Fem Them: The First Round

Story by Hardcover

Based loosely on some videos I saw, this story deal with a man who goes on a game show with his wife, only to find that the show involves his wife forcefully feminizing him. But the producers of the show have an nasty surprise in store for the wives as well. This story, along with its companion piece, a thing I'm writing called The Bully Feminization, took a long time to complete and ballooned to a massive 96 pages, so I've split it into four parts, which I'll post one a day.

This one violates some of the usual rules of first person narration, but I've read a lot of TF stories that do that lately and no one seems to care, so here you go.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

FEM THEM

THE FIRST ROUND

By Hardcover

How I ended up on such a strange game show as the one I did is something of convoluted story, but I’ll try to pare it down for you. Suffice to say, I had no idea what I was getting myself into at the time, nor what my final fate would be. It would be a complete understatement to suggest that it changed my life forever. Even now, I wonder how it all happened, how everything got so screwed up so fast. The answer of course, is simple: Money. Or rather a lack there of. I needed money, and so I didn’t question it when my wife Carrie signed us up to be contestants on a strange foreign game show that I had never heard of. Of course, as it turned out, everyone was lying to me and keeping me in the dark. All I know is that as soon as I agreed to appear, my fate was sealed. Even the name of the show that I was told was a lie, but I’m getting head of myself.

I’m a journalist, and I work for Moore and Brackett Publishing, writing articles for various magazines and newspapers that they publish. I considered myself a no nonsense factual reporter, one who kept tabs on the moral fortitude of the world around me. That was my job, to scare people into seeing the world for the corrupt, dangerous place it was. If it made my readers too scared to leave their house, so be it. At least they were thinking.

But it is doubtful that you ever read or paid attention to much with byline of Peter Popovich. It’s also highly doubtful that you would have paid much attention to the forty eight year old man that the name was attached to. You might have remembered my admittedly odd habit of putting lots of pepper on all my food (I love the extra kick pepper gives just about anything), but that was about it. I was tall, to be sure, an even six feet, but had a receding hairline and a rather bland face. I was in decent shape but lately had been sporting a paunch that I couldn’t get rid of. I counted myself lucky that I was married to a gorgeous, slender large breasted red head named Carrie, whom I thought I could trust with my life.

Boy, was I wrong about that.

I had often wondered what I had ever done to deserve a woman like Carrie. While I wasn’t much to look at, I was rather well endowed in the crotch department. I good solid eight inches or so. Weirdly, this often left me with feelings of inadequacy: I had the nagging feeling that Carrie had married my penis, and not me.

It was the money problems, and subsequent marital problems that led to my current . . . condition. I was fortunate enough to work for a boss who saw talent in my writing. Unfortunately, I had the humiliating situation of having to work for a guy who was much younger than me by a decade: My editor Taylor Aaronson, who was barely into his thirties. While Taylor saw talent in me, he was constantly pushing me to write the juicer stories that were the publisher’s main bread and butter: Celebrity gossip and scandal, and exploitive topics like that. I had stubbornly refused, insisting on clinging to outdated notions of journalistic integrity, and as result, a lot of what I wrote was no longer being published. Which meant less paychecks.

Another problem was the fact that my wife came from money, and was used to certain standard of living. As the money stopped coming in she was mortified that we had to move into a much smaller house. And you can imagine how she reacted when I told her that we just might have to move to an apartment if things kept going the way they were. She was livid and enraged, and flew into a tizzy, insulting my manhood and calling me a weak loser. I knew she didn’t really mean it, but it hurt hard just the same, and I began to fret that I was losing her.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I know for a fact that Carrie loved me. She was re

... more on the forums ...