Maybe." Cadance sounded like she was trying to convince herself rather than believing her. Nevertheless they made their way back, having to hurry as daybreak was soon approaching and they didn’t want to get into trouble for breaking curfew. Arriving at their house just before anyone noticed, Cadance opened the door.

“Mom! Mom!” She yelled desperately as she opened the door.

“Cadance!” Cadance’s older sister Kimberly threw open the door and pulled her sister inside. “You heard! You heard what happened!”

“What happened? You mean Mom disappearing?” Cadance asked. How had they heard the news already?

“Disappeared? So you were there when it happened? But haven’t you heard? It’s been all over the radio.” Cadance shook her head, looking, if anything, even more distraught. “Come on in then, I’ll try to explain.”

Cadance stepped inside but when Samantha tried to follow behind her Kimberly stopped her. “No, not you Samantha. We can’t be seen with you.”

“Kimberly, you can’t leave her on the streets.” Cadance begged and immediately Samantha’s heart began to sink. So it was over, Kimberly was going to report her. “We’re meant to be Christians and Christians are supposed to be kind.”

“I don’t care, Cadance, if the Templars find out...” Kimberly hissed, still blocking Samantha from entering. Samantha didn’t resist even as Cadance tried to pull Kimberly aside.

“She’ll be killed!” Cadance all but screamed. “You can’t be so heartless.”

“I’m not trying to be heartless.” Kimberly mumbled, her gaze drifting. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

“Cadance, it’s alright I-“

“NO! Don’t you go anywhere, Samantha! You’re staying with me, or I’m going. Understand, Kim?” Cadance’s glare was firm and unyielding. A trait she had inherited from her mother, Kimberly had not inherited.

“Fine. Fine, but make it quick.” Kimberly spat, standing aside.

Samantha gasped. “Thank you, thank you.” She moved to hug Kimberly but held back when Kimberly flinched. Rubbing her arm awkwardly as she sat down in the living room like she was an unwelcome pest. She listened in to Kimberly’s explanation of everything that happened to Mrs Adams, to the news that they were now all in some kind of game called Harem Hotel, and that they were losing the war. The radio was still playing, but the normally friendly and happy announcer seemed panicked and was stuttering.

“It was always the intent of our military generals to allow the communist forces to land on the North American continent. For the land of the holy free is protected by two of God’s most vast oceans. Once our superior navy has sunk the navies of communists and sent their heretical sailors to the bottom of the ocean, we’ll cut off their demonic hordes from supplies and send them back to the hell where they came from.”

“I knew it.” Cadance gasped, hands to her mouth. "I knew they were lying."

“President Cranston will also make it clear that we joined this contest following the religion of God. Just as our Lord preaches mercy so too must we seek the most peaceful end to the Red Menace. Therefore though we are winning the war President Cranston signed up to this Harem Hotel to bring the armies of Satan to a peaceful surrender rather than a bloody end. As it says in the bible.”

There was no joy in either of their voices, no sounds of vindication or smugness. Samantha couldn't stop the scary pit in her stomach. The communists were winning? She shuddered at the thought of America being put under their iron boot. She imagined the death camps the news reported of, the inability to speak your mind for fear of being hauled off by the government and its selfish, corrupt hedonists in charge. Stealing from the hard working to give to the slothful and corrupt.

"Perhaps the show is lying. I mean from what you said this Hera doesn’t seem very nice, does she?” Samantha was fiddling with her fingers nervously. “It seems like she wants to cause division and undermine the war.”

“No, she’s not lying.” Kimberly said with far more conviction than expected. “You’d have to listen to the broadcast, but you just know she’s telling the truth. There’s no doubt, and now because Mom pissed her off we’re all getting transformed somehow.”

“Transformed how…?” She trailed off, holding her hand up. Her skin had smoothed over, almost becoming plastic in texture, and fresh new blue nail polish appeared upon it. She eyed it like it was an infection. And then Samantha felt her own skin change, her clothes felt different, like she had put on a second layer of plastic insulation under her clothes. Then the changes truly began.

Samantha stumbled as her feet seemed to change beneath her. She fell onto the couch and saw her legs elongate as well, growing more toned and shapely. Like those lewd, contraband magazines that Samantha had secretly noticed behind closed alleyways. But the changes didn't stop there. She could feel her torso changing, her waist growing as her ass inflated with plastic implants, then her breasts did the same.

When it had stopped it took Samantha some time to get to her feet, she had experienced no pain but she was suffering vertigo as she adapted to her changed body. Then one final surprise came as tight leopard print clothes wrapped around her body and tightened themselves around her body. She felt they were like a second skin.

Samantha stayed on the couch for a while, collecting her bearings. Her hands explored herself as she tried to figure out who was the woman in her new body. She looked obscene, that much was clear, and some part of Samantha liked it. She looked…sinful. Like a wicked slut.

She shook her head rapidly. Bad Samantha. Stop that. Everyone else got their urges in check, why can’t you?

“Kim? Kim, is that you?” Cadance gasped a hand outstretched towards her sister. Kimberly looked nothing like she had looked a few moments ago.

Kimberly had been the good daughter, according to Cadance. A social butterfly, and happily adopting all of their mother’s strict attitudes about motherhood and religion. Now like Samantha, she had become a lewd sex iron. Her hair had been bleached platinum blonde and done up in some kind of bizarre beehive hairdo.

“What the hell? What’s happening to me! I can’t look like this! I have a date tomorrow!” Kimberly screamed, trying to tear her dress off. “And what the fuck is this? What kind of outfit is this? I can’t be seen like this! The Templars will be hauling me off immediately.”

“It’s happened to all of us.” Cadence said, standing on her own feet. She wasn’t kidding. Her skin was just as shiny as her hair, the latter of which had also been bleached an unnatural blonde, hers with artificial blue highlights. Samantha had heard that those who dyed their hair were desperate sluts trying to get attention. And with the way that Cadance had changed with her clothes becoming a simple bra and jacket, were she anyone else, Samantha would have to agree.

"What the hell is this?" Kimberly hissed, she stared at her nails like they had been sown on. "When Mom gets back she'll-"

"Kim. What if this is part of the show Mom was on? You mentioned the transformations, and that she pissed off Hera." Cadance said, colour draining from her face as she looked out the window."

"She'd better fix this." Kimberly growled, tearing at her hair. "I can't- we can't- these are plastic!" She hissed, cupping her chest. Samantha also carefully prodded her own breasts and found the same, but with one precise difference. They moved like plastic, they felt with plastic and yet they were sensitive. Far more sensitive than any plastic, hell even more plastic than even her old breasts should be. She let out a moan.

"You fucking bitch. You're getting turned on by this. Bet you're thinking upstairs to rub one out to the thought of us." Kimberly spat, finger pointed directly at Samantha. "You and your wicked urges."

"I wasn't, I swear I wasn't!" Samantha shook her head desperately, but part of her worried if she was right. Would she have done so? She was getting aroused by their forms.

"Girls..."

"You better not spread your unnaturalness to me, you hear me. Why can't you just be straight like everyone else for once in your life?" Kimberly spat, tears in her eyes. "Now I have to look like...like this now!"

"I'm sorry." Samantha whimpered. "I didn't mean to."

Kimberly gave her a glare. "Don't give me those crocodile tears, bitch. You're a degenerate, just like Mom said."

"GIRLS!" Cadance shrieked, stepping forward and pushing the two away from each other. "There's a Templar van outside."

Their blood froze as they heard a gentle knock at the door.

Hutira

Vylara

Vylara pushed her seat back and pressed a hand to her face. Work that day hadn’t proceeded as she expected, like usual she had turned off her phone and anything that had extranet access. Vylara had a bad habit of getting sidetracked by nonsense online and this was one habit she had developed to handle it.

In any case, Vylara herself enjoyed her shift in the bakery. She was an experimenter and would spend as much time trying out new recipes. Today she was trying out an Asari sponge cake. They added this lovely spice to the icing called geli. It was like vanilla but even more delicious, vanilla plus, as Alema would say.

Vylara’s heart skipped a beat as she thought about Alema. She knew her daughter’s heart was out in space, she knew that she wanted to go out searching for her father and sister. Her heart ached at the thought of being left alone, it seemed she was the only one in her family that didn’t yearn for the stars.

“Mrs Ven! Mrs Ven!” Vylara was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of Alema’s friend Mina running into the store. She was still wearing her cheerleader uniform.

“Mina, sweetie? What brings you here?” Vylara asked, eyes widening in surprise as she put the cake in the oven.

“You-you haven’t heard? About Alema?” Mina gasped. Vylara was now worried, Mina was looking as if she had seen a murder.

“Dear? What happened?” Vylara asked, worried now.

“She just disappeared!” Mina cried, but to the young girl’s surprise, Vylara just chuckled.

“Oh is that all? She must have snuck out again.” Vylara shook her head in bemusement. “It really is becoming a problem. I’m surprised she snuck out during your debut, I’ll have a word with her later.”

Mina shook her head in a panic. “No, I don’t mean she snuck out I mean-“

“Hey is this girl going too far?” Frank asked. Frank was the resident bouncer at the Sandstone Palace, the strip club where Vylara worked three days a week to deal with her submissive urges. Urges inherited from her ancestors who’d adapted to slavery under the Togurtas in the Gestalt Empire. Frank was a fair man, and the Twileks at the club always had faith that he would step in when a few of the patrons went too far.

“No, no Frank. She’s my daughter’s friend.” Vylara assured him. As she waved him off she noticed the time and that it was almost time for her performance to begin. “Mina, Sweetie. Can we talk about this after the performance? It’s just I’ve been pent up for a good few days and I need to de-stress.”

“But-“ Mina whimpered, she clearly looked like she wanted to say more, but the poor girl seemed intimidated by Frank. Bless her.

Vylara gave Mina a sympathetic look as she stepped onto the stage. Gods, was she horny. Scientists said that adult Twilek women should spend at least eight hours a week indulging their submissive urges and Vylara had been sick last week. Needless to say, she was extra horny.

She stepped onto the stage, her slutty outfit clinging to her skin so tightly it felt like restraints. She loved it. She felt slutty, controlled, and owned. She heard the crowd chanting, feeding the submissive beast inside her.

“Bring out the MILF! Bring out the MILF!”

Their chanting was like music to her ears, sweet like honey, sinful like the devil’s voice and shameful. Oh yes, it was shameful. Vylara felt that shame like a whip cracking across her ass as she twerked it for the crowd. Such sexy, pleasurable shame.

She moaned, out loud. Sometimes she felt guilty about needing this. She knew that several other Twileks felt the same way. How many of their ancestors had died in order to liberate themselves from the tyranny of the Gestalt Empire. But the shame only made Vylara dance harder, shake her tits more lewdly and crave the comments of the crowd.

“Dance, slut, dance!”

“Show us what you’re made for!”

“Fuck, show me your slave ass!”

“I demand you show me your Mommy Melons!”

Vylara threw her head back, arms behind her back as her dance had her squatting down. It was awful and it was wonderful. All her stress, all the pent up need in her bones to be owned and treated like a slave. It was all escaping her in a wave of ecstasy.

“Yes, my Masters! More, more! This slave exists for you!” She screamed, pleasure overwhelming her mind. Moments like this made it clear why every doctor, psychologist, and professional said it was essential for every Twilek to spend at least eight hours a week submitting as a sex slave for their emotional health.

Fuck, this was the stuff. Times like this were when some small part of herself wished she was born centuries ago when the Twileks and all species were slaves to the Togurtas of the Gestalt Empire. She knew logically that it would be bad. There were no limits in the Gestalt Empire, the Twileks didn’t have their own lives outside their needs, they didn’t wear coloured bands informing their audience how far they were comfortable with going and they didn’t have signs or bouncers to remind people that what happened in the club stayed in the club. It would have been hell, but it would have been real!

Vylara’s orgasm was quite the treat for the audience. She was proud to admit that she was quite the popular whore. Much to her husband and daughter’s chagrin.

But Vylara’s routine was interrupted by none other than Nuren Armkana, the Orion Grand Senator. She wasn’t here to watch, for her face was etched with guilt and worry. As soon as she entered, the lust in the audience simmered to an awkward silence.

“Mrs Ven?” Armkana asked, she looked ashamed.

Embarrassment reached up in Vylara’s neck. She felt like her skin was going to burn and she was going to be sick. Gods, did she have to be dressed like this? In the club? Exercising her needs?

“Um… you seem to have found me at a bad time.” She admitted with a sheepish blush.

“I’m sorry, deeply sorry.” Armkana said, bowing her head. “Let’s go backstage, I understand this is awkward. Please.”

They went backstage, into Vylara’s stage room. Vylara quickly threw on a dress robe as she did so. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“Oh don’t worry about this Grand Senator, truly honoured to meet you. Don’t worry about finding me in the nude. It’s one of those hurdles Twileks have to deal with.” Vylara hoped she was doing a good job diffusing the tension. But Armkana wasn’t smiling, if anything she seemed to be frowning harder.

“Wait, you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” Vylara was still smiling, but it was becoming harder to maintain. Worry etched in her heart.

“Your daughter has been kidnapped.” Her voice was grave. “And it might be all my fault.”

A/N: Been having trouble with the AI, so I might not be able to do makeup in future images. If people know how to use ComfyUI to edit images, it’d be helpful. I’ve tried it but haven't been able to figure it out.

Also, sorry I wasn't able to show the Mother's lessons TF. I will include it later, but in hindsight I should have made it retroactive, as I wasn't able to think of a way to include it naturally.

Special thanks to OnAndOn_Anon and PandaPalace for proofreading.

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