Hundehersteller Industries

This is the NEW visual and story-based blog for Maria Gutierrez, creator of the Hundehersteller Universe and author of the "On the Leash" series.


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’d like to request a stuck up woman in her early 20s to be forcibly transformed into a Trailer Trash Milf in her mid 40s using a machine whilst she’s strapped into a chair. Can she be aware of the physical changes until the last moments of her transformation when the mental changes will corrupt and change her mind. 

This was a lot of fun to write, and it's quite long (but I write the story that fits the narrative, not to word count). Big thanks to the patron for the inspiration, and I hope you all enjoy it!


Summer was on its way out, but the digital thermometer projected above the Dominion Mall was still flashing "92°F/33°C" as the sun sank behind the mountains. Charlie hadn't wanted to leave the resort—a chilled pool and comped drinks were more his speed during the dog days of summer—but Lucy had insisted they get dressed and head out to the outlets.

What Lucy wanted, Lucy got. So here they were, walking from the complimentary shuttle along the paved path to the Mall. Across the street, a dogwalker hurried through the park, dragged by a pack of fuckmutts of assorted breeds, barking and drooling and jiggling enticingly. In the distance behind them, he could see the local Imperial Historical Society building. In front of the towering Federal-revival edifice, rows of Whorse-drawn carriages glinted in the sun, ready to carry tourists along the charming byways of the Historical Landmarks of Old Mount Vernon tour. 

Maybe he and Lucy could take the tour later, maybe get a little culture along with their Imperial knick-knacks. Hmm...

A ruckus from the trees across the street drew Charlie's eye back to the park. The fuckmutts had treed someone's KittenSlut—a Cheshire Cocklapper, he thought, although it was hard to tell with the sun in his eyes. The Fuckmutts were circling the tree, barking up at the hissing KittenSlut, baying and tangling their leashes while the dogwalker cursed them and tried to regain control. 

Looking closer at the dogsluts, Charlie thought the Cinnamon Cauc leading the pack might've been a minor HoloNet star back home once. It had a much curvier frame, of course, and those floppy ear mods certainly weren't original, but something about its face and voice spoke to him. It happened, sometimes, he knew. An open secret, really. Where it couldn't get official sanction, the Empire made...arrangements to integrate its message and culture with other nations. Do what must be done with the help of the Empire, said the whispers.

So yes, the Ginger Cauc might've been a star back home, before it found itself on a leash in the Empire. Contract negotiations were a little more cutthroat since the Empire rose to power, and today's starlet could so easily find herself "accidentally" stranded, arrested, and quickly converted if she got too greedy or demanding.

Greedy. Demanding. Two words with which Charlie was well acquainted.

"Babe, I'm not sure this is such a good idea," he said, turning his attention back to his girlfriend. "We're not exactly in the borderlands here. This is Kentuckessee Territory. Heart of the Empire, and all that."

Twenty-two and full of the unearned confidence only possessed by attractive young women raised in the fifth-wave feminism of the Free States, Lucy sniffed dismissively and tossed her head. Her long raven hair, slightly frizzy in the August humidity, cascaded down her back in shimmering waves. "I already told you, Charlie—I want to see the real Empire. Not just the stuff they trot out for tourists at the Armstice resorts. Besides, the outlets down here are totally awesome. Tons of stuff we can't get back home." 

Charlie sighed. He certainly hadn't had any real objections to a visit to the Empire; he came down for business on the regular, and Lucy was both open to other cultures and blessedly free from sexual hangups. Of course, the gods knew she had enough other...challenges lurking inside her personal baggage. Number one was her headstrong and demanding nature, which went over like a dead baboon at a BBQ down here in "Doc's Country."

"Just be careful, okay? Stick with me. And don't try anything unless I'm there to give it a look. I've been here before, and I know how tricky it can be to…"

His slender girlfriend stomped her feet, pale blue eyes glittering like ice. "UGH. Enough of the lectures, okay? You're not my Dad, you're my BOYFRIEND, Charlie. And if you want to stay that way, you won't ruin this trip for me! GAWD! You're so LAME sometimes!" She hurried ahead of him, heels clicking on the asphalt. She stomped through the Nani-Sanz™ purifier at the door and stood in the foyer, glowering at the holo-map of the Mall. 

Charlie hurried after her. It wouldn't do for a passing Imperial Policeman to find Lucy unattended. She had her Exemption Ring around the bicep of her left arm, but 30 seconds of conversation with law enforcement would probably end with her leashed and a hefty fine. 

Or worse.

Charlie's concern for her safety was genuine, but underneath it he felt a familiar sense of growing frustration. Lucy thought the rules didn't apply to her. One day, it was gonna get her into trouble.

He dashed through the Nani-Sanz and into the blessed coolness of the Mall, expecting to find Lucy waiting at the map. 

Charlie saw a Handy Helper operating a sunglass kiosk. He saw a pair of LifeWife™ Bimbos, each wearing the sigil of its Owner's house on its abbreviated skirt, shopping with kids in tow. All around him, the Customer-Citizens of Doctor Hundehersteller's ever-expanding Empire were browsing and selling and buying.

But of Lucy, there was no sign.


The doors of the clinic whispered shut, sealing out the noise and light of the Mall. Lucy smiled and hurried toward the service counter, paying little attention to the pop-up holo adverts pushing assorted temporary nanite products on her. Charlie thought he was so smart. She wasn't one of those poor women trapped in the Empire. She'd had a proper education. Grown up with real freedom. By the time he found her, she'd have what she came for and he'd realize she wasn't a helpless child.

To her surprise, the counter help wasn't a pneumatic, simpering BimboSlut, but an older woman. Well, older than Lucy, anyway. It was clear the woman was Exempt, like she was, and a heavy user of OptiMaxx™. With the nanites in her system, she could be 30, 70, or even 130, and Lucy wouldn't know the difference without some very personal inspection.

There was more to it, of course. Instead of the styles popular back home, this woman was dressed entirely in Living Latex, head to toe. Her dress clung to her ripe body as closely as her skin, the ShimmerMist color profile shifting the fabric from green to purple to indigo and back again. The dress was nanoprinted with a holographic sigil depicting a rearing cat of some kind, and a slender sheath hanging at the woman's waist held a crop capped by a snarling panther head of pave-studded silver.

A Registered Mistress, then. Lucy had read her advisories in the tourist packet. She knew to be on her guard.

The woman looked Lucy over and smiled. She had large, very green eyes, and Lucy was suddenly reminded of a cat spotting a wounded canary. She refused to be daunted, however. "Bright days and exciting nights," she said, to show the woman she wasn't just another dumb tourist. "I'm here to try your services."

The woman nodded to acknowledge her greeting but said nothing. Instead, she ran a hand through her coffee-colored hair, gathering it into a bun and securing it with a tie from around her wrist, taking a deep breath that arched her back as she futzed with her hair. 

Lucy did her best not to stare, but her eyes were drawn to the older woman's chest by the virtual name tag flickered into existence once Lucy's NeuroConn was in range. It was more elaborate than the others she'd read in the her quick jog through the mall toward the clinic. The woman's name—"Carolina," accompanied by the symbol Lucy recognized as indicating a Registered Mistress—was picked out on the pseudo-plastic in tiny, sparkling, virtual diamonds. 

Not that the name tag held her attention for long. Carolina's breasts, while not nearly as massive as most of the BimboSluts Lucy had seen in the past few days, were still large and perky. And, if the Living Latex wasn't lying, they were also pierced with delicate rings shaped like a capital "D." 

She tore her eyes away to find the other woman smirking at her across the counter. Lucy blushed, then cleared her throat and tried again. "Excuse me, but I need some service." 

Nothing. Lucy frowned. Clearly this snooty woman thought she didn't need to acknowledge a mere tourist. Lucy Hannigan was not going to let some kinky freako ruin her vacation, however.

"Hey! Fat-tits! I said I need some service. Are you deaf, or just stupid?"

Faster than Lucy would've believed, Carolina darted forward and grabbed her by the arm. Lucy let out a little shriek as fingers strong as steel bands held her in place. Carolina tugged at Lucy's Exemption band. "Typical manners, for a stray. And service? And what services should I be expected to provide a jumped-up stray from the Barbarian States?" 

"HEY!" yelled Lucy. "Leggo! You can't just...manhandle me! I'm a guest!"

Carolina jerked her closer by the Exemption band and pointed to the glittering nanite-infused disc at its center. "A guest. Please." She spat on the floor, sneering. "Let me guess. Another spoiled little cunt wants to try the good life without having to adhere to the Natural Order. That about right?" 

Her face was inches from Lucy's; this close, the younger woman could see Carolina's eyes were actually glowing dimly with nanite infusion. She clawed at the strong arm holding her band, trying to regain her balance. Carolina sneered and released Lucy, who stumbled back, nearly toppling a display of temporary nanites. 

"You….you can't do that, you know. Treat me like that," she managed as she straightened. "I have rights. My boyfriend and I paid good money to come down here. My friend Amy said she got an amazing deal from this place on some temporary upgrades. Bobby proposed to her when they got back from that trip. PROPOSED." She was shaking with anger now, unable to believe anyone would treat her with such callous disdain. 

"I was going to spend a TON of credits here," Lucy continued, ignoring the other woman's startled expression. "I was gonna surprise Charlie, show him I know the ins and outs of this place as well as he does. And yeah, maybe sex it up a little, too. But you called me that horrible word! Physically attacked me! I guess I'll spend my credits elsewhere!" She turned to leave.

"Hold on there, uh, miss," the woman behind the counter said, hurrying after her. "Maybe we got off on the wrong foot." 

Lucy whirled to face Carolina, blue eyes burning with an anger Charlie would've recognized at one. "The wrong foot?!? How DARE you! I wanted to do something special for my boyfriend, convince him to marry me. Do you know how much fucking money he has? Amy would have to marry five of stupid old Darren to get even halfway to my new bank balance." 

Carolina shrugged. "I don't know, actually. Because you just came stomping in here five minutes ago."

Lucy scowled. "Whatever. Now Charlie's out there, probably trying to track me down this very minute, and you're wasting my fucking time, you….you cunt!" Uncertainty tinged her voice as she spat the woman's own insult back at her. 

Carolina pursed her lips. For a moment, Lucy thought the other woman might laugh—in that case, she wasn't just leaving, she was going to the fucking Imperial Police—but instead Carolina said, "Track you…." Then she smiled brightly and said, "Of course. I do apologize. For everything. Flights of Fancy is, like all Imperial business concerns, focused first and foremost on customer service." She stuck out her hand and said, "Let's start over, shall we? Welcome to Flights of Fancy. I'm Carolina Delgado. What can I do for you today?"  

Lucy looked down at Carolina's smooth, manicured hand, the anger slowly dissipating from her flushed face. After an extended pause, she took the other woman's hand and shook it. 

"Hey. My name's Lucy Harrington. I heard some good things about this place from a friend. Y'know, the one I mentioned?"


"Yeah. She said you guys hooked her up with some temporary transformation nanites. Darren barely recognized her." She blushed again and said quietly, "She said he got so turned on when he saw she was bimbo-ed out that he would've given her half his money even without marrying her." She smiled, no doubt imagining Charlie doing the same.

"I've seen Charlie's HoloNet history. He's just like any other man. All he wants is a submissive idiot with a killer body and no opinions. At least, that's what he thinks he wants. But I'm gonna get the body, then show him that what he really wants is me." 

Carolina nodded. "I see. So this, uh, Amy purchased a Temporary Transformation Booster from us, I'm guessing?"

"That sounds right. But I want the best. Whatever you did for her, do it double for me. I want the authentic Imperial experience." 

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have a record available on demand of every customer at my fingertips," Carolina laughed. "I'll need to…"

"Look, are you gonna do what I said, or not? I don't need lip, I need satisfaction." Lucy's hands were on her hips, now. Having come out on the wrong end of their first interaction, she was determined not to let the Registered Mistress—who was apparently little more than a shop girl, if she was working in a joint like this—throw her weight around. After all, it wasn't like Lucy was one of the woman's helpless pets.

"Excuse me, but—" Carolina began.

"But nothing. You already fucked up once. Don't make me get the Imperial Police in here," Lucy glowered. "I know my rights." She didn't, actually. Not completely. But she knew how to handle shop staff. You had to be firm, no matter who they were, or they'd run all over you. "You wouldn't want them to hear about how you attacked an innocent tourist, would you?"

Carolina's eyes narrowed. Lucy thought she was going to be murdered in broad daylight. Then Carolina relaxed, smoothing her expression. 

"Of course not. As you say, it would be a shame if the Imperial Police had to get involved. You want our best, you say? Follow me." She turned on her heel and walked toward a pair of double doors at the back of the clinic. 

Lucy's smile was triumphant as she followed Carolina toward the doors. She was finally going to have a real Imperial experience, even if it was only for a short time. By the time she was done with Charlie, he'd probably propose to her in the town square, regardless of Imperial regulations on marriage. 

Carolina was already through the doors. Lucy hurried to catch her, noticing too late the telltale shimmer of a SecuriScan barrier on the doors. "UNAUTHORIZED STRAY DETECTED," roared an angry male voice. Lightning filled the world, and Lucy blacked out.


"Ohh....my head," Lucy said. She must've been out for awhile. Her voice sounded strange to her ears. She coughed, trying to clear the frog in her throat. 

Then she opened her eyes and stood up. Or tried to. 

"What the fuck?" she gasped. She was in some kind of chair, strapped to the cold metal at her wrists, ankles, thighs, waist, and neck. And her body...her body!

She was...taller, somehow. Her legs longer. Her arms bonier. And her tits! Two massive orbs, as fake and plastic-looking as the cheapest strippers, jutted from a chest she didn't recognize, freckled by the sun. The areola and nipples were slightly cockeyed, too. 

Her skin, once fair and pink as fresh peaches, was deeply tanned, and slack at her underarms and inner thighs. She could actually see her skin changing, the freckles and wrinkles creeping up her arms toward her shoulders. 

"What the fucking fuck is going on?!?" she screamed. She turned her head as best she could, catching sight of a mirror on the far wall. Her own face, blurry and shifting, stared back at her from atop an older, and much sluttier body. A pair of syringes, dripping bright blue and pink fluids, jutted from armatures over her head. As she watched in horror, her dark hair began to lighten, not to a true blonde, but to a trashy dishwater hue with exposed roots. 

"Oh, my GOD!" she screamed. Her voice sounded like it belonged to a lifelong two-pack-a-day smoker. Her face shifted in the mirror, age flowing into it like water into a bucket.

"Awake, are we?" Carolina stepped into the room, pulling the door leading back toward the clinic closed behind her. "Scream all you like. The room's soundproofed." She smiled. "Necessity, I'm afraid. You see, we do quite a lot of, ah, relocation work for the Empire, as well as select private clients. And much like your formerly sweet and innocent self, most She-Wolf operatives and other troublemakers tend to get a bit noisy when we're putting them in their proper place."

Lucy stared at her captor, shocked into silence. "How….why?" she managed, after a beat. "What have you done to me?" She jerked against her bonds, trying to break free of the hateful chair.

"You asked for our best. I gave it to you. You see, sometimes, a standard conversion isn't quite enough. Oh, it's all well and good to turn your run-of-the-mill collaborator or low-level She-Wolf agent into a drooling FuckMutt or oinking PigSlut. Makes a great educational tool and discourages any other cunts from trying to disrupt the Natural Order." She walked around the chair, making sure Lucy's straps were still firmly fastened. 

Satisfied, she walked around to face her captive once more and said, "But we don't care for martyrs. Or truly dangerous insurgents. Why, what if their capture inspires misguided but potentially damaging rescue efforts? What if their continued existence, no matter how downgraded and debased, threatens the harmony and health of the Empire?" She tapped a few keys on the console next to the chair holding Lucy, making minor adjustments.

"Are you...are you going to kill me?" Lucy whispered. "But why change me if you're just going to…" Carolina's crop cracked across Lucy's ridiculous fake tits, leaving an angry red weal. "OWWW!" she screamed, thrashing. 

"Oh, do shut up, you stupid stray," Carolina sighed. "That was a love tap compared to what you deserve." She slid her crop back into the sheath and said, "And no, we're not going to kill you. What would be the point? Why waste a perfectly good animal?"

Lucy was still trembling, the agony in her tits replaced by a dull throb. "Fuck...you!" she gasped. "I'm not an animal! And I never said you could do this! It's illegal! I have rights!"

Another crack of the crop, quick as a flash. This time, the dark leather came down on Lucy's thighs, leaving another stripe. She sobbed and quivered, struggling uselessly in the chair, hands clenched into fists.

"Spoken like a truly ignorant stray," Carolina sighed. "And don't you know by now, we can do whatever we like? Imperial law is quite clear. You came in and asked for our best procedure. I gave it to you. I think you'll find it's quite a doozy. Total conversion. We've aged you up a good fifteen or twenty years, I should think. And added a few touches based on my own, ah, special experiences in the past." She smiled and ran her hands over Lucy's swollen, smarting tits. "You're what my dear Butterscotch probably would've become, if I hadn't collared and converted her on our Eligibility Day all those years ago." 

Lucy shied away, but it was no use. Carolina's hands roamed over her transformed body, and Lucy was horrified to find she was becoming wet. "What...what's happening to me?"

"Feeling a little hot under the collar? I'm not surprised. Cunts at your age...well, your new age…are insatiable. Back in the old days they called them cougars, of all things." She shrugged, fingering the cap on her crop. "As if those ignorant cunts knew anything about being true apex predators." 

She patted Lucy's cheek, ignoring her flinch, and said, "Just one of the many changes you'll notice. Well, at least until the last one. You see, ordinarily, a Temporary Transformation Booster is exactly that. A little pre-configured BimboMaxx™ here, a little modified BitchMaker™ there, and all you sad little tourists, chasing something you don't even know you need, get to play pretend for a few days and then go back to your miserable lives." She spat on the floor again, unable to contain her disgust. "Usually, fucking their significant other, or hearing a code word, or taking a shot will disable the nanites and restore them to their regular old misguided, hopelessly lost selves." 

"But for special cases like you, well, we simply install a trigger that's never going to be activated. Take you, for example. This package is pretty elaborate, but it can all be undone with a simple fuck from your precious boyfriend. I found him while you were out. Not exactly a Sherlock Holmes mystery to track down some Free State freelancer screaming about his missing girlfriend to Mall Security." 

"Ch...Charlie?" Lucy said. "Where is he? He has to come get me, now!"

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The crop traveled up and down Lucy's body, making her writhe in white-hot agony. Her screams were wordless, now; the helpless squeals of a tortured animal with its leg in a trap. 

After a time, the pain stopped. Lucy whimpered, her entire body striped with weals. "These aren't permanent, by the way," continued Carolina. "I just like to discipline my pets. Especially stupid ones who keep interrupting."  She slid the crop back into its sheath and put a hand on Lucy's forehead. "Almost finished. Don't cry."

"Here's what's going to happen," she said. "You'll wake up in a bar, or a club, or wherever we decide to leave you. Lucy will be a distant and fuzzy dream floating in your head. Much more real will be Betty Ann, a local girl who wasted her lifetime Exemption boozing and whoring and now has to compete with optimized pets and fucktoys for her husband's attention." Carolina smiled. "Like it? I wrote the routine myself." 

Lucy only whimpered. 

"The thing is, Betty Ann doesn't have a husband. Not really. And the tourist Exemption I transferred to the tattoo in your skin is only good for about another week. But oh, what a week! I reckon you'll have a whale of a time. Even old dogs can still pick up a few tricks, if you know what I mean."

Lucy willed herself to speak. "I never asked for this. People will know I'm missing! You can't do this, damn you!"

"Of course we can, dear. And we just did. As I told you, consent is a posteriori under Imperial Law. If you've undergone a procedure as a stray or Exempt Visitor, then you must've agreed to it. How could it be, otherwise? It's just logic. In the eyes of the law, at least."

Lucy glared at the woman. "You change me back this instant! When my boyfriend gets here, he's going to sue you for everything you're worth! He's got connections!"

The other woman smiled. "Your boyfriend? You mean, the one who doesn't know you came in here? Or the one who won't know what he's looking for when he finds you?"

Lucy stilled in the chair. The weals were fading, but the memory of pain remained. Still, she had to try. A trickle of sweat ran down her new face as tears sprang into her eyes. "You...you can't do this! I'm sorry, okay? Just let me out of here, change me back, and I'll be polite, I promise." 

Carolina waggled her finger in Lucy's face. "Tsk-tsk. The customer's always right, remember? And you did ask for an authentic Imperial experience." She maneuvered the armature holding the final syringe into place, just below Lucy's right ear, brushing aside the helpless woman's rapidly changing hair. Lucy stared at her transformed reflection. At least my eyes are still blue, she thought irrationally.

Carolina ignored her tears. "As I said, we didn't break any laws. This isn't technically permanent. All little Charlie has to do is somehow realize it's you, take you home, and give you a good fucking. He might have to get in line, though. Betty Ann's a horny old girl, and she's not too bright."

"I'll fight it! You can't DO this!" 

"You keep saying that. And yet here we are. No wonder you cunts have to be leashed. You're too stupid for anything resembling real conversation. You go ahead and fight, though...Betty Ann." 

Lucy burst into fresh tears. Carolina patted her cheek, the other hand squeezing one of Lucy's bimbofied tits, hard. 

Lucy gasped, an orgasm ripping through her. She was so shocked, she barely heard Carolina whisper, "Don't worry. Even if your precious boyfriend doesn't find you, there will be plenty to occupy you during your extended visit to our little corner of the world. Especially once your exemption tattoo expires next week."

"Please," Lucy whimpered. Another squeeze. Another orgasm. Lucy felt her eyes roll back in her head.

"Older strays who didn't start their OptiMaxx regimen early enough generally wind up blowjob dispensers or ServiceDrones or, if they're really lucky, EduCunts. But who knows? Maybe some nice Owner or Mistress will give you a good home." She grabbed the syringe, leaning close. "But I wouldn't count on it. Enjoy your authentic experience, cunt." The dark-haired woman drove the plunger home. 

Liquid fire filled Lucy's veins. Wave after wave of blackness washed over her mind, even as her hips bucked and she came again and again and again. Trapped between pleasure and agony, she could only whimper as her world, and any real chance of escape, faded away. 


Ignoring the bartender's query about a drink, Charlie sank onto a bench, defeated. After more than two days of searching, he knew Lucy was probably already beyond rescue or recovery. He hated the idea of leaving without her, but with no leads, all he could do was fill out the missing person report, although here it was known as a Misplaced Asset Notification. He doubted the local yokels were going to knock down doors chasing a woman who was probably already collared and on her way to a kennel. At least the travel insurance would reimburse him for the trip, and for the cost of dealing with Lucy's estate when he got back to the Free States...

"Hey, sexy. Yew wanna hook up? Mah hubby doan get back from hiz bizness trip fer two days'!" 

Charlie glanced over and stifled a laugh. A bottle-blonde bimbo, her exemption tattoo glittering off and on under the club lights, was sitting with her legs akimbo, staring at him with a mix of lust and desperation.

What a fucking idiot. A club full of hot, nubile fucktoys and pets ready to please, and this tired old Exempt cunt thought he was going to waste his time with her? She had a certain trashy allure, he had to admit. And it was clear she'd been hitting the OptiMaxx nanites pretty hard, trying to keep up with the curves and stamina of the domestic animals she probably thought she was better than. But without optimization and conversion, time still took its toll. 

Pathetic. No wonder the Empire converted them all at 18. They clearly didn't grow wiser with age, and preserving their beauty sure beat having to deal with sad reminders of ignoring the Natural Order. Reminders like the forty-something wreck across from him.

"Uh, no. Sorry," he said, still thinking about Lucy. "I've got better things to do right now."

The bottle-blonde shrugged and stood up, pushing her fake tits together in her skimpy top and adjusting her skirt to show the top of her mons. "Suit yerself, handsome. Ah needz sum cock, an ah's gonna getz it. Yew cum finde me iff'n yew change yer mind...ah's gonna go inna terlet and see if ah ken suck off some stud afore the cleanin' sluts get to him." She staggered off toward the bathroom, one hand down the front of her skirt, the other rubbing her tits.

Charlie shook his head. It was a shame, really. That old slut was just the kind of thing Lucy should've seen, to help her understand what life in the Empire was really like. He wondered if he'd ever see her again—and if he did, whether he'd even recognize her.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his reverie. A Handy Hostess was standing behind him, bimbofied body trembling with barely suppressed desire. It had long black hair, and its eyes were as pale as ice. "Howdy. Is there anything ah ken dew to enhance yer visit to the club?" it breathed, licking its crimson lips with a pearly pink tongue. "Customer service iz our number one pr'ority."

Charlie searched its gorgeous face and empty eyes for some sign of familiarity. The hair, the eyes...he shook his head. No. He'd be seeing Lucy everywhere he looked, at least for awhile. And really, what better way to remember the good times, then to celebrate their time together? The Hostess wasn't Lucy, but it would do. He sat back on the bench and spread his legs, snapping his fingers as he pointed to his swelling cock. 

The Hostess squealed in delight and dropped to its knees, enhanced tits bouncing almost to its chin. Its hands, manicured with gleaming crimson nails bearing the club's logo, worked Charlie's belt and fly, pushing aside his underwear to reveal his cock. Without further preamble, the Hostess grabbed Charlie's thick rod and began to work it, cooing and giggling while it grew harder and harder. 

"Take out your tits," he commanded. The Hostess obeyed, freeing its heavy tits from their Living Latex constraints with a mere thought. Or what passed for a thought in that pretty, empty head. The Living Latex melted into its host's creamy skin, revealing a pair of massive melons that were nearly bigger than the Hostess' head. Charlie's new friend pushed its tits together and thrust his cock between them, pumping, the flesh forming a snug channel of jiggling warmth. The eager little fuckpuppet opened its mouth and drooled onto its chest, letting the saliva lubricate its cleavage as Charlie fucked its tits.

He let it milk his cock with its tits for awhile, leaning back, taking in the club's vibe. Around the room, various men, and Mistresses, were putting the Hostesses to work. Some, like Charlie, were taking advantage of their generous natures. Others were content to let the bimbofied cunts attend to more prosaic needs like fetching drinks. 

Near the bar, a younger man with a goatee was playing a game of Euchre with his mates, all of them laughing and joking as they tossed cards on the table and tossed back beer with equal enthusiasm. Beneath the table, Charlie could see a pair of familiar paws and a wagging Ginger tail in the fork of the man's legs. 

Good to know the dog walker was well rewarded for his hard work, Charlie supposed.

The Hostess in front of him cooed and whimpered, its dull eyes glancing up at his face constantly, searching for instruction and feedback. "Nice," Charlie assured it, pushing his hips forward. "Now put that pretty mouth to work." The Hostess released Charlie's cock from between its drool-soaked globes and gobbled it hungrily, thick lips wrapping tightly around the shaft as the nanite-enhanced fucktoy began to suck.

Charlie leaned back and let it work its magic. He could feel his balls beginning to boil, but willed himself to calm with thoughts of baseball. A flurry of movement and noise from the hallway past the bar caught his attention. 

The old Exempt slut who'd tried to pick him up staggered into the room, face and tits gleaming with cum. A pair of men—one Black, one Latino, both laughing—followed, pushing her toward the exit. The dumb whore smiled eagerly, licking her lips, one hand creeping down her skirt as she led them toward the parking lot. 

Well, well. The tired old mutt was finally going to get its bone, it appeared. Looks like things were working out for everyone.

The Empire might have its faults, but from where Charlie was sitting, it didn't seem too bad. He hoped Lucy was happy, wherever she ended up. He patted the slurping Hostess on its dark head, thinking again how much she looked like his missing girlfriend. 

"Hey," he said after a minute. The Hostess stopped sucking and sat up. "Yes, sir? How ken ah help yew?"

"Are you...y'know. Available? For purchase, I mean?" 

The Hostess blinked, processing his question. Its NeuroConn flashed, then it said in a different voice, one stripped of the down-home accent and bubbly lust: 

"Hello! Thanks for accessing our Personal Choice™ expanded menu. Unfortunately, all Handy Hostess units are owned by the club and are not available for direct purchase. Rentals are available for hourly, daily, and weekly rates, as displayed on your NeuroConn now." Charlie blinked as a price sheet appeared, floating above the Hostess' empty-eyed face. The rates were reasonable; he'd paid more for a good meal at the Founder's Grille.

"During the rental period," continued the Hostess, "feel free to configure and optimize the animal in any way you like with Hundehersteller-approved nanite products. Its nanite protocols will restore the animal to its standard configuration at the end of the rental period. We do ask that you refrain from using third-party nanite products on the animal, and of course, use it strictly in compliance with all applicable Imperial Laws." 

Another pause. "I see you have an existing Imperial Express Account and are staying at the MOUNT...VERNON….ARMISTICE….RESORT.  If you'd like to rent this unit, simply say "Rent," followed by the amount of time you'd like to rent it. We'll add the charge to your bill for your convenience." 

Charlie thought about it, but not for long. No sense in wasting his remaining vacation, was there?

"Rent," he said. "One week." There was a Chienne Obeissante just down the block from the club. At the Mall, in fact. They'd have everything he needed.

"Approved," said the Handy Hostess. It blinked again, then resumed working his cock as though it had never stopped. Charlie grabbed a fistful of raven hair and smiled as those pale blue eyes gazed at him in adoration. 

Not Lucy, no. 

But close enough.

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