I'm reposting my old Patreon content here during the month of June. It'll be in dribs and drabs so please exercise patience and, again, please don't send me 200 messages that effectively make me want to delete my account and retire to a nunnery in the Himalayas. Thanks.
I would like to know if you do willing changes as well. Where the star willingly enters Hundehersteller labs, say someone like Jessica Nigri?
This patron also requested CowSlut and breeding elements in his tale, which I enjoyed writing.
As usual, we get a little more lore, and more detail about how the Empire actually works. It turns out that one beautiful Tawny Cauc with a mercenary mind and a desire to hold onto fame (even if it means a life on the leash) can change the course of Empires. Or at least the most important Empire.
ENJOY!
STORY FOLLOWS
The oldest of the EduCunts like to tell stories about the founding of the Empire like they were there. Some of them—the ones so unimaginably ancient they have natural silver in their hair and the finest of wrinkles around their eyes—actually were. They're oracles of the elder days, and if their beauty has faded somewhat, their minds, programmed so long ago to record and teach and correct, have not. They love to talk about how their long, long lives began with The Doctor's Gift: nanites.
We all use them everyday. They're in our food, our meds, even the very air we breathe. Nanites, we are taught from the time we can toddle to a desk inside the Communal Education Unit, can do wondrous things. They have restored magic to humanity, or at least it seems that way to me. The oldest fairy stories—older even than EduCunts like Nanny Funbags—tell us about shapeshifters, and heroes rescuing princesses from dreary lives. They describe strong men, obedient females, and beloved animal companions. They speak of eternal life, eternal beauty, and endless peace, plenty, and prosperity.
If that doesn't describe the Empire, then I was raised in the 'burbs.
The Doctor's Gift, like the Leash Laws and the holy concept of the Natural Order, came to us from Doctor Hundehersteller. My littermate Pepper says Dr. Hundehersteller is older than we can even begin to imagine. But I've seen him, and he's very handsome. Dark eyes (one slightly darker than the other), broad shoulders, a gleaming smile...I'm just a Tawny Cauc, nothing special, but I know a man in his prime when I see one.
And he is definitely in his prime. I was lucky enough to see him, almost close enough to touch, when he came to the Jericho Livestock Exchange last month. My littermates and I had reached our Eligibility Days and were there to be sold. No one expected Dr. H to show up—he's a hard man to pin down, let alone anticipate—but there he was, striding into the show just as it was winding down. He made time to speak to every single Owner and Mistress, sharing a joke or a kind word with each of them before moving on. When he stopped at our pen, none of us could believe it was real until he spoke. His voice was velvet thunder, strong and assured. I wasn't surprised to find my pussy dripping, or my littermates whimpering in arousal. There was just something about him...part of the Natural Order, I suppose.
I watched from the pen while he praised our Owner for the high quality of stock. He actually spoke to us, there in the pen. He said he was sure we'd all make fine conversions and bring a good price. Then he patted me on the head and squeezed my udders—and he nodded and smiled. I couldn't believe it. Doctor Hundehersteller himself blessed me! I nearly wet myself in excitement, but I didn't want to make more work for the HandyHelper working our pen.
When he left, Pepper was so jealous she was turning green. I guess not everyone prefers Ginger Caucs after all. Or maybe Doctor H just has a soft spot for Tawny Caucs.
Still, there must be some kind of magic in Doctor Hundehersteller's touch, because I was sold not to the local SEU as a work animal, but to one of the Houses. Everyone knows the story of the Founding Families, and how they helped the Doctor when others tried to resist his good works. Their loyalty and assistance were rewarded when he gave them power, prestige, and wealth in his new Empire, centuries ago. Every domestic animal is required to learn their names, sigils, and mottos before they can be approved for Eligibility.
We know the Delgado Panther, and the many flowers of the De La Fontaines. We learn about the proud peacock of House Esperanza, the somber raven of the Stonecreeks, and the humble butterfly of House Kennedy. But the sigil I've always loved best is the one that will soon be branded onto my haunch: the grinning bull of House Ironbridge.
Each house has its own claim to fame. The De La Fontaines content themselves with commerce, for the most part, although they have a few small custom breeds that appeal mostly to other Houses. The Delgados are famous for their many contributions to the Department of Domestic Animals, particularly the founding of the Border Patrol and Acquisition Squads. They have produced more than a dozen work breeds designed for conversion to Police Whorses, K9 Units, and TrackHer™ configurations.
The Esperanza clan is heavily invested in R&D. Most of the innovations in Imperial products come from Esperanza labs. The Stonecreeks handle diplomacy and, some people whisper, spycraft. The Kennedys have a lock on boutique breeds and share partial credit for the commercial aspects of the Department of Domestic Animal Management; they also founded the Imperial Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
But as important as they are, none of those Houses have the same lustre as Ironbridge. Like the jolly ruminant that serves as their sigil, the Ironbridge clan is powerful, rambunctious, and unafraid to step on toes. Unlike the other houses, who dedicated their already substantial resources to Doctor Hundehersteller's cause, House Ironbridge was founded by a single, unmarried man who, in the midst of a societal shift full of conflict and bloodshed, did the seemingly impossible: he built a collection of domestic animals who came to the leash not just willingly, but with enthusiasm.
Michael Ironbridge, it's said, used his movie-star looks, irresistible charm, and the power of simple truth to bring dozens of domestic animals under his control without needing to corral, capture, or incapacitate a single one.
And the animal that started it all—a Tawny Cauc, just like me, if you can believe it—was a cunt named Jessica Nigri.
**********
"Well, this sucks."
Tommy Ferdinand was standing at the side of the road, watching his car drive away while he coughed on the dust from the tires. He could've sworn he'd used the right dose on the nanites he'd given the two bitches he'd captured outside Sparta. But they'd woken up, or regained their minds, or whatever the fuck the nanites were supposed to keep from happening, and stolen his car while he was taking a piss in the weeds.
They'd seemed so perfect. Two fucking prime sluts, easily enough to establish his new Imperial Citizenship and take home a fat Conversion Bonus, hurrying through a field, hoping to make one of the transports before the Leashing Day grace period expired. He'd put a dart of DOCILITY™ into each of their fat asses while they ran from his car, then carried them back and tossed 'em in the back seat. He'd checked out the goods, commanded the brunette to bend over and lick his balls while her brassy red-haired friend sucked his cock. It'd worked like magic. They were a little light on personality, but he actually liked the lack of chitchat. Besides, he could always tweak their mods later. Doctor H had made it clear in his triumphant broadcast that the only limit was imagination when it came to restoring the Natural Order.
He'd fucked them both, long and slow. He'd commanded the redhead to moo like a cow, and the brunette to bark like a dog. They obeyed, their blank eyes oddly appealing as he hammered their assholes and then shoved his fat cock into their drooling mouths.
When he'd finished, Tommy didn't even bother to remove the hot, sticky cum from his new pets' faces. He just ordered them back into the car, their torn shorts left behind in the dirt of the cornfield.
Everything had been fine for the next few hours. He'd stopped at a busy fast-food joint to grab something to eat, laughing at the sight of men (and a few women) enjoying their meals while collared fuckmutts panted at their feet. His food was delayed briefly when the assistant manager was collared by a fed-up frycook who discovered her hiding in a supply closet, but otherwise it was business as usual. Leashing Day was another day in American...well, Imperial....history that had major implications, but didn't really change life for the average joe.
The average jane, on the other hand…
"I shoulda dosed 'em with that fucking Mannequick or Mannequinine or whatever the fuck it is," Tommy said, making his way down the road in a desultory shuffle. "Why the hell couldn't I wait to piss until I hit Jackson?" Less than an hour away, Jackson was home to the nearest of the new Department of Domestic Animal offices Hundehersteller Industries was opening across the Empire.
He was halfway to Grandville, a tiny hamlet twenty minutes outside of Jackson, when the RV pulled up beside him. The door swung open, and a dark-haired man with deep blue eyes opened the door. "Hey, buddy! You look like you've been through the wars. Need a lift?" The sound of giggling floated out of the RV behind him.
Tommy blinked. "Uh...sure. Thanks." He climbed into the RV, and stopped dead halfway up the stairs.
The RV was packed—positively PACKED—with women. All sorts of women. Tall, short, slender, statuesque, curvy, chubby. Black, Asian, White, Latina. Brunettes. Redheads. Blondes.
Blondes.
Tommy stared at the girl sitting behind the driver, unable to believe his eyes. "Aren't you...I mean…"
She smiled, her cheeks dimpling with practiced adorability. "Hi, handsome. My name's Jessica. Where ya headed?"
Tommy's mouth felt dry. He worked his jaw for a moment, trying to get some moisture. "Jack...Jackson?" he managed after a moment.
"Hey, that's where we're headed!" Jessica smiled at him, then turned to the other women. All of them cheered, then collapsed into laughter, giggling and chattering. "Time to get famous, right girls?" The women cheered, toasting with beers and bottles of wine.
"Have a seat, buddy," said the man in the driver's seat. "Name's Michael Ironbridge." He stuck out his hand, and Tommy gave it a quick shake before slipping into the passenger's seat.
"Tommy Ferdinand."
"Pleased ta meetcha." Ironbridge closed the door and they sped away, headed down Imperial Highway 70 toward Jackson.
They rode in silence for a while. Tommy's mind was racing. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer.
"Are all these...I mean, did you…" He trailed off, unable to reconcile a bunch of women with a single man, all of them headed to the DoDAM office with apparent eagerness and glee.
Michael grinned. "Yeah, man. I guess you could say they are. See, I used to work in marketing. And, when I had the chance, photography. Jess here did a few pretty famous cosplay sets with me. We got to be pals. And when the Leash Laws rolled out, and Leashing Day was announced…"
"The way I see it," Jessica cut in, "I'd rather call the shots one last time and remain a star instead of ending up in some dingy little suburb. I mean, you should've seen some of the losers who tried to collar me. I ran to Michael here after some grubby farmer tried to shoot me with some kind of spike thing. I only got away because he was too fat to chase me!" She shuddered theatrically, then said, "Michael's got a good amount of money in the bank, and he's got a killer plan for making a ton more. Why settle for some incel's garage when I can be the star of Michael's collection?"
Tommy, who had been a little chubby, and more than a little celibate, himself before his first dose of OptiMaxx™, suppressed an urge to slap the grin off the blonde's smug face. "OK, so you I get. But the rest of you…" He looked at the other women expectantly.
They laughed, or shrugged, or simply looked away. "It's like Jessica says," said one, a busty Mexican girl with chestnut hair and startling green eyes. "Better to be comfortable and happy with a good guy than enslaved to a weirdo." The other girls nodded, apparently satisfied with their friend's logic.
Tommy stared. All those men out there, doing their level best to capture and leash and convert, and all you had to do was let the dumb cunts talk themselves onto the leash.
He turned back to Michael, who was grinning at him knowingly. "You know, this is my third load this week," he said. "Jess here's been a real help. She's the cream of the crop, for sure." He reached back and patted the smiling blonde, who obligingly pushed out her firm breasts for his grasping hand. Her smile said this was just another job. Another costume.
Tommy wondered what would happen when she finally realized this one didn't come off.
"You know," Michael said, returning his hand to the wheel, "I could use an assistant. See, there's a new program Doctor H is putting together, and I need a right-hand man to help me sell it. Seems to me that Doc's got all this tech, but the one thing he needs most is some positive advertising."
"You mean propaganda," Tommy said with a smile.
"Now, nothing as despicable as that. The way I see it, we tell people the truth. Share the good news. And if it helps the Empire grow, well, I reckon that'd be worth a pretty penny to a man like Doc." He smiled sheepishly, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Every star needs a hypeman, right?" He stuck out his hand. "Whaddaya say?"
Tommy looked at the giggling women in the back of the RV. He looked at Jessica Nigri, star of a thousand of his nighttime fantasies, who sipped her champagne and smiled at him thinly. He looked at the smiling, apparently crazy man driving the RV.
"I say, let's spread some good news," Tommy said, clasping Ironbridge's hand.
"MY MAN!" Michael cried. He honked the horn of the RV, startling a bunch of cows grazing in a nearby field. He tossed a beer to Tommy and hit the gas, laughing like a lunatic.
Tommy opened his beer and settled in for what he suspected would be a wild ride indeed. He glanced at Jessica in the rearview mirror, but she was gazing out the window.
At the cows.
**********
Hi there, girls, said the advert, playing on both the old-fashioned TVs and the brand-new HoloNet broadcasts that had just started beaming out to that year's must-have accessory, the NeuroConn. The Tawny Cauc on the screen was a bubbly, well-optimized bimbo with large, cow-like brown eyes. Its white-and-black bikini was reminiscent of a holstein's hide, and its thick blonde hair was done up in two substantial milkmaid braids.
Its face was familiar to most of the viewers, although it caused a stir mainly among the slightly older Customer-Citizens who recognized it as a former cosplay star and Internet tease. My name is Jessica Nigri. Or at least it was. See, here in the Empire, cunts like you and me don't really deserve human names. Domestic Animals need names that reinforce our proper place in society. After all, we're here to bring pleasure and, if we do our jobs properly, receive it. Animals need loving stewards, like the Owners and Registered Mistresses doing their part to build a better society. The least we can do for them is to pledge our obedience and service willingly, in order to help the dream of the Empire come true as quickly, safely, and happily as possible.
The Tawny Cauc held up a bottle full of a milky fluid dotted with blackish bubbles that swirled with glittering allure. I'm doing my part by doing what I do best: promoting products and ideas in exchange for attention and treats. The simpering slut turned the bottle toward the camera, revealing a smiling cow on the label above the words BOVIMAXX™ NANITES in pink bubble letters. I know a lot of you are scared or confused or even angry, but I'm here to tell you that there's nothing better than the bliss that comes with optimization. That's why I've done a whole series of these ads for the Empire, and made sure they went out on every possible channel. Even if you're in hiding, or living in the terrible, poisonous environment of the Barbarian States, you deserve to know the truth: The Natural Order is the future of humanity. And your only chance of happiness lies in embracing its comfort and safety.
A man walked onto the set, wearing medical scrubs. He'd come a long way since that dusty day on the side of an Ohio road. The bimbo handed him the bottle and then addressed the camera once more while he inserted a syringe and drew the shimmering fluid into the chamber. And now that I've done my part on two legs, I'm ready to embrace my proper place on four. Join me, won't you?
Without preamble, the man jabbed the needle into the bimbo's neck. The Tawny Cauc cunt winced, but managed to hold its grin. Changes rippled through the grinning bimbo's body as it said, Together, we can build a better tom...tomor...tomoo...tooooo...MOOOOOOOOO!!!!"
The last 30 seconds of the advert switched to multi-cam, documenting Jessica's shift from busty cosplayer to drooling CowSlut. Its already heavy tits inflated to massive spheres, the nipples engorging, then splitting into three distinct nipples on each beach-ball-sized globe. Its ass grew rounder as well, and its bikini dissolved in thin streams of LivingLatex™ that soaked into its creamy skin. A pair of porcelain-colored horns, delicate and round, erupted above its temples, and its body lost its gym toning, becoming soft and slightly pudgy.
Few watching could perceive the relentless subliminals hammering their minds as they watched Jessica become a fat-titted, mindless cowslut.
Service is Obedience. Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Everything. Service is Obedience...
Twenty seconds in, the Living Latex reappeared, still bearing its Holstein pattern. It swarmed over the Tawny Cauc's arms and legs, encasing its hands in heavy latex hooves. Under the flowing latex, the mooing cunt's legs seemed to shift and warp, folding and shrinking until its back legs were the same length as its forelegs, and heavy rubber hooves capped what used to be its knees. As a finishing touch, a Living Latex tail flowed into the horny cunt's asshole above its dripping pussy. It was topped with a tuft of hair the same color as the heavy braids hanging to either side of its slightly pointed ears.
The final five seconds of the ad switched back to a single cam. Viewers, awash in subliminals, could only stare as the light faded in the new CowSlut's eyes and its nose darkened. Tommy Ferdinand knelt and slipped a collar around its neck; the clanging bell attached to the front was engraved with a single word: JUGGSY. As the image faded, the dim-witted bovine slut was already nosing at his crotch.
House Ironbridge, founders of the Imperial Ministry of Public Education and Information Management, was on its way.
**********
I'll never forget the first time I saw the educadvert starring Juggsy. Even before I started taking Fundamentals of Obedience or Submission Techniques, I knew I wanted to be a CowSlut like Juggsy. But I never expected to be part of the same House as the world's most famous heifer, let alone the same breed! I couldn't believe it when they said I had the perfect build for a Golden CockMilker.
It's a little chilly here in the barn. The men who work here gave me a nice long bath, and let me serve them with my mouth and ass before they put me in my stall. One of them was almost as handsome as Doctor Hundehersteller. He said I was "cute as a button." I hope he milks me often. I wonder if I'll remember him, y'know...after.
Won't be long now. I can hear the Conversion Specialist making his way through the barn. If only Pepper could see me now! I hear she's a housecat for some wealthy mod merchant over in Sparta. I guess I'm not the only one whose dreams came true. The only thing Pepper loves more than cream is lying around.
There. The door! It's all happening.
"This one's something special. Make sure you install the breeding package. It's about time we tightened up this bloodline a little."
Me? A breeder? Just like Juggsy?
It doesn't seem real. But it is! And his hands are so cold!
He's got so many needles! I hope he doesn't...ow!
I feel...I can't...milk. Hay. Titties...hot. Big. Hard...think. Can't…need...cock.
Feel so…
....
MOOOOOOOOOOO!
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PATREON REPOST: JESSICA'S CHOICE
I'm reposting my old Patreon content here during the month of June. It'll be in dribs and drabs so please exercise patience and, again, please don't send me 200 messages that effectively make me want to delete my account and retire to a nunnery in the Himalayas. Thanks.
I would like to know if you do willing changes as well. Where the star willingly enters Hundehersteller labs, say someone like Jessica Nigri?
This patron also requested CowSlut and breeding elements in his tale, which I enjoyed writing.
As usual, we get a little more lore, and more detail about how the Empire actually works. It turns out that one beautiful Tawny Cauc with a mercenary mind and a desire to hold onto fame (even if it means a life on the leash) can change the course of Empires. Or at least the most important Empire.
ENJOY!
STORY FOLLOWS
The oldest of the EduCunts like to tell stories about the founding of the Empire like they were there. Some of them—the ones so unimaginably ancient they have natural silver in their hair and the finest of wrinkles around their eyes—actually were. They're oracles of the elder days, and if their beauty has faded somewhat, their minds, programmed so long ago to record and teach and correct, have not. They love to talk about how their long, long lives began with The Doctor's Gift: nanites.
We all use them everyday. They're in our food, our meds, even the very air we breathe. Nanites, we are taught from the time we can toddle to a desk inside the Communal Education Unit, can do wondrous things. They have restored magic to humanity, or at least it seems that way to me. The oldest fairy stories—older even than EduCunts like Nanny Funbags—tell us about shapeshifters, and heroes rescuing princesses from dreary lives. They describe strong men, obedient females, and beloved animal companions. They speak of eternal life, eternal beauty, and endless peace, plenty, and prosperity.
If that doesn't describe the Empire, then I was raised in the 'burbs.
The Doctor's Gift, like the Leash Laws and the holy concept of the Natural Order, came to us from Doctor Hundehersteller. My littermate Pepper says Dr. Hundehersteller is older than we can even begin to imagine. But I've seen him, and he's very handsome. Dark eyes (one slightly darker than the other), broad shoulders, a gleaming smile...I'm just a Tawny Cauc, nothing special, but I know a man in his prime when I see one.
And he is definitely in his prime. I was lucky enough to see him, almost close enough to touch, when he came to the Jericho Livestock Exchange last month. My littermates and I had reached our Eligibility Days and were there to be sold. No one expected Dr. H to show up—he's a hard man to pin down, let alone anticipate—but there he was, striding into the show just as it was winding down. He made time to speak to every single Owner and Mistress, sharing a joke or a kind word with each of them before moving on. When he stopped at our pen, none of us could believe it was real until he spoke. His voice was velvet thunder, strong and assured. I wasn't surprised to find my pussy dripping, or my littermates whimpering in arousal. There was just something about him...part of the Natural Order, I suppose.
I watched from the pen while he praised our Owner for the high quality of stock. He actually spoke to us, there in the pen. He said he was sure we'd all make fine conversions and bring a good price. Then he patted me on the head and squeezed my udders—and he nodded and smiled. I couldn't believe it. Doctor Hundehersteller himself blessed me! I nearly wet myself in excitement, but I didn't want to make more work for the HandyHelper working our pen.
When he left, Pepper was so jealous she was turning green. I guess not everyone prefers Ginger Caucs after all. Or maybe Doctor H just has a soft spot for Tawny Caucs.
Still, there must be some kind of magic in Doctor Hundehersteller's touch, because I was sold not to the local SEU as a work animal, but to one of the Houses. Everyone knows the story of the Founding Families, and how they helped the Doctor when others tried to resist his good works. Their loyalty and assistance were rewarded when he gave them power, prestige, and wealth in his new Empire, centuries ago. Every domestic animal is required to learn their names, sigils, and mottos before they can be approved for Eligibility.
We know the Delgado Panther, and the many flowers of the De La Fontaines. We learn about the proud peacock of House Esperanza, the somber raven of the Stonecreeks, and the humble butterfly of House Kennedy. But the sigil I've always loved best is the one that will soon be branded onto my haunch: the grinning bull of House Ironbridge.
Each house has its own claim to fame. The De La Fontaines content themselves with commerce, for the most part, although they have a few small custom breeds that appeal mostly to other Houses. The Delgados are famous for their many contributions to the Department of Domestic Animals, particularly the founding of the Border Patrol and Acquisition Squads. They have produced more than a dozen work breeds designed for conversion to Police Whorses, K9 Units, and TrackHer™ configurations.
The Esperanza clan is heavily invested in R&D. Most of the innovations in Imperial products come from Esperanza labs. The Stonecreeks handle diplomacy and, some people whisper, spycraft. The Kennedys have a lock on boutique breeds and share partial credit for the commercial aspects of the Department of Domestic Animal Management; they also founded the Imperial Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.
But as important as they are, none of those Houses have the same lustre as Ironbridge. Like the jolly ruminant that serves as their sigil, the Ironbridge clan is powerful, rambunctious, and unafraid to step on toes. Unlike the other houses, who dedicated their already substantial resources to Doctor Hundehersteller's cause, House Ironbridge was founded by a single, unmarried man who, in the midst of a societal shift full of conflict and bloodshed, did the seemingly impossible: he built a collection of domestic animals who came to the leash not just willingly, but with enthusiasm.
Michael Ironbridge, it's said, used his movie-star looks, irresistible charm, and the power of simple truth to bring dozens of domestic animals under his control without needing to corral, capture, or incapacitate a single one.
And the animal that started it all—a Tawny Cauc, just like me, if you can believe it—was a cunt named Jessica Nigri.
**********
"Well, this sucks."
Tommy Ferdinand was standing at the side of the road, watching his car drive away while he coughed on the dust from the tires. He could've sworn he'd used the right dose on the nanites he'd given the two bitches he'd captured outside Sparta. But they'd woken up, or regained their minds, or whatever the fuck the nanites were supposed to keep from happening, and stolen his car while he was taking a piss in the weeds.
They'd seemed so perfect. Two fucking prime sluts, easily enough to establish his new Imperial Citizenship and take home a fat Conversion Bonus, hurrying through a field, hoping to make one of the transports before the Leashing Day grace period expired. He'd put a dart of DOCILITY™ into each of their fat asses while they ran from his car, then carried them back and tossed 'em in the back seat. He'd checked out the goods, commanded the brunette to bend over and lick his balls while her brassy red-haired friend sucked his cock. It'd worked like magic. They were a little light on personality, but he actually liked the lack of chitchat. Besides, he could always tweak their mods later. Doctor H had made it clear in his triumphant broadcast that the only limit was imagination when it came to restoring the Natural Order.
He'd fucked them both, long and slow. He'd commanded the redhead to moo like a cow, and the brunette to bark like a dog. They obeyed, their blank eyes oddly appealing as he hammered their assholes and then shoved his fat cock into their drooling mouths.
When he'd finished, Tommy didn't even bother to remove the hot, sticky cum from his new pets' faces. He just ordered them back into the car, their torn shorts left behind in the dirt of the cornfield.
Everything had been fine for the next few hours. He'd stopped at a busy fast-food joint to grab something to eat, laughing at the sight of men (and a few women) enjoying their meals while collared fuckmutts panted at their feet. His food was delayed briefly when the assistant manager was collared by a fed-up frycook who discovered her hiding in a supply closet, but otherwise it was business as usual. Leashing Day was another day in American...well, Imperial....history that had major implications, but didn't really change life for the average joe.
The average jane, on the other hand…
"I shoulda dosed 'em with that fucking Mannequick or Mannequinine or whatever the fuck it is," Tommy said, making his way down the road in a desultory shuffle. "Why the hell couldn't I wait to piss until I hit Jackson?" Less than an hour away, Jackson was home to the nearest of the new Department of Domestic Animal offices Hundehersteller Industries was opening across the Empire.
He was halfway to Grandville, a tiny hamlet twenty minutes outside of Jackson, when the RV pulled up beside him. The door swung open, and a dark-haired man with deep blue eyes opened the door. "Hey, buddy! You look like you've been through the wars. Need a lift?" The sound of giggling floated out of the RV behind him.
Tommy blinked. "Uh...sure. Thanks." He climbed into the RV, and stopped dead halfway up the stairs.
The RV was packed—positively PACKED—with women. All sorts of women. Tall, short, slender, statuesque, curvy, chubby. Black, Asian, White, Latina. Brunettes. Redheads. Blondes.
Blondes.
Tommy stared at the girl sitting behind the driver, unable to believe his eyes. "Aren't you...I mean…"
She smiled, her cheeks dimpling with practiced adorability. "Hi, handsome. My name's Jessica. Where ya headed?"
Tommy's mouth felt dry. He worked his jaw for a moment, trying to get some moisture. "Jack...Jackson?" he managed after a moment.
"Hey, that's where we're headed!" Jessica smiled at him, then turned to the other women. All of them cheered, then collapsed into laughter, giggling and chattering. "Time to get famous, right girls?" The women cheered, toasting with beers and bottles of wine.
"Have a seat, buddy," said the man in the driver's seat. "Name's Michael Ironbridge." He stuck out his hand, and Tommy gave it a quick shake before slipping into the passenger's seat.
"Tommy Ferdinand."
"Pleased ta meetcha." Ironbridge closed the door and they sped away, headed down Imperial Highway 70 toward Jackson.
They rode in silence for a while. Tommy's mind was racing. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer.
"Are all these...I mean, did you…" He trailed off, unable to reconcile a bunch of women with a single man, all of them headed to the DoDAM office with apparent eagerness and glee.
Michael grinned. "Yeah, man. I guess you could say they are. See, I used to work in marketing. And, when I had the chance, photography. Jess here did a few pretty famous cosplay sets with me. We got to be pals. And when the Leash Laws rolled out, and Leashing Day was announced…"
"The way I see it," Jessica cut in, "I'd rather call the shots one last time and remain a star instead of ending up in some dingy little suburb. I mean, you should've seen some of the losers who tried to collar me. I ran to Michael here after some grubby farmer tried to shoot me with some kind of spike thing. I only got away because he was too fat to chase me!" She shuddered theatrically, then said, "Michael's got a good amount of money in the bank, and he's got a killer plan for making a ton more. Why settle for some incel's garage when I can be the star of Michael's collection?"
Tommy, who had been a little chubby, and more than a little celibate, himself before his first dose of OptiMaxx™, suppressed an urge to slap the grin off the blonde's smug face. "OK, so you I get. But the rest of you…" He looked at the other women expectantly.
They laughed, or shrugged, or simply looked away. "It's like Jessica says," said one, a busty Mexican girl with chestnut hair and startling green eyes. "Better to be comfortable and happy with a good guy than enslaved to a weirdo." The other girls nodded, apparently satisfied with their friend's logic.
Tommy stared. All those men out there, doing their level best to capture and leash and convert, and all you had to do was let the dumb cunts talk themselves onto the leash.
He turned back to Michael, who was grinning at him knowingly. "You know, this is my third load this week," he said. "Jess here's been a real help. She's the cream of the crop, for sure." He reached back and patted the smiling blonde, who obligingly pushed out her firm breasts for his grasping hand. Her smile said this was just another job. Another costume.
Tommy wondered what would happen when she finally realized this one didn't come off.
"You know," Michael said, returning his hand to the wheel, "I could use an assistant. See, there's a new program Doctor H is putting together, and I need a right-hand man to help me sell it. Seems to me that Doc's got all this tech, but the one thing he needs most is some positive advertising."
"You mean propaganda," Tommy said with a smile.
"Now, nothing as despicable as that. The way I see it, we tell people the truth. Share the good news. And if it helps the Empire grow, well, I reckon that'd be worth a pretty penny to a man like Doc." He smiled sheepishly, but his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Every star needs a hypeman, right?" He stuck out his hand. "Whaddaya say?"
Tommy looked at the giggling women in the back of the RV. He looked at Jessica Nigri, star of a thousand of his nighttime fantasies, who sipped her champagne and smiled at him thinly. He looked at the smiling, apparently crazy man driving the RV.
"I say, let's spread some good news," Tommy said, clasping Ironbridge's hand.
"MY MAN!" Michael cried. He honked the horn of the RV, startling a bunch of cows grazing in a nearby field. He tossed a beer to Tommy and hit the gas, laughing like a lunatic.
Tommy opened his beer and settled in for what he suspected would be a wild ride indeed. He glanced at Jessica in the rearview mirror, but she was gazing out the window.
At the cows.
**********
Hi there, girls, said the advert, playing on both the old-fashioned TVs and the brand-new HoloNet broadcasts that had just started beaming out to that year's must-have accessory, the NeuroConn. The Tawny Cauc on the screen was a bubbly, well-optimized bimbo with large, cow-like brown eyes. Its white-and-black bikini was reminiscent of a holstein's hide, and its thick blonde hair was done up in two substantial milkmaid braids.
Its face was familiar to most of the viewers, although it caused a stir mainly among the slightly older Customer-Citizens who recognized it as a former cosplay star and Internet tease. My name is Jessica Nigri. Or at least it was. See, here in the Empire, cunts like you and me don't really deserve human names. Domestic Animals need names that reinforce our proper place in society. After all, we're here to bring pleasure and, if we do our jobs properly, receive it. Animals need loving stewards, like the Owners and Registered Mistresses doing their part to build a better society. The least we can do for them is to pledge our obedience and service willingly, in order to help the dream of the Empire come true as quickly, safely, and happily as possible.
The Tawny Cauc held up a bottle full of a milky fluid dotted with blackish bubbles that swirled with glittering allure. I'm doing my part by doing what I do best: promoting products and ideas in exchange for attention and treats. The simpering slut turned the bottle toward the camera, revealing a smiling cow on the label above the words BOVIMAXX™ NANITES in pink bubble letters. I know a lot of you are scared or confused or even angry, but I'm here to tell you that there's nothing better than the bliss that comes with optimization. That's why I've done a whole series of these ads for the Empire, and made sure they went out on every possible channel. Even if you're in hiding, or living in the terrible, poisonous environment of the Barbarian States, you deserve to know the truth: The Natural Order is the future of humanity. And your only chance of happiness lies in embracing its comfort and safety.
A man walked onto the set, wearing medical scrubs. He'd come a long way since that dusty day on the side of an Ohio road. The bimbo handed him the bottle and then addressed the camera once more while he inserted a syringe and drew the shimmering fluid into the chamber. And now that I've done my part on two legs, I'm ready to embrace my proper place on four. Join me, won't you?
Without preamble, the man jabbed the needle into the bimbo's neck. The Tawny Cauc cunt winced, but managed to hold its grin. Changes rippled through the grinning bimbo's body as it said, Together, we can build a better tom...tomor...tomoo...tooooo...MOOOOOOOOO!!!!"
The last 30 seconds of the advert switched to multi-cam, documenting Jessica's shift from busty cosplayer to drooling CowSlut. Its already heavy tits inflated to massive spheres, the nipples engorging, then splitting into three distinct nipples on each beach-ball-sized globe. Its ass grew rounder as well, and its bikini dissolved in thin streams of LivingLatex™ that soaked into its creamy skin. A pair of porcelain-colored horns, delicate and round, erupted above its temples, and its body lost its gym toning, becoming soft and slightly pudgy.
Few watching could perceive the relentless subliminals hammering their minds as they watched Jessica become a fat-titted, mindless cowslut.
Service is Obedience. Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Everything. Service is Obedience...
Twenty seconds in, the Living Latex reappeared, still bearing its Holstein pattern. It swarmed over the Tawny Cauc's arms and legs, encasing its hands in heavy latex hooves. Under the flowing latex, the mooing cunt's legs seemed to shift and warp, folding and shrinking until its back legs were the same length as its forelegs, and heavy rubber hooves capped what used to be its knees. As a finishing touch, a Living Latex tail flowed into the horny cunt's asshole above its dripping pussy. It was topped with a tuft of hair the same color as the heavy braids hanging to either side of its slightly pointed ears.
The final five seconds of the ad switched back to a single cam. Viewers, awash in subliminals, could only stare as the light faded in the new CowSlut's eyes and its nose darkened. Tommy Ferdinand knelt and slipped a collar around its neck; the clanging bell attached to the front was engraved with a single word: JUGGSY. As the image faded, the dim-witted bovine slut was already nosing at his crotch.
House Ironbridge, founders of the Imperial Ministry of Public Education and Information Management, was on its way.
**********
I'll never forget the first time I saw the educadvert starring Juggsy. Even before I started taking Fundamentals of Obedience or Submission Techniques, I knew I wanted to be a CowSlut like Juggsy. But I never expected to be part of the same House as the world's most famous heifer, let alone the same breed! I couldn't believe it when they said I had the perfect build for a Golden CockMilker.
It's a little chilly here in the barn. The men who work here gave me a nice long bath, and let me serve them with my mouth and ass before they put me in my stall. One of them was almost as handsome as Doctor Hundehersteller. He said I was "cute as a button." I hope he milks me often. I wonder if I'll remember him, y'know...after.
Won't be long now. I can hear the Conversion Specialist making his way through the barn. If only Pepper could see me now! I hear she's a housecat for some wealthy mod merchant over in Sparta. I guess I'm not the only one whose dreams came true. The only thing Pepper loves more than cream is lying around.
There. The door! It's all happening.
"This one's something special. Make sure you install the breeding package. It's about time we tightened up this bloodline a little."
Me? A breeder? Just like Juggsy?
It doesn't seem real. But it is! And his hands are so cold!
He's got so many needles! I hope he doesn't...ow!
I feel...I can't...milk. Hay. Titties...hot. Big. Hard...think. Can't…need...cock.
Feel so…
....
MOOOOOOOOOOO!