Unbalanced · Part 2

Unbalanced · Part 2 (2/3)
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Peter sighed, leaning back on the floor "Helen, you know it's complicated," he began, but she cut him off.

"No more excuses, Peter," she said sharply. "You promised me. If you want this to continue, you need to do what you said you would."

"Just give me a little more time. Please I will divorce her just for you," Peter pleaded. "For now I really want you. My cock is hard for you, baby. I want to fuck you even harder than I did yesterday or maybe even a blow job from you would be nice. Please I just want you. A feet job. A boob job. Anything. I just want my cock in you."

Helen knew now she had him exactly where she wanted, desperate and willing to do anything just to get more of her. She was born in a society where women's rights were declining every day and she had to be really crafty to secure her place in the society.

She stood up and Peter followed suit, standing so close to her that she could feel his cock brushing against her legs.

"Oh come on, baby." He continued his pleas. "You can't just leave my cock hanging this way. You know if I was married to a woman who was not as powerful as my wife I would have done anything I wanted to you and suffer no repercussions at all."

"You don't have to tell me. I'm aware of the backward society people like you and your wife have created and I'm just trying to look out for myself." Helen said.

Peter remained quiet seeing as she had seemingly made up her mind. "Don't worry, all you have to do is divorce that wannabe dictator you call your wife."

She pecked his chin and turned around gracefully. "Now I need to put on my clothes and head out."

He remained quiet with his hard cock pointing straight at the ballerina watching her beautiful body. Helen seemed list as she looked all over for her clothes.

"Peter, I can't seem to find my undies," she said to him, "I have found the rest of my clothes but I can't find my undies. Do you have any idea where I can find them?”

"I don't know but I can help you search."

Helen and Peter began searching the kitchen for a missing piece of Helen's clothing. They looked around the room, moving aside chairs and checking under the table. Helen's eyes finally landed on her missing underwear —a delicate piece of lingerie—hanging precariously from the chandelier.

"Oh, that's where we threw it yesterday night. I remember seeing it just before I slept off."

Just as she reached up to retrieve it, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house. Helen froze, her heart pounding. The door to the kitchen swung open, and Michelle, Peter's wife and the Speaker of the National Senate walked in.

Her eyes immediately locked onto the scene before her—A naked Peter standing beside a disheveled naked Helen, reaching up to the chandelier. A wave of shock and anger crossed her face.

"What is going on in here?" Michelle demanded, her voice icy and commanding.

Peter stepped forward, his face a mask of calm, though his eyes betrayed his panic. "Michelle, I can explain," he began, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"Explain? Do you think you can explain this? You are both butt naked," she hissed, her eyes darting between him and Helen. "Who is she?"

Helen quickly lowered her arm, holding her breath as she faced the formidable woman before her. She could feel the weight of Michelle's scrutiny, the anger radiating off her in waves.

Peter swallowed hard, his mind racing to find the right words. "Michelle, this is Helen. We were just… talking," he said, the weak explanation sounding hollow even to his own ears.

Michelle's eyes narrowed. "Talking?" she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what exactly were you talking about at this hour, without your clothes?"

Helen straightened, meeting Michelle's gaze with a mixture of defiance and fear. "We didn't do anything, Ma," she said, her voice steady despite the tension. "We were just discussing but it seems we've been interrupted."

"You were talking?" Michelle screamed. "Have you seen how hard this fool's cock is? How could you cheat on me, Peter? After all, I have done for your miserable political career."

"I told you we did nothing, ma'am," Helen responded defiantly.

Michelle’s eyes blazed with fury as she turned her full attention to Helen. “Lying to me?” she screamed. “Do you have any idea who I am? How dare you come into my house and be with my husband! Are you not scared of me?”

Helen stood her ground, though her heart raced. The power and rage emanating from Michelle were almost palpable, but she refused to show any fear.

Before Helen could respond, Michelle’s scream echoed through the house. “Security!”

Within moments, two burly security guards burst into the kitchen. Michelle pointed a trembling finger at Helen. “lock her in the chambers. Now!”

The guards moved swiftly, grabbing Helen by the arms. She struggled briefly but knew it was futile. She cast a quick glance at Peter, who looked torn and helpless, his attempts to calm his wife falling on deaf ears.

"Your life as you know it is over. I promise you that. You will see just how powerful I am." Michelle barked.

Helen managed to break one hand free and attempted to punch the Speaker but she was stopped as the guard quickly recovered. The other guard delivered a heavy punch to the already subdued Helen which left her unconscious, the last thing the young gymnast heard was the speaker making threats before she slept.

Helen opened her eyes slowly, the harsh fluorescent lights above her making her squint. She felt a dull, throbbing pain throughout her body, especially her chest, and tried to use her hands to help herself sit up, but something was wrong. Panic surged through her as she glanced down and realized her arms were missing. Both her arms were gone.

A piercing scream tore from her throat, echoing through the sterile hospital room. The door burst open, and a nurse rushed in, her face a mixture of concern and urgency.

The nurse moved quickly to her side, trying to calm her. "It's alright, you're in the hospital. You've been through a tough procedure, but you're safe now," she said gently.

Helen's breathing came in ragged gasps as she stared at the empty spaces where her arms should have been. "My arms… What happened to my arms?" she wailed.

"Calm down, I will explain," the nurse said, trying her best to get the ballerina under control.

The ballerina looked down at her chest and saw that she couldn't recognize her pointy firm chest anymore.

"Oh please don't tell me that-" Helen started before interrupting herself. "Get me a mirror now."

The nurse nodded and wheeled over a mirror. Helen gasped when she saw herself. Suddenly Helen let out another huge scream that could have been heard from the next building. She was horrified by the look on her face.

“What did you do to my boobs?” Helen shouted at the nurse

When Helen last checked, her chest measured a pleasant 32D, so when she looked down, she was shocked. She could now feel the bandages pressing against her skin and the material of her gown pulling tightly about her chest. But instead of the boobs she had anticipated, she suddenly saw two gigantic, perfectly spherical shapes that blocked her vision of the rest of her body. It appeared as though two enormous, over-pumped basketballs had been concealed behind her garment.

"Why? Tell me why?" The young ballerina sobbed. "I never asked for this. Who did this to me?"

The nurse's expression grew even more somber as she looked into Helen's tear-filled eyes. "They had to cut off your arms because of Michelle's commands," she said quietly, a hint of guilt in her voice.

Helen's eyes widened in disbelief and horror. "What gives Michelle the authority to do such a thing?" She demanded, her voice shaking with a mix of rage and despair.

Just as the nurse was about to respond, the door swung open, and Michelle walked in, a huge, mocking laugh echoing through the room. Her presence filled the space with a cold, oppressive air.

"Ah, Helen," Michelle said. Her tone dripped with condescension. "I see you're awake. I hope you are comfortable."

Helen glared at her, fury burning in her eyes. "You did this to me," she spat. "How could you? What gives you the right?"

Michelle stepped closer, her laugh subsiding into a cruel smile. "The right?" She repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Power, my dear. Power and the need to send a clear message. No one crosses me or my family and gets away with it."

Helen's breathing increased, her anger and fear blending into a potent mix. "You won't get away with this," she said through gritted teeth.

Michelle sat down down close on the bed with Helen, looked her in the eye, and with a smug look on her face she began. "In case you are unaware, my party just won the presidential election and the national assembly. We now control the presidency, the Senate, and the House of Representatives. Since you were undergoing your surgery, we have confirmed Supreme Court justices and more. I have news for you"

The speaker took a second before she continued, nonchalantly clearing her throat. "You are now officially my slave."

Those words sounded like a hammer to the skull of the young ballerina. She knew how bad the society was for women but to say she was a slave sounded so dystopian to her.

"I can never be your slave." Helen barked in her cracked voice.

Michelle cackled loudly smacking her hand on the bed. "You think you could never be a slave? Bitch you are my slave now. Let me explain."

Helen had nothing to say, all she could do was listen as the Speaker continued. "You see you have been under anesthesia for a month now. In that short time, we won the election and my party passed some necessary bills. HB 2114, which passed one week ago revokes the rights of women and now sluts like you are just objects in the hands of men."

"Why? Why? How could you do such a thing? Have you forgotten that you are also a woman? How could you be so heartless?" Helen asked.

"Because that's the way it should be, in the good old days, all women had to do was stay at home and make children and take care of their husbands when they got home, they were not allowed to work or even vote. But then we made the greatest mistake in our nation's history in giving all women the same rights as men. Why should a bitch like you who stretched her pussy in the name of ballet have the same rights as me who have spent my whole life busting my ass just to get to this level. My party is all about restoring this great country back to its glory days and we have control over all the levers of government. Believe me, we will spare no effort to push this country on the pedestal where it deserves to be," Michelle rambled.

"How do women being slaves help your cause? You could have just prevented women from working or something." Helen cried out.

"I know," The Speaker replied nonchalantly. "At first we wanted to restrict women from voting and working unless you are hardworking and powerful like me. However, that fateful morning when I walked in on Peter's cock standing and the two of you butt naked in my kitchen I decided that I needed to do more so I amended the bill and made sure I could legally own hoes like you."

Helen tried to punch the speaker, moving the left part of her body up towards Michelle but all she succeeded in doing was getting her new massive breasts to jiggle. That's when it dawned on her, she was really armless now and the property of the speaker of the country who hated her.

"Did you really think you were going to get Peter to divorce me?" Michelle asked with a smirk on her face.

Helen couldn't answer all she could produce was tears. "Everything Peter is today is because of me and I could easily bring him down if I wanted to. Peter is nothing more than a womanizer who I needed to secure power. You should actually be proud of yourself. You are the first slave of the modern era, this is your reward for trying to punch me and steal my husband. Now let's see how you can attempt to Punch me anymore"

Michelle paused for a few minutes as Helen sobbed. The more Helen comprehended her situation the more she cried. This was worse than a nightmare, her quest for a Balanced life had led her to the worst possible future.

"Now, slave. It's time to go home. We have the media and paparazzi all outside to witness the first legally owned slave of this era." Mitchell announced.

"No, no, no, no." Helen cried. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Oh, you are. Guards…" Mitchell called and in a few seconds, three able-bodied guards walked in. "Carry her away. We have a press conference downstairs."

The guards picked Helen up as she screamed relentlessly, both guards held her up while the nurse wore her an overall which covered up her amputated arms, and her new boobs stuck out just a little.

"Let's go," Michelle commanded as they walked out the door.

Michelle walked briskly down the hospital corridor, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Behind her, Helen struggled to keep up, each step a painful reminder of her new reality. The guards flanked her closely, ensuring she followed Michelle without hesitation. The bandages around her amputated arms were fresh, the pain raw and unrelenting. As they approached the entrance, the noise of the waiting press grew louder.

The hospital doors swung open, and a sea of cameras and reporters came into view. The flash of bulbs was blinding, the cacophony of shouted questions deafening. Michelle paused at the entrance, allowing the full spectacle to unfold before addressing the crowd.

"Good morning, everyone," Michelle began, her voice strong and authoritative. She turned slightly, revealing Helen, who stood behind her. The guards moved to the side, leaving Helen fully visible to the eager press.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we witness a story of incredible resilience," Michelle said, her tone taking on a mock solemnity. "This is Helen, today she makes history as the first slave of the modern era. She is the first slave of the HB 2114 bill signed two weeks ago and now she is legally owned by my husband and I."

Mitchell stripped the overall and revealed a new naked body to the media, Helen's massive boobs bounced for the camera while her arms twitched back and front.

With a theatrical flourish, Michelle stepped aside, unveiling Helen to the crowd. The reporters surged forward, their cameras capturing every agonizing detail of Helen's condition. She stood there, her heart pounding, the humiliation washing over her in waves as the flashes went off incessantly, the beautiful ballerina stood naked as the world watched her stark naked boobs and amputated hands.

"Welcome to the new era," The Speaker declared as she ended the press conference. The press conference ended, and the black limousine glided away from the hospital, carrying Michelle, Helen, and a single guard. Inside the luxurious vehicle, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Michelle sat back, a self-satisfied smile on her face, occasionally breaking into laughter that cut through the silence like a knife. Helen, on the other hand, sat beside her, her eyes red and puffy from tears, silent sobs shaking her fragile frame.

As the cityscape passed by outside the tinted windows, Helen's mind raced. She replayed the events that had led her to this point, questioning every decision, every step that had brought her here. She had only wanted a better life, a chance to escape the monotony and constraints of her world by following Senator Peter.

Helen’s thoughts turned to Peter. Despite everything, she clung to the belief that he would save her.

"He loves me," she whispered to herself, barely audible over the hum of the engine. "He will find a way to save me."

Michelle's laughter rang out again, sharp and cruel. Helen glanced at her, hatred and fear mingling in her eyes. Michelle noticed her look and smirked, leaning closer.

Helen swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising tide of despair. She had to hold on to hope, however faint it might be. Peter had resources and influence. He could still find a way to help her. She had to believe that.

They walked into the opulent mansion, its grandeur doing little to soothe the turmoil within Helen. The polished marble floors and crystal chandeliers seemed to mock her, a stark contrast to her internal desolation. Michelle led the way with an air of authority, her heels clicking rhythmically against the floor.

Once inside, they met a man with tattoos and another woman with both looking like 90's rock stars.

"Now you will get a new hairdo, bitch." The speaker said.

"A hairdo? You are not touching my hair." Helen screamed and tried to run but as she ran out of the door she came back screaming as two guards dragged her back.

"I won't. Please I won't. I won't ahhhh." Helen's pleas were interrupted by a whip which landed heavily on her back. She screamed out in pain as she felt the impact of the whip by the speaker on her back which touched part of her newly cut arm.

"Now, bitch. Lay flat on your stomach." Michelle commanded and her order was followed by another thunderous lash.

"Ahhh. Please. Stop. Stop. It's too much." Helen pleaded. Her cries echoed through the room.

For a minute the beating subsided and Michelle let Helen cry out. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I won't do it again. I won't come close to Peter ever again. Please just let me. I'm sorry."

The tears flowed from her eyes onto her neck, to her breasts, her new humongous breasts didn't let the tears flow through them, rather her tears flowed through the sides of her breasts onto her stomach.

"That's good. See we are making progress. Now, just lay on the chair so we can give you a hairstyle befitting your nature." Michelle said calmly this time although with a mocking voice.

Helen could barely say anything, she felt madame speaker's calm voice was a sign of her changing her mind. "I beg you, madame speaker, I will never wrong you again, please just let me-"

Whip. Crack. That was the sound Helen heard before she felt the whip on her back once more. "Ahh." She screamed.

"Please, sto-" Helen cried and got flogged again.

Whip. Whip. Whip. Whip.

Michelle was unrelenting now, she was swinging the whip back and forth without remorse. It was as if she would never stop, all everyone around the house could hear was the sound of a whip landing on Helen's back and the screams that followed the impact.

Whip. Whip. Whip. Whip. Whip

Helen couldn't resist anymore, she ran towards the seat, massive breasts shaking all over the place as Mitchell pursued whipping angrily. As she lay on the seat, Mitchell delivered three more whips onto the back of the young ballerina who could just cry now.

"Did it have to be that hard?" Mitchell panted as she asked Helen who lay on the seat crying loudly. "In case you are still unable to comprehend the severity of your situation, let me spell it out for you. You are a slave now and every disobedience will come with a punishment from my whip."

Helen's body trembled as she lay back. The hairdressers moved in, their hands practiced and precise as they began to work on her hair while Mitchell left the room.

Helen's eyes flooded with tears, the pain of her situation manifesting in silent sobs. As the hairdressers chatted and worked, she could feel the pull of the brush and the sting of the dye, her tears mixing with the chemicals and dripping onto the couch. The male hairdresser, with his bleach-blond spikes and leather jacket, pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, while the female, sporting vibrant makeup and a neon crop top, meticulously applied the red dye.

"Please forgive me," Helen whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the hairdryer. The hairdressers ignored her, continuing their work with professional detachment.

The process seemed to drag on forever, each minute an eternity of silent suffering. Finally, the hairdressers stepped back, admiring their work. Helen’s hair was pulled into a severe ponytail, dyed a striking, unnatural red that contrasted sharply with her tear-streaked face.

Helen sat up slowly, her head heavy and throbbing. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt a wave of nausea. She looked like a stranger, her natural beauty masked by the garish, forced transformation.

"Perfect," Michelle said as she walked into the room, clapping her hands once. "Now you look the part."

Helen looked away from the mirror in disgust, she couldn't accept her new image. She could accept that the once proud, beautiful ballerina was nothing but a slave at the mercy of Michelle and Peter.

"Remember, Helen," Michelle said, her voice low and menacing. "This is only the beginning. The sooner you accept your place, the easier it will be for you. Now it's time for you to look the part."

"Guard," Michelle screamed and a guard appeared in seconds. "Go and get me the bag in the dungeon."

After a few minutes, the guard returned with a bag and placed the bag right in front of Mitchell. The speaker opened the bag and pulled out a pair of white high heels with white socks, red panties, and a red spike collar.

"Now this will be your new attire. You will dress like this every single time whether you are tasked with attending to the visitors or cleaning up the house, every single time.”

"You cut off my hands," Helen cried out. ""How do you expect me to perform any task or do anything?"

Mitchell tuned out her maniacal laugh. "Oh, sweetie, you will be doing a lot. Now put these on so we can head to the dungeon.”

Helen didn't know how to put on her clothes without hands but she knew she had to try or she would have another round of whip all over her back.

Unbalanced · Part 2 (2/3)
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