Meet the God

(Originally posted by YearEnds)

Kira Alkaeva was nervous, confused, and frightened.

Oh, the room was luxurious, far more luxurious than she would have expected from something backstage at a music hall. Maybe that had something to do with what some of her colleagues were talking about--this American pop star, Jason Henderson, was God. She hadn't seen anything about it, but apparently he'd made all of his fans incredibly beautiful during his concert earlier that day.

And then she'd found herself ripped away from covering the protest outside the Kremlin--the protesters should be glad for what they had, in her opinion--and in this room, which her phone told her was in America. And it seemed that whatever had brought her here had wanted people from all over, as she heard conversations in every language she knew--and, as a former foreign reporter, that was a lot--and many more in ones she didn't.

There had been a new entry on her phone's calendar, one she was sure she hadn't put there: "10 PM, press conference, God". It was 9:57.

She looked around the room again. Those there seemed to run the gamut of physicality. She knew she was old and weatherbeaten--at seventy-five, she should have retired years ago, but she loved her job and was one of the best reporters her station had, so they gave her an easy assignment and paid her far more than she could ever get from a pension. But there were men and women older than her there, and younger, including many who looked as if they had just graduated from journalism school. She stepped aside as one of the youngest women moved to her seat in the front row. The girl still didn't understand that her looks were going to go away and it was far more important to build up a reputation as a competent reporter--that would, ultimately, matter far more than how many inches of cleavage you could make your business suit show before the regulators decided it was indecent. But then, the girl was American, and Kira had learned to lower her expectations of them.

She hobbled a bit as she made her way to her seat near the back. Her left tibia had never healed properly from when she broke it while covering the 1988 riots in Azerbaijan. At least she was on the centre aisle. She looked at the man next to her, about her age, Bolivian if she had to guess.

She looked at her watch again. 9:59, almost 10.

The podium was empty, and she could see no way in from that side, only the doors behind her. She craned her head around and, just then, a bright flash illuminated the back wall, and just as quickly went away.

She turned to face the front again, and while everyone else was rubbing their eyes she got a look at the new arrival.

There was no doubt in her mind that it was indeed Jason Henderson. But the impropriety!

He wasn't behind the podium--in fact, the podium had vanished, and he was holding a microphone as if he were about to sing. But the man was naked!

He didn't seem to care that the photographers set up around the sides of the room were frantically taking pictures. In fact, he seemed almost to welcome it. She shook her head ever so slightly. How could he expect to be taken seriously when he showed up to his first press conference, completely nude, with semen still dripping from the head of his erect penis?

"Hello," he said, and she saw all the young women at the front of the room squirm as he spoke. "My name is Jason Henderson." Kira didn't have to see their faces to know that they were getting aroused. Stupid sluts. "As you may have heard, I am God. I want you all to know that it is indeed true--I am God, and before you ask, I am not just a god, but God. I am completely omnipotent and can bend the universe to my every whim. If you are wondering how I became God, it is quite simple: the previous God decided to retire and left me in charge." Gasps and squeals punctuated that announcement. Kira groaned inside. Coming to orgasm at a press conference?

Jason raised a hand and the noises stopped. "Now, before any of you ask me any questions, I have a few announcements to make." Kira saw the various video cameras refocus on Jason after turning to get a good shot of the young, front-row reporters. "The first is that I have decided that a single global language is necessary. Thus from this day forward all written and verbal communication shall take place in English, and everyone in the world is fluent in that language. I realize I could just have easily chosen French, or German, or Russian, or Arabic, or Spanish, or any number of other languages, but as English is the only language I knew before I became God, I've settled on that one." Kira frantically scribbled that down and found to her surprise that she was still writing her notes in Russian. "This only applies to communications--I will not keep people from writing notes to themselves in whatever language they choose, or from writing literature and songs in any language. As a singer, I can appreciate what a language contributes to the art produced with it."

Kira nodded internally. She supposed that would have to do. She'd tried reading a translation of War and Peace and it just wasn't the same.

"The second thing I have decided has to do with these press conferences. As you can see, I am naked. Consequently, all of you must also be so." As he finished, Kira found her clothes gone. There was no indication of where they had gone, just that they were no longer there. Her handbag was still on her lap, at least.

She saw some of the others trying to cover up, but they couldn't get their hands to do what they wanted. Suddenly she found herself lifting her handbag off her lap and placing it on the ground between her feet.

"And no covering up, either," continued the young star. "After all, I'm not." This earned a few very nervous chuckles.

"Third," he continued, "while I have brought a broad range of you here, from some of you fresh out of school"--his gesture seemed to take in the entire first three rows--"to others who have a hard-earned, well-deserved reputation"--Kira felt he was looking straight at her as he spoke--"from now on the only reporters I shall allow at my press conferences will be attractive young women. But since I have no desire to send any of you away, that means I must change you."

Kira looked at her Bolivian colleague in alarm as Jason released the microphone--it hovered in mid-air--and raised both his hands.

She felt her skin shift and tighten. She reached down to pull a small mirror out of her handbag and gasped when she looked in it. She knew that face.

It was her, fifty years ago when she accompanied a Soviet delegation to the state funeral of the American President Kennedy. Or at least it was a version of her at that time, if she'd looked like a young blonde slut who wore three times as much make-up as she needed.

"Go on, give yourselves a good feel," said Jason with a chuckle. "Finger yourselves if you want, or each other. I know I've raised your libidos. Trust me, I won't mind."

Kira tried to resist the urge to run her hands over her new body, but Jason had made her horny, and so starting from her shoulders, she felt herself up.

The first thing she thought was that he was a typical perverted American male. Her bre--bre--boobs were gigantic! Easily bigger than basketballs. Her skin felt completely smooth as she ran her hands over the huge globes and down to her hips, which flared out obscenely from her impossibly small waist. She took a moment to feel her completely hairless arms.

She noticed others, who all looked like complete sexpots, standing up to continue their self-examinations. She followed them in doing so, figuring that she might as well feel all of her.

She felt her hair cover the back of her hands as she reached around to feel her new r--r--ass, which, like her br--tits, was massive. She shook her head and felt the weight of her hair for the first time. She attempted to look down and estimated that it was just barely touching the floor.

Continuing, she discovered that her va--va--pussy was completely hairless and that she had a very prominent--and sensitive--clit. Her legs, like her arms, were completely smooth, her feet were dainty, and she couldn't feel the telltale bump where she'd broken that bone.

Standing up straight again, she looked around. She knew where everyone had been sitting, and grimaced as those who were originally young women were feeling each other up, and some of the former men were openly masturbating! She sat down primly, trying to look as professional as she could. She looked up at the stage. The man was mas--mas--jacking off on camera!

After a few minutes, Jason said, "Okay, that's enough. I'll see to it that you all share a huge hotel room tonight so that you can all get to know each other better. But right now I will have to insist on your attention." Kira saw her colleagues who hadn't returned to their seats suddenly sitting in them. There were a few winks and giggles.

"Fourth," continued the perverted star, "I will not have anyone at my press conferences who refuses to suck me off. It won't take long, but I am picking up the sexual urges of every being in the universe, so I need quite a lot of relief. We'll start at the back centre with"--a list appeared in Jason's hand--"Kira Alkaeva. Will you come up here? We can't continue this without you."

Kira got up, feeling a bit unsteady. Why had whoever had become before this man decided to leave him in charge? She tried to turn around, to refuse, but something compelled her forward, and she felt herself kneeling in front of the pop star, taking his huge dick in her hands, putting the tip in her mouth, and giving the best blowjob of her life, even better than the one she'd given to get her job fifty-three years prior.