President Josephine ‘Josie’ Stephenson looked rested, her head in her hands. A week ago she had been male and concerned about extremism both at home and abroad.

She looked up at Director Humphreys of FBI. While still male, he wouldn’t be for long: already she could see that his hips had already begun to shift into a wider, more child-bearing configuration. She noted that he had grown peach fuzz on the top of his once bald pate, the first signs of the hair that was likely to grow once more in abundance. “Was anybody hurt?” Josephine asked concern evident in every line in her face.

“No sir, we followed your orders to a ‘T’. We sent in the negotiator to try to ease them out peacefully… when they didn’t respond at all we sent in HRT (hostage rescue team) to at least try to get the children out. Turns out we were just in time — bastards tried to pull a Jonestown on us,” the FBI director reported, referencing the infamous Jonestown incident that had happened with a cult named the ‘People’s Temple’ back in 1978, where over 900 people had committed suicide via a concoction of a flavored drink mix… with the special ingredient of cyanide.

“Oh god…” Josie whispered is shocked horror. “How many…? Please Francis… tell me we got in there early enough.”

“We did, although I doubt any of them will ever drink Tasty-Aid again. Turns out the preacher that was leading them had already committed suicide and left it to his followers to follow him into the great hereafter. Well… as you might imagine, most got cold feet. A few of the fanatics were trying to force it down the children’s throats, but went for their guns when we busted down the door. Fortunately, we were able to get them subdued before they were able to poison the children. This leaves us with a death toll… of one hatemongering bastard.”

Josie collapsed back into the oversized chair behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office, visible relief showing on her face. “And the media?” she asked, knowing that how this was handled would likely set the tone across the nation. Four days ago, a fringe Christian group had declared the futavirus a sign of the apocalypse and declared all futas to be the devil’s minions; this declaration in and of itself was not unique. However, they had — unlike many of the others — actually taken action.

The drama had held the nation captive for the last few days, a media feeding frenzy as they swarmed around the town in Kansas where the group was holed up. They had tried for days got get them to come out peacefully, even attempting to send in members from other fringe groups that had associated with the leader in the past. Determined not to have another Waco incident, the president had ordered force to be the last possible resort.

Her chief of staff cleared his throat, “They are actually telling it like it is; a few have managed to somehow sneak interviews with those that were inside; apparently the preacher was the lynch-pin of the group. Once he kicked it, everything sorta fell apart. Apparently the drink had been prepared beforehand, and they were too afraid to leave.”

Director Humphreys cursed “Goddamit, I ordered those people to be kept away from the media until we had a chance to talk to them.”

*************

Sara picked up a clipboard and walked into the patient room where a young couple sat holding hands. Both had been signed up to be inoculated.

She set down the tray she was carrying, two large bottles full of fresh warm futa-cum sitting atop it.

“There are two ways to do this…” she started off, knowing that they would select the former, but end with the latter anyway. “This is fresh, pure futa-cum,” she said, holding up the bottle. “It is pretty much the most pure way to inoculate someone quickly. Now, I can either shove a hose up your butt and let this fill you until you change… or I can do it myself” she stated rather plainly as she squirted a large amount of lube into her hands and began to work it to warmth.

Two hours later, two new futas left the clinic, smiles on their faces, and their bellies full of cum.

************

Today was not a good day for Aamir. The fifty four year old senior cleric stared out the window of his office in Mecca. It had been a week since the news of the Futavirus had become public knowledge. Already the hospitals had quietly begun to admit those who had begun to change, keeping them segregated and private so that they would not be shamed. He had urged the king to stay his hand and not act until the clergy could come to a solution.

Aamir looked down at the folder in his hands. The news was not encouraging: the medical dossier made it clear that the probability of halting or preventing change was virtually non-existant. A single drug firm in the US claimed to have found a way to temporarily halt the effects, but only if the person was in an active sexual relationship with a futa.

He sat and faced the kabba and prayed, the act clearing his mind and allowing him to think. Islam, despite the western belief that it degraded women, actually preached that women were equal and, in fact, had provided women many rights that women in Europe had waited far longer to get.

It wasn’t the virus he feared, nor the change itself. It was the resistance that would come to the change. People are hard to move quickly, particularly mentally, and in a society of nearly three thousand years of hard kept traditions, change did not happen fast.

Generally, any large-scale change was decided early on in the clergy, and slowly phased in over a generation or two; he was still enacting changes his predecessors had left him to complete. Yet now he was going to have to enact change overnight, or risk an implosion in Islam in the kingdom. He chuckled as he began to write what would be a much revised fatwa (an Islamic legal opinion) on what was happening. He chuckled as he wrote; the prophet had wanted them to live in harmony with one another and treat each other with respect, and the futavirus might just allow them to do that.

********************

The Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party smiled. Over the past twenty years, the one-child policy had very quietly created a very big problem. Because Chinese tradition favored boys over girls for economic reasons, the ratio of men to women had steadily risen. It was so bad in some areas that human trafficking was a multi-billion dollar industry in china. While extremely illegal, local officials often looked the other way and took bribes. The problem was a deep one — so deep, that the usual methods of direct excise would have destroyed the party.

He smiled because the gods had delivered to him a perfect solution: have a single gender. On the night of the American President’s speech, the police had rounded up any person showing signs of Futavirus. Over the past week, they had seen to it that every single one of those persons had changed, and then they had begun phase one.

Phase one was simple: take those already in state custody — particularly those sentenced to labor — and convert them. They were then ordered to assist state officials as they systematically went from village to village, inoculating the inhabitants. Any person resisting the authorities would be subject to reeducation through labor, as was the standard practice. The irony was that the first thing that would be done as part of their intake into the system would be to convert them.

His mind rolled over the reports. Already, over half of the People’s Liberation Army had been fast converted using massive doses of futa-cum. The clinics in all the major mainland cities were orderly and efficient; volunteers to work them were growing by the minute. Hong Kong was experiencing an artificially fast outbreak as agents of the Ministry of State Security spread the virus as was fast as humanly possible.

He looked down and read his speech once more before standing and walking to the lectern, “Comrades, thank you for coming on such short notice to this emergency session of the National Congress of the Communist party…” 

***********

Alec looked up from her work and wiped her brow, smiling as she looked down at the large cock-sock that she had just finished. The sound of footsteps and the sudden feeling of a cock and two large teats against her back made her smile. She leaned back against Maria.

“Hey there, how are things coming?” Maria asked, holding Alec around the waist. Both of them were almost entirely naked; they found it more comfortable to be that way. The past week had been rather tumultuous for them: they both had become futa; after a run-in with HR, they had chosen to leave their company rather than be forced apart.

Maria set the folder with their new business plan down on the table. She had just gotten back from the bank and had secured them a loan large enough to get their new business off the ground. The enterprising banker had even gotten her a meeting with some potential investors.

Alec smiled “Good. I’ve got all of our samples done… and was just working on one for you and me.” She leaned over and picked up the thin fabric cover sliding it over her large flaccid cock, the material stretching to hold on tight.

Maria slid back and picked hers up off the table, sliding it onto her massive, partially-erect shaft. The fabric felt good and tight around her fuck-meat, and Maria marveled at how the fabric stretched over hardening cock. She let out a low moan as her glans slid out of her foreskin, rubbing against the fabric as her shaft engorged, coming to full hardness.

*********

The Chairman smiled as the sound of the doors closing resounded throughout the great hall of the people. Units of futa soldiers from the People’s Liberation Army spread throughout the massive auditorium; some armed with rifles, and some with needles.

He had gotten his job because the party had thought he could control the Army, and he had; so well, in fact, that the generals had not questioned his orders when he had ordered them to convert the entire country to futanari. He watched as a local party secretary tried to object, an unusual display of disobedience in a party meeting, and was dragged to the floor by the soldiers… for a more ‘direct’ injection of futavirus.

“Mr. Chairman, it is time.” The voice of his lovely aide Lin brought him out of his reverie. He slipped off his suit coat laying it over the lectern rolling up his sleeve. He relaxed his arm as she pressed the needle into the muscle, and he could feel a warmth spreading throughout his body as she pressed down the plunger.