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[b][u][center]Zonked Streamer Studios[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]Prologue: The Way of Things[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]Sponsored by Yana_Ambrosia[/center][/u][/b]

[b][u][center]by Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

Being the managerial head of ZSS came with quite a few perks. Asma was driven to work every morning in a limousine, had her own penthouse in a well-to-do part of the city, and enjoyed the services of well-trained butlers and staff that were just as subject to the mind-altering states of the company as the other employees that were making them money. The Nile Crocodile sighed as she leaned back in the leather seat in the back of the vehicle, one hand on her lap, the other tipping a morning coffee to her lips.

Life was good.

After taking a sip of her mocha, she turned her attention to the tablet built into the other back seat. A few taps opened it, revealing the numbers for the company. The overnight steamers had already brought in twenty-thousand. Not particularly high numbers, all told, but she had faith in the morning workers and the afternoon shift to make up the difference. So long as they cleared 100k by midnight, they'd be fine.

“Though a few more people need to log in for that to happen,” Asma muttered, uncrossing and recrossing her legs as she leaned back. “Only twenty streamers online at the moment. Tsk, tsk...”

Not that the investors would be too concerned just yet. After all, ZSS was relatively new; the opening day for the service was only a year ago, and it had taken time to properly vet the first applicants that wanted to join up. Some had been completely unsuitable for the job, while others had shown signs of resistance to their techno-magic. Still others had clearly been sent in by outsiders, hoping to get a mole inside to see what they were doing.

Asma still remembered those days. She'd been in on the ground floor, part of rooting out the potential employees that might be a problem. Out of the ten thousand papers that her department had gone through, they'd only employed five hundred. All of them local, and half of them restricted to in-studio work only: better to be safe until they were completely up to speed.

“Two minutes til arrival, Ms. Asma,” her driver said.

She nodded. Looking at the mocha, she tilted her head back and chugged the remaining half. No point going in with that.

The limousine came to a halt a few minutes later and she stepped out. The driver pulled out, heading to the garage, while she put her hands in her pockets and looked up at the building itself.

ZSS – no explanation or definition offered – shone from the chrome-plated building in bright purple, the letters projected from hologram emitters and spinning in place. It had been that way from day one, too. A great deal of money had gone into securing the three-story property, from what she'd been told. It was a former apartment building that had been gutted, refitted, and upgraded for the sake of their business venture. So long as it continued to stay in-code, she had no doubt that it would work for them for the rest of the business's lifetime.

Her eyes trailed down the building to the front door as she walked toward it. It was a practiced thing, and seeing herself – six-foot-six, formal blue suit, gold-rimmed glasses hanging from a chain around her neck – walking with that same focused speed that she had practiced a hundred times in front of the mirror as a child gave her a sense of satisfaction that few others could match. It was like seeing someone successful, and the fact that that someone was her?

Perfect.

She stepped through the front door. The rat clerk at the front desk looked up from his computer and almost leaped out of his skin, jumping to his feet. He started to bow his head, muttering and stuttering.

That would not do. Not slowing in the slightest, she reached for the glasses and pulled them to her face, staring through them as the clerk finally met her eyes. He stopped, freezing, staring at her as she approached the front desk, and it took no more than three seconds for his jaw to drop and his tongue to loll out to the side.

“Sit.”

The rat dropped into his seat, twitching as his body forced itself to maintain eye contact.

“Again. This time, eye-contact from the beginning. Do not look away, do not jump. You are an employee of ZSS; you will act like it.”

Shaking her head, the Nile Crocodile turned on her heel and walked out of the building once more. Once outside, she pulled the glasses from her snout, let them hang over her chest for a count of three, and then turned around to try again.

This time, the rat looked up and smiled. As instructed, he maintained eye-contact as she walked across the carpeted floor, bobbing his head but not bowing.

“Ms. Asma, good to see you,” he said, this time completely coherent. Better. “You're here a little early.”

“The numbers are down; little point staying home if I can bump them up by being here.”

“Don't know how that's going to happen, but you're the miracle-worker. I guess if anyone can, it's you.”

“Mmm-hmm. Anything else?”

“Oh, uh, Huang Tai is here.”

“...Joy.”

“She's -”

“'Encouraging' the employees?” Asma asked, shaking her head. “I don't need the details. Just tell little miss Anubis that I expect her in my office, later.”

“Yes, ma'am. Or should I say, yes, Ms. Ammit?”

“...You may.”

She did not favor him with a smile, but she allowed him the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Hardly the first time that she'd heard that, of course, but it was still faintly amusing to hear it again. She walked around the front desk, presented her ID card to the scanner leading into the studio, and passed through. Instantly, the sound of the streets, the front office, and everything outside the building was completely cut off.

She sighed. Absolute silence was a blessing.

Not that it would last for long. There'd be the meeting with Huang Tai later, dealing with the black-furred jackal and the hedonistic 'team meetings' she kept running with the employees that weren't in the middle of streaming. Hardly making money, but there were controlled moments when that [i]was[/i] useful to the company, so she allowed it. She had even set aside a little bit of discretionary funds to hire the jackal from time to time.

Not that most of the employees understood what was going on. As far as they knew, they were just having a drink with a pretty girl. Not getting blown, or fucked, or otherwise taken for a ride by the voracious little -

Asma pushed it out of her head. That sort of personal attachment was what had caused her family all kinds of problems in the past, and if she let it get to her now, she'd face the same problem. She'd gained quite a bit with this little position, and she planned to make herself indispensable. She might not own ZSS, but she certainly ran it better than anyone else could. So far, the investors agreed, and she saw no reason to give them a reason to think otherwise.

The corridor led past a number of soundproofed rooms. Some had a green light over the door, others had red. She walked by a falcon with a hoodie and headphones around his neck that was just stepping into one and got a sudden gasp as soon as he saw her. Asma paused, looking at him, watching as his talons clutched at the floor. He was trying not to run away.

Adorable.

“Mr. Valentino. Pulling an extra shift, are we?”

“I – yes, ma'am. I thought – you said that we needed all hands on deck, and -”

“Yes. And you're streaming...?”

“Uh...um...cooking.”

“Cooking. Yes.”

She looked him up and down, already knowing what was going to happen to him. Yes. Giles Valentino, a cooking streamer. Oh, that was what he thought he was, but the reality -

She was starting to smile. She stopped that before more fangs could pop into view.

“Carry on,” she said.

“Uh, y-yes, ma'am.”

Giles, like many, was afraid of her. She encouraged at least small amounts of that. Ideally, a manager should not have to come down on their employees, but if they did, it should inspire concern, at the very least. Nobody should look forward to it, or believe that they were coming out unscathed.

She walked past as he stepped into the room, the green light turning red as he got situated. He, like many others, would be logging in to begin their little show with cultivated and advertised-for audiences. Some, like Giles, had a kitchen set up, while others had musical instruments, and still others had games and other shows that they could put on. Each room had six different cameras, one on each wall, the floor, and ceiling, all on rails to move around to different angles, and they came with top of the line microphones.

All of that was paid for by ZSS, of course, and they expected a return on the investment that they put into their performers.

At the end of the studio hall was the cafeteria. Mostly empty, save for -

Asma stopped at the end of the hallway, looking at Huang Tai and an empty-eyed horse. They were both naked, both on one of the cafeteria tables, but only the jackal seemed to show any kind of initiative, rolling her hips up and down on the stallion's cock. She grinned, leaning forward enough to put a long, golden claw against the horse's cheek, stroking down it with the same grace as any other predator.

“Yes, that's it. So much easier to just hold still and let me do the work, isn't it?” the jackal whispered. “Now, go on. Tell me. What are you missing, hmm? What are you -”

“You will be cleaning up your mess when you're done, yes?”

Tai paused, leaning back and taking the entirety of the horse's cock into her sex. She chuckled, the golden dollar sign and golden lock piercings in her ears swaying as she shook her head.

“Don't worry about me, dear. I'm just making sure that this performer of yours is properly pushing his limits.”

“Name?”

“Something like Dick.”

“Richard, then,” Asma muttered. “Yes, his file has been lacking. Careful that you're not caught by one of the others.”

“Oh, I'm sure you can spin it if I am.”

“If you make me work, it comes out of your paycheck.”

“Heh, bitch.”

“Look in the mirror,” Asma muttered.

It wasn't the first time that she'd caught the jackal in the middle of something like that. Not that most of the employees knew that it was going on, but it was only a matter of time until someone clocked to it.

Then again, she doubted that most of the men would care that there was a sex-hungry dog wandering the halls taking their will and making them into playthings for short periods of time. They'd probably sign up for it.

Not that it was all that Huang Tai was doing, but it was the only obvious one. Asma slotted Richard's latest session into a growing pile of mental notes, poured herself another coffee from the machines, and made her way to the other side of the cafeteria, to the elevators.

Ping. Up.

Ping. Out.

On the third floor, there were no studios. There were, however, many meeting rooms, and more observation monitors. Each in-house studio had a corresponding set of camera feeds up here, and – as expected – twenty of them were live. Twenty-one, as she made her way down the hall and Giles's feed came on. She slowed her pace, watching it and waiting for the inevitable fall.

The falcon had taken his spot behind the kitchen counter and was smiling at the camera. On the side of the screen, the chat box was already filling with the usual fans, though up here, the other side of things – mods, system works, etc. – were more visible. Messages already clamoring for the 'usual stuff' were being held in check by the ZSS mods (another feature that they offered to new streamers) while more common messages, either from new viewers or from those that knew better, were popping up.

[i]Hey, Chef-Man.

Looking good. Got any good recipes today?

That a cucumber in your pocket, or are you just happy to see us?[/i]

The comments went on. Asma glanced at the timer at the side of the screen, the one-minute clock slowly counting down. It wouldn't be long.

Giles was still sorting out his knives and the other tools that he had for his show. He chuckled, shaking his head at the commentary. Cutting board, ingredients, and more were on the countertop as the timer hit the last ten seconds.

“Very funny, guys. Anyway, let's not waste time. Today, I want to try and make -”

[i]Ting.[/i]

The timer hit 0. As soon as it did, the room shimmered, a spiral playing over the video feed. It was harmless to anyone watching this screen, of course, and it only had minor effects on people watching it through their own devices. A couple of subtle 'encouragements' to send donations, but that was all.

But for the streamer...

Asma watched with a knowing eye as Giles went limp, shoulders sagging and his mouth hanging open faster than the rat in the lobby. He'd been here long enough that his brain was particularly vulnerable to the opening spiral; newcomers sometimes took as long as ten seconds to fall, while those that had been trained fell almost instantly. She shifted her weight to one foot, her hand on her hip as she watched his beak turn up in a faint smile, chuckling as his entire body-language changed. Vaguely nervous but excited became something sultry, something akin to what one would see in a porn film as he started to shrug off his apron.

“Today, we're gonna make some love here in the kitchen,” he said, rolling his head from side to side like some playboy. Topless, now, but stopping there as he climbed onto the countertop, extending one set of talons toward the camera. “It's time to make Valentino your Valentine, if you think you got the donos to make me play...”

Asma nodded in approval, turning away from the screen. The show would go on, now, and the restrained messages would be allowed through. She doubted that it would be long before Valentino was shoving a cucumber up his ass or something like that. He had quite a few food-play options.

He was hardly alone in the type of streams that he did. ZSS billed itself as a creative outlet for performers, allowing them to reach endless numbers of potential viewers so long as they were willing to put in the work and meet with ZSS consultants to help them do it. It wasn't even a lie; every streamer under the ZSS umbrella was different, and their shows were all different to one another.

However, they all involved sex. And very, very few of the streamers ever realized just what it was they were doing.

Mr. Valentino was only the most recent one to log on; the other twenty that had been playing when she first arrived were deeper into their hypnotic trances than he was, and had racked up a decent set of donations and payments besides. Here, she saw a bluebird with her legs spread, being pounded by a fucking machine whose speed was controlled by how often she died in her game. She wasn't conscious of the machine, but she was conscious of the game and the distractions that the machine provided. An interesting tweak, and one that left her audience filled with those that liked teasing without giving the game away.

Another screen showed someone that had been hypnotized beyond all pretense, doing a dance stream. What had likely been meant to be relatively clean and tame had turned into a pole-dance. Asma was fairly sure that they had sent that pole to him after he had reached a checkpoint of viewer numbers. She would have to double-check to be sure.

It was quite the gathering, however, and showed the power of ZSS's proprietary technology. She did not understand most of it; it was something that blended Perception-magic, Machine-magic, and Enchantment-magic to create a control mechanism that could be individually tailored to different needs at a distance. Asma knew how to run the machines, but she didn't know how to make them. Probably a good thing, though; she had every reason to believe that the owners of that secret were very jealous about guarding the ins and outs of it.

Still, it wasn't exactly...exciting. She had seen it a few hundred times now, and the rush of knowing that there were so many easily-manipulated employees under her command was old news. Excitement would have to come from something else.

Walking past the various boardrooms that lined the upper floor, she finally reached the door to her own office. She tapped her keycard, opened the door, and found a black-scaled dragon leaning against her desk. His golden coat flared out over the desktop and he stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

Asma looked down the hall, then back at the dragon. She shut the door behind her, a faint smile creeping up her snout at the unexpected visit. Now this was interesting.

“I didn't expect to see one of the owners this morning,” Asma said, walking around the other side of the desk and putting her card, phone, and other personal belongings in a drawer. “Tell me. What's the occasion?”

“You're excited.”

“Mmm, perhaps.”

Oh, she was. She was fighting the rumbling in the back of her throat that a surprise brought her. Too few of those of late. She cocked her head to the side as she took a seat.

“My question stands.”

“I mostly wanted to check in and make sure that things were running well,” the white-eyed, black-scaled dragon said. “And see if there've been any side-effects over the past few months since we integrated the new high-power Perception-filters.”

“Did you want any?”

“I – that's an odd question.”

“Is it?” Asma gestured to the screens all along the walls. “Seems to me that half the reason to be using hypnosis is to shape them into what you want.”

“We're already doing that.”

“Short-term. I'm thinking...long-term.”

“I'm not suggesting that we -”

“Heh, yes, you are.”

She knew that look. That consideration. It was right there, plain as the nose on his face. None of the glint in the eye that other clients and customers and investors had – those strange eyes of his were an annoying advantage – but she knew what to look for. That little twitch at the corner of the mouth, where excitement and curiosity built; that twitch of the eyes, muscles pulling to direct them to the consideration corner; the flicker in the words, the 'buying time' phrases while the mind tried to catch up to the shock of sudden desire.

Asma knew what to look for, and it was all there.

Instead of pushing immediately, she stood up and walked around the desk. She gestured toward one of the screens, still barely restraining the rumble in her throat as she imagined what she might be able to get.

“Look at them. Dozens of fetishes on display. Slowest time of the day, but you still have your pick. They come in, they change, they perform, and then leave after they change back. 99% of them are none the wiser about what they did.”

“By design. They can't -”

“But what if we tweaked that?”

Even in his reflection on one of the inactive streams, Asma could see that she had his attention. Almost undivided.

“The idea was to keep them from finding out what they were doing so that they never started putting together a lawsuit, or trying to run off, or go to someone in the media and expose the whole thing. But look at them. They're all down [i]deep.[/i]”

As she gestured around, she kept an earhole open, listening, paying attention. Nothing there, nothing there, but -

A soft gasp. She kept moving her hand, not letting it show that she'd picked it up, but she made a note of the performer. Barefoot, feet being written on, set up like an art component, ass being filled with a toy. Lots of variables, but none of the others had been barefoot before this one; had to be that.

“We could put any number of little conditions in their brains. Make it part of the contract, and pretend that it had always been that way; anyone would forget, anyone would struggle to remember if it was any different -”

“No. We don't change the contract.”

“The court [i]would[/i] be angry with us, I suppose,” Asma said, backing off at that tone. “But the point remains. We're holding back because they might be upset, because they might make waves if they start doing something they don't want to do. But is it really so hard to just add one more thing? That they [i]enjoy[/i] what they're hypnotized to do?”

“...Keep talking.”

[i]Got him.[/i]

She turned from the monitors and stood under the one that had his favorite on it. The barefooter, showing sole. One that was sitting in a room with his feet up, clearly making his feet the centerpoint of things, as if they mattered more than the other things going on. She could make a few guesses about what he'd like from that.

“Let's imagine that we left them with a single 'task' that they had to complete between streams. Something that either they didn't notice, or they did because they had a new outlook on things. Something as mundane as, well, leaving their shoes off all the time.”

“...”

“Well, if we could make them do that, then there's a whole new thing that we can charge for. A new reward that people can redeem, a new behavior that they can enjoy. Of course, having it happen off-stream would be far more expensive, but -”

“You're playing me.”

“Yes. And it's working, heh.”

“...You are [i]very[/i] good. How much?”

“Five thousand in a 'personal' investment to me, and I'll have the techs get on it tonight.”

“...Fine.”

She probably could have gotten away with asking for more, but one of the other lessons that the crocodile had learned over the years was to not push her luck. She was getting what she wanted – more money – and the dragon was getting something that appealed to him. Sure, a few employees were going to be feeling a bit strange, a bit funny, but they weren't going to notice. Not really.

The money changed hands, and she tucked it away. The black dragon turned around, then paused at the door, looking back at her.

“One last thing.”

“Hmm?”

“Don't play that game too often, Terese.”

Her smile dropped. The dragon shook his head.

“Just saying.”

He walked out the door, and the rumble that she had been restraining for the last few minutes came out as a growl that threatened to shake her suit loose.

“...I did [i]not[/i] need that reminder...”

Shaking her head, she sat down at her desk and pulled up the other stream feeds as a distraction. She'd have to remember that Draconicon was more...informed...about her past than some, and that he could use that against her if he chose. A not-so-subtle reminder that there were clients that she couldn't just overwhelm the same way as she used to.

Still...a faint hint of the smile lived on. Too much stability was boring. Profitable, but boring.

Asma was just going through the numbers for the month, as well as going through some of the streamer accounts that operated remotely (they needed to be checked every few weeks to make sure that they were meeting quotas for the rented equipment) when the office door opened again. She looked up to see the jackal walking in, this time dressed in her sharp, dark-green suit. Huang Tai was adjusting the gold tie hanging from her neck, humming to herself and chuckling, and she looked entirely too pleased with herself.

“I assume you got Richard's fantasies out of him?” Asma asked, dropping her eyes back to the computer.

“Easily, of course. He's quite the open book. Then again, most creatures with dicks are.”

“Just because the book's open doesn't mean you're able to read the language. Or that you're seeing all the invisible writing...”

“Mmm, bad day, hon?”

“Not as bad as it could be. Some good shows today. Numbers are higher than usual for some of them.”

“Any mod trouble?”

“None reported.”

“Oh, you're bored.”

It was the sing-song tone that really got to her. She looked over the edge of the monitor again, meeting the bitch's eyes. She was cocky, grinning, smirking, and it bothered the crocodile more than she wanted to admit.

Because it was true. She [i]was[/i] bored. Sex was commonplace. Enjoyable, but commonplace. Everyone here could be controlled, compelled, and brought up to any office at any time to tease and take care of the higher-ups. That was just one of the many perks for working for ZSS. But after you did that a few times, it got repetitive. You ran out of ideas, and there wasn't the same sort of joy in doing the same thing over and over again.

That was why she enjoyed surprises like Draconicon's visit. Unexpected moments tweaked the mind, encouraged it to think in different directions. More than anything else, new moments created new opportunities.

Before she could open her mouth, the computer dinged. Tai blinked, walking around as Asma brought up the alert.

“What – oh, it's Lou. Sweet little guy, Golden Retriever,” the jackal said, shaking her head. “Fatter knot than you'd think for his breed. What's up?”

“Harassment – oh. No. [i]Abuse.[/i]”

“To him? Oh, no, [i]that[/i] isn't something that he wants.”

Holding up a silencing hand to the jackal, Asma brought up the stream itself. Lou popped onto her screen, the zonked-out Golden Retriever completely naked and bouncing his blonde-furred ass on a large dildo with a fist-thick knot at the bottom. The fact that he was taking it at all was something of an accomplishment, but company scanners were already reporting that the dog was at his limits with the size, and that he was on the verge of popping out of his trance.

Mods were holding the next redeems, waiting for approval. Asma flicked through them as the dog kept humping his ass back, his eyes going from vacant to confused to vacant again. The tour-guide dog (usually giving virtual tours of places all around the world) wore his collar, like he always did for his streams, and was usually quite well-loved.

“Looks like a hate-sex raid,” Asma said. “Queuing up oversized toys to knock him out of his trance, keep him from making money, realize what's going on so that he gets fired.”

“Well, tell them to stop.”

“...Heh. I've got a better idea.”

“What -”

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

Huang Tai grabbed the desk as Asma let out a happy rumble, the vibrations even stronger than before. She typed out a few orders to the mods – telling them to stall for the next few minutes, keep a holding pattern going – and swayed to a closet.

“I think I have that latex suit here.”

“[i]You[/i] are going to get involved?”

“Heh. This is an opportunity. And I plan to seize it.”

#

“Hello, my little [i]thugs.[/i]”

The cameras in Lou's room all turned to her as she spoke. Latex ran from her neck down to her toes, a full-body suit that covered everything, but showed off just as much. It might as well have been painted on, and it made soft squeaks as she walked across the room, each step as measured as could be, but no less a strut than a model on the catwalk.

“Look at what we have here...a poor, innocent boy...a pure little Golden Retriever...”

She stopped behind him, crouching down and wrapping a latex glove around his throat, under his chin, stroking him. He let out a weak whimper, no longer able to rise up and pop the dildo's knot out of his ass. Asma stroked her hands down the dog's chest, fondling his pecs, showing off the sweat-stains matting his fur down and the little strains he'd put himself through.

“And look what you've done to him.”

Oh, chat was trying to be proud of itself. She chuckled, teasing, stroking around the dog's collar. He was so winded, so wrecked, in pain, and so clearly not in pleasure. One hand went down, down, down, the latex frictionless against his cock as she grabbed it for the camera.

“All that...and [i]nothing.[/i] What pathetic little pigs...”

The little chat box on the far wall stopped its bragging. Shocked emotes, ellipses, and more ran up the box. She shook her head.

“Oh, no, no, don't even [i]try[/i] to say this was what he wanted...You thought you were the tough guys, the big guns, the top dogs...And you couldn't even get this pretty boy to cum. Pathetic.”

She stroked Lou's cock once, and only once, and that was all it took. He whimpered, a faint stream of cum squirting out in limp fashion. She let go, shaking her head as she flicked his juices off her fingers.

“And look at that. Not broken, but damaged. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

She stood up, her chuckles coming free as she rested her hands on Lou's shoulders. He moaned as she rolled him against the knot again, making him feel it once more.

“I think you should feel ashamed, my little thugs. Brainless, stupid, barely able to think past your dicks. If I had the time, all of [i]you[/i] would be in here, instead of this pure little boy. At least he can think, when I let him.”

Ruffling his hair in an act of kindness, she looked the camera straight on.

“But you...Heh. I could ban you, you know. Each and every one of you. Send you straight to the pits of internet hell, never to rise to our pleasures again. But I'm going to be [i]nice.[/i]”

She leaned Lou back, letting his head rest against her crotch, his nose barely nudging against the latex over her pussy. She stroked his face, shaking her head before fixing the camera with another hard stare.

“Pay. Pay this boy back for alllllll that roughness. Show him a little 'compensation.' Show this little golden boy that you learned your lesson, and I'll let you stay. Otherwise...” Asma chuckled. “You have thirty seconds.”

It took five for the first payment to come in, and more came after that. They were terrified now, desperate not to lose their fun now that they had a reliable place to go. It was hilarious...and hot.

This was what she got into: taking charge, manipulating things, finding moments that broke past the hum-drum baseline and making them her own. In chaos was opportunity, and in that opportunity, she reshaped people completely.

Like Lou. Nobody would forget the day that she showed up, and they'd make stories about that. The golden boy, the protected twink, the person that the chat needed to protect and [i]properly[/i] pleasure. They'd remember that, just like they'd remember to be on their best behavior.

“Good little pay-pigs...good...”

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: A little introduction to the ZSS part of Docetri, otherwise known as Zonked Streamer Studios. Enjoy the intro to the manager.

Tags: M/solo, M/F, Latex, Crocodile, Manager, ZSS, Hypnosis, Prologue, Canon, Jackal, Horse, Falcon, Golden Retriever, Webcam, Porn, Making Porn, Mind Control, Series,