In a special lab deep in the Stepford complex, a single figure centered in a spotlight stood at rigid attention. Unmoving and unblinking, she stared straight ahead, her whole attention focused on the colored spirals whirling before her. Tiny speakers now permanently sealed in her plasticized ears whispered in her own voice, replacing the thoughts drained from her mind by the brainwashing drugs...
"Mah name is Anne-Marie," a facsimile of Rogue's dulcet southern accent instructed her. "Ah am a mindless doll, an obedient trophy wife...."
Her skin was now smooth and shiny, imhumanly perfect without tan lines or blemishes. Impossibly firm basketball sized breasts sat atop her chest, openly scoffing at the laws of gravity. Her figure was an exaggerated hourglass emphasized by a full cushiony ass only slightly less impressive than her bustline. This was obviously not a naturally developed woman; instead she'd become an example of the excesses of the plastic surgeons' art.
"Mah sole purpose in life is to enhance mah man's prestige," the seductive tones continued. "Ah will become his perfect companion..."
Men take wives for many reasons: some for love, some to have offspring, some to fulfill political ambition. But there are a special few who marry as displays of their power, to forcibly remind other men that despite a lack of virility or sexual prowess THEY can have the best, the most beautiful women around because they can afford it.
And Rogue was now one of these women. Stripped of her former heroic identity, she would forever more be an ornament, a toy for her man's amusement. Her outrageous physique was not meant starting a family or to socialize in Stepford, it was an expression of her new master's complete and utter control over her mind and body to be shown only to a select few.
* * *
Simon Trask smirked as he watched a video on his tablet of Kitten and Fifi pleasuring Ororo. He had a few minutes before the daily early morning staff meeting so he thought he'd indulge himself. Though no one else would have noticed, he could tell that she was trying to resist. He'd had a lot of experience over the last few months in mental conditioning and he could spot the telltale trouble signs that would only become worse, turning into resistance and outright defiance as the drugs were cut back.
"Perhaps giving her her hair back, with a dose of trichophilia to match?", he mused aloud. "Or maybe a dimunation of her name; Ororo sounds so...regal. I think Rori or maybe...Ro-Ro would be better...."
He glanced up as Doctors McCoy and Rao entered the room, accompanied by a 3rd man he didn't know. Irked, he set down his tablet. "Excuse me," he rumbled, "but this is a secure facility. Where is this man's security pass?"
The 30 something executive type smiled smarmily. "Forgive me Mr. Trask. My name is Waylon Smithers and I'm here on behalf of my employer...Mr. Burns. I work for Hammer Industries...and I have a business proposition for you. I had the pleasure of collaborating with Doctor McCoy during his brief stay at Brand Corporation and he's been kind enough to assist me in getting to see you. I'm afraid your secretary is somewhat...lacking...in her ability to pass messages along, though I'm sure she makes up for it in other ways...."
Trask nodded curtly. "I remember now. What do you corporate leeches want?"
'Smithers' sat down. "Now now Mr. Trask, lets not start things off on the wrong foot. Hammer Industries merely wants to 'assist' you in your vision for Stepford by branching out in directions you might not have thought about."
Trask's voice acquired a dangerous tone. "We do just FINE on our own...."
The HI man's grin gained it's own predatory edge. "No, you don't," he retorted. "Your business model isn't viable. You've been sucking funds off of your Humanity's Last Stand and Humanity Now! warchests to pay for everything...but if you don't find some other revenue stream Stepford will become a ghost town in 5 years, maybe 10 at the most. You can't sustain it...not as things are now."
"And I suppose you have some sort of brilliant idea to 'save' Stepford?"
"In fact, I do." Smithers produced a file folder and flipped it over to Trask. "Our marketing studies show that you're catering to the wrong core market. Taking 50% of the income from upper middle class schlubs for these gated communities is a drop in the bucket...compared to what you COULD be making by repurposing these mutant heroines into...companions...for billionaires. Why, most of them would pay a small fortune for the protection alone, not to mention the side benefits."
Ignoring the shocked look on the Stepford founder's face, he continued to press his point. "And if you're worried about your 'core' client base, I'm sure none of them would know the difference between the real thing and, say, a Life Model Decoy or even a clone..."
Trask looked over to the former Beast. "McCoy, you're a party to all of this?"
Hank shrugged and gave Kavita an affectionate squeeze. "Sadly Simon, I've found that the finer things in life are not, as we've been told, free. My love
deserves the very best...so when 'Smithers' contacted me about Stepford it seemed only logical to collaborate since he already knew everything about us."
"In fact," the Hammer exec interjected smoothly, "we've already started on a co-operative venture. I believe you caught the mutant known as Rogue last night, didn't you?"
"HOW DID YOU...?"
"Who do you think you HIRED your security forces from? We've known about and have been supporting your little Utopia from the start." He shrugged. "It seemed like it had...possibilities. Now, as I was saying about Rogue, she's useless for your avowed purpose here. Her skin to skin touch is lethal so she's hardly suitable as a housewife. However, it just so happens that Mr. Burns is in the, errr, market, for a bodyguard with benefits. We've begun the process of training her as a trophy wife. Consider it a...test sample."
He pointed to the folder on the table. "I believe you'll agree your 'finder's fee' for Rogue to be quite generous. There's also a list of potential targets if you find this arrangement profitable and wish to continue it." The exec smirked as he leaned back in his chair. Trask wouldn't be willing to risk his little utopia...so 'Burns' would get his doll wife and score a huge new revenue source, which would mean a big fat bonus for him later.
* * *
Gambit woke from his cat-nap as the sun rose. The growling of his stomache reminded him he hadn't had anything to eat since the crash yesterday. But could he risk getting something to eat?
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