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Flowers for Dahlia

Algernon hated his name. It wasn’t a bad name, but he simply never wanted to be associated with it. He preferred Al, Algie, Gen, almost anything else from anyone that mattered to him, and he was high enough in the social hierarchy that people usually obliged, even if they weren’t his friends.

Thus, when the stag woke up with a splitting headache in an uncomfortably cold, hard bed, being addressed by his full first name, it was somewhat akin to being woken up by an air raid siren; thoroughly unpleasant and leaving adrenaline pumping through his body.

He sat up, groaned at the dizziness that washed over him, and collapsed back into the bed that barely felt more appropriate for sleeping in than a carpet on a stone floor. Through blurry, half-lidded eyes he recognized that he seemed to be in a prison cell. That had to be a mistake, unless he had hit the special pills entirely too hard and was about to spend a good measure of wealth assuring the officers that they were legally prescribed and that he had learned his lesson.

He was also naked, which made it fell all the more likely that it’d been either a very, very wild night, or he’d been kidnapped. Both thoughts worried him.

“Algernon, it’s time to wake up,” that same, infuriatingly piercing voice came to him again. “And don’t worry, you won’t have to hate your name for much longer.”

“What?” he shouted. How did they know his name at all? “Where the fuck am I, even?”

He was normally composed and elegant in both speech and behavior. The headache made that impossible. Algernon shot up from his bed, just about ready to throw hands, only to realize he was indeed in a prison cell. A strong-looking bear woman in uniform stood on the other side of the bars, holding a meal tray. Algernon quickly covered his cock out of pure instinct.

“Good news,” she stated, flatly. “We’re going to turn you into a productive citizen.”

“Productive- what? I have plenty of investments that-” he protested.

“Yes, yes, very rich. But not contributing to society in any meaningful way. As you know, we have fallen far below replacement rate in births. That will be your future contribution,” the bear continued, talking over him in a way that very few dared to. “And not to worry, legally speaking, you suffered a psychotic breakdown and are currently institutionalized to protect you. There will be no police.”

Algernon was speechless.

“You might as well eat your breakfast. It could make the next part less overwhelming,” the bear said, showing absolutely no emotion, and pushed the tray into a slot between the bars, onto the floor, before turning around to leave.

“What part? What fucking part?” Algernon yelled. No answer. But someone groaned next to him, and he nearly slammed into the wall with how hard he recoiled, having thought himself to be alone in the cell. His antlers did impact the steel bars of the cell, sending another intense spike of pain through his skull.

“I’m- I’m sorry if I… scared you,” came a tiny voice from the bunk on the other side. In it laid a small spotted hyena, his or her voice so androgynous that Algernon couldn’t quite tell. “I’ve not had a cellmate before.”

Slowly they sat up, too. Algernon still couldn’t tell the hyena’s gender. They had what seemed like small breasts, but their build was otherwise perfectly androgynous. Boyish. Not that it really mattered, the stag thought, chiding himself for even getting caught up on such superficialities at a moment such as this one.

“Where are we, then?” he asked. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not angry at you, I’m angry at them.”

“It’s… not really a prison, but a c-containment facility,” the small hyena tried to explain. “They use us for experiments. Um, to…”

“To what? Out with it. Please,” Algernon replied, tacking on the please to avoid sounding so imposing. He was in no position of power, here. “I need to know.”

“They’re, um, turning us into women. And then they’re going to use us to replenish the birth rates,” the hyena squeaked, blushing.

“That can’t possibly be legal. Possible, maybe, but my lawyers-”

“Everyone you know thinks you’re being held for mental health reasons. There’s no way out, I’ve tried,” the hyena replied.

“And so, what, we just accept it as they transform us?”

“It doesn’t feel that bad,” the embarrassed hyena squeaked. “And they say we’ll be happy.”

“Brainwashed, used for breeding, and happy. Great, I love it, exactly what I always wanted. Fuck. I have investments to-”

No, the investments could, frankly, wait. Wrong place, wrong time. He had to make his way out of here, and that clearly wasn’t happening with either brute or legal force. That meant, in short, that he had to go along with whatever they proposed until they trusted him enough to leave a gap through which he could escape. Just like at the board meetings, the stag thought, fondly remembering that one time when he had outmaneuvered an entire board of directors for a hostile takeover. He could certainly play that game when it came to it.

He sat down, taking the tray of food. It wasn’t appetizing, but he ate anyway. Rubbery meat and bottom shelf beans in tomato sauce. Thankfully, Algernon had never been a picky eater, no matter how much wealth he accumulated, and so he ate, if only to preserve his strength.

Yet, as he ate, a strange calmness began to settle over him, like a warm blanket. As if things were probably going to be alright no matter how dire things looked. As if he really shouldn’t be that attached to minor details like gender. Maybe it was resignation, and in this situation, being resigned didn’t seem like the worst possible thing.

“What do you think your name would be if you were a woman?” the hyena asked.

“I… I dunno, I’ve always liked flowers, so maybe Dahlia-” the stag started, but was suddenly hit by another dizzy spell, slurring the next few words he spoke into an incoherent mess, before collapsing face-first into his drug-laced food.

When he woke up again, he was strapped to a table somewhere else, though visibly, it was still a prison. Still, he didn’t feel too bad about it, even as he strained weakly, trying to free his cuffed arms and legs. An otter – female, just like the guard – towered over him with a syringe full of pink, almost fluorescent liquid.

“Ah, good. You’re awake. That is very good. It always helps people think of themselves as breeders if they see the transformation happen,” the otter remarked, though Algernon couldn’t see if she was smiling or not with the medical mask covering most of her muzzle. “I’m the warden of this prison. I’m also in charge of these procedures.”

That was all she offered in the way of an introduction. The stag would never learn her name.

“Algernon,” she repeated, enjoying the way that it made the stag twitch. He really had never felt like the name suited him at all, but it was the one his parents had wanted. But how did they know it?

“We’ve been observing you for a while,” the otter spoke, in a flat monotone, offering the briefest of explanations. “We think you’ll be a perfect fit,” she laughed. And then she continued.

“I think I’ll call you Dahlia from now on. Given that you hate your original name, I think it’s only fitting that we give you a more feminine one. You were never really a man, anyway. We didn’t choose you entirely at random, you know.”

“What do you mean I’m not a man?” Algernon growled. “What do you think you’re looking at?”

“Oh, just a poor woman trapped in a man’s body. But we’ll fix that for you,” the otter grinned. It was a mean grin. “You’ll be a happy, obedient breeder. Get that unsightly cock off you, it’s not like you’d ever use it the way it was meant to.”

Then, she placed the syringe’s sharp tip against the stag’s neck. “Really, you should be thanking us, fixing you like this.”

Algernon would’ve protested, but at the same time, he didn’t quite dare to, owing to the syringe and the fact that he was tied up and completely helpless. The otter was crazy, that much was obvious. None of what she was describing was possible, or at least, Algernon hoped so.

Or did he? One part of him felt like becoming a woman would be degrading. Being used for breeding certainly would be. And yet, there was a small part of him, one that he typically ignored and kept buried deep inside, that was more accepting. He didn’t like that part, but the drugs he had already been given – by this point, he had figured it out – made it stronger, while soothing his anger and weakening his resistance to it.

He felt the needle prick his neck, a warmth flowing into his body. Algernon shuddered, expecting more pain, but there was none. There was, certainly, discomfort as every muscle in his body seized up at once, though mercifully only briefly. He let out a strangled groan.

“There we go. Just relax a little, will you? This will start feeling good soon,” the otter chuckled, before touching the antlers Algernon was so proud of. She paused there, for a moment.

“You know, Dahlia, you’ll be shedding these soon enough. But why wait? A brood-doe has no need for such a majestic crown, it’ll just get in the way,” she said.

Not that Algernon was focused on any of that. When his muscles finally relaxed again, it felt like such blissful relief, and it came with a sense of what could only be described as total freedom from worries. Oh, rationally, the stag knew he should be furious. The otter was changing him, and she was going to take his beloved antlers. But it felt like reading an academic paper about the state of his mind rather than something he actively felt.

Instead, his attention drew inwards. A glowing sensation was spreading inside him, intensifying by the minute. Algernon barely felt the otter smear some sort of cooling salve at the very base of his antlers, gasping for breath to stay conscious at all. It was like his whole body was suddenly on fire as his very bones ached, stretching and shrinking in ways that made his entire body quake.

But the changes weren’t immediate. They only started with that injection, and that left the otter frustrated. “Your body’s resisting. That’s incredibly ironic, because going by all of our metrics, your brain is already female,” she said, sounding terse and irritated. “Ah, well. Suppose you’ll have to get yours a little slower than expected. A shame, because I wanted to see those tits grow.”

She whistled for her staff. A few muscular men and women entered the room. One jabbed “Dahlia” in the arm with another syringe, and he was out like a light. Whatever they used was short-acting enough that the deer was only asleep for an instant before waking up in his cell again, next to the hyena, who was looking at him expectantly.

Algernon, or Dahlia – the latter name felt comfortable, but he wasn’t ready to surrender just yet – felt like he had blacked out at a party but miraculously managed to wake up without a hangover, bar for a groggy kind of haze. As he went through what had just happened, he felt oddly light.

“Don’t fight it,” the hyena said, her voice weak. This time she was fully out of bed, and despite her androgynous build, Algernon could plainly see that she was a woman, or at least, equipped like one. “It’s pointless. I tried.”

When Algernon raised his head, it felt wrong. He immediately felt the top of his head, where his antlers had melted way, leaving him looking just like a calf or doe. And yet, where he had expected some pain at losing that masculine signifier, he didn’t. It didn’t feel wrong; all of his anger was from the fact that it was forced upon him. He felt the top of his head, finding only stubs where whatever he had been subjected to had melted his antlers off, perhaps permanently robbing him of his crown.

“And what if I fight it?” he asked. It felt like his own voice was echoing in his head.

“It breaks you,” the hyena replied quietly. “It broke me.”

Looking at the hyena, she didn’t seem broken. Not physically, anyway. Though on closer inspection, her belly was ever so slightly swollen. Was she pregnant? It seemed like a natural conclusion to make. Perhaps she meant her resistance, though. She was completely passive and showed no discomfort with what was happening, either.

The next few days illustrated what she meant, though. Algernon found his chest aching and swelling until he had a pair of, well, breasts, no matter how much he tried to make them retreat, squeezing them flat against his chest to no avail. There was no way around it. It was with a certain amount of shame as he realized he was becoming more feminine; the occasional twangs of pain that accompanied his shoulders narrowing and his hips growing, or a second pair of breasts starting to grow beneath the increasingly prominent first ones. But the real breaking point was that, while his cock wasn't shrinking, there was an increasingly soft and warm slit forming just under it.

Each little change came with an increasing amount of mental fog, though that was certainly made worse by the food. The only thing that Algernon could remember after just a week of eating the only available food was that the hyena’s name was Callie, and that she highly recommended the deer also simply succumb to the changes and allow himself to become a breeder.

It felt like a better and better idea with each passing day. And then, one day, when that slit finally opened up, wet and ready to be used, the idea wasn’t just good, it was overwhelming.

“It’ll only go away if you let someone breed you,” Callie advised Algernon – though there was precious little left of the Algernon who had first been kidnapped. Even Callie had begun to call him Dahlia, and slowly, she – it was getting hard to think of herself as a man, owing to those two rather heavy pairs of breasts and that slit – had begun to adopt that name, as if it’d been meant for her all along.

But to let someone breed her, just like that? That was a harder ask, no matter how good it’d surely have felt. So, each time a stud came by to rut Callie, she declined the offer for the same. They mocked her and assured her that she’d crumble soon, and when she still hadn’t after weeks of having her new pussy, one of the nurses came by, pinned her down and injected her with something that he casually explained was a heat inducer.

Whatever it was took effect quickly. Before he was even done with Callie’s next breeding, Dahlia felt as if her pussy was on fire. The need was overwhelming to the point of her whimpering into her pillow, not helped at all by hearing Callie moan in ecstasy right next to her as she got exactly what they both needed. No matter how hard she tried to rub herself to an orgasm to clear her mind, it was all but impossible.

So, when the horse-stud pulled his cum-covered cock out of Callie’s body, Dahlia had to fight to keep herself from staring at it. Callie looked so beautiful and satisfied, leaking cum despite her belly already being round with pregnancy. The doe wished she could turn back, somehow. That she could will those beautiful tits to retreat, to make that needy hole between her legs close up again.

“You know, you might as well spread your legs now,” the stud said. He looked to be some kind of equine. Dahlia was so horny that she could barely see straight, and his cock promised so much pleasure that she felt increasingly dizzy just thinking about it. Dahlia had, naturally, never even experienced a normal heat before, much less one enhanced by whatever black-market chemicals the prison used, and as such, she had no idea how to fight it.

“Or maybe you’re one of those who just need to get forced through it before you know what’s good for you, hah,” the horse nickered. He stepped closer. “So, you know, I think I’ll just put a foal in that slutty womb of yours.”

His cocky confidence, borne of breeding so many almost completely mindbroken, transformed women, made Dahlia shudder. She felt wetness trickle down along her legs, barely even realizing that she’d ended up with her hips high in the air, an instinctive position to present herself for mating, despite knowing that it was wrong. Or was it? After all, she had a womb now, and that womb thirsted for virile seed.

The horse grabbed her ass. That, too, had gotten rounded and softer. More feminine.

Dahlia didn’t move. She couldn’t move, feeling like her limbs simply weren’t responding, her body overruling her conscious mind. Even when she heard her stud-to-be snort and then felt that cum-dripping flared head of his cock press against her folds, she didn’t move.

“Yeah, figured as much. All you new converts are so easy. Treatment really brings out that inner slut, doesn’t it?” he remarked, voice deep with condescension.

And she still didn’t say anything. The anger she should’ve felt was absent, replaced by her body cheering for the nameless stud, desperately wanting to be taken and put to proper use. So, when the horse pushed his hips and that wide cockhead stretched her wide, she could only moan.

“There you go. Always love breaking in the new mares,” the stud nickered, and then began to fuck her, not missing a beat. For a few seconds, his thrusts were smooth, but then quickly grew rougher and faster, clearly concerned only with breeding her rather than giving her any pleasure. Not that the rough treatment stopped her body from singing a traitorous song of joy regardless, one that left her new pussy leaking to help the horse bury his virile cock deeper, all the way down to his heavy balls.

Callie stumbled next to her. “Doesn’t being a woman feel amazing?” she murmured, a soft hand brushing Dahlia’s hair out of her eyes, and in the same motion, patting her soothingly.

Dahlia couldn’t hate her. She was broken, already, not realizing or not comprehending that this wasn’t what the doe wanted. Well, not normally. Right now, she wanted nothing more than the rutting she was receiving and the sticky, belly-swelling ending that each motion of the horse’s hips and each twitch of his cock heralded. Dahlia understood that mindset, now, and she could feel herself slipping down, down, down, into that same comfortable and submissive state where nothing existed except for her stud’s thrusting cock and her clenching pussy.

That surrender seemed to speed up the changes, too. Though her cock never disappeared – it remained just as impressive as it’d always been, due to some mutation or another, though limp despite the pleasure of being rutted – the rest of her looked utterly feminine, especially with four heavy breasts bouncing with each thrust, a warm glow in her belly where her new womb awaited its first dose of cum. The first dose of many, if she were to stay here. And right now, she wanted to stay here.

She was so close, being unwillingly yet unresistingly fucked that she couldn’t keep from moaning, which drew another spat of cruel laughter from the horse and soothing little pets and touches from the far more submissive hyena.

“I think he’s going to cum!” the hyena beamed. “Try clenching around him as hard as you can to help him.”

Dahlia did as much. She wasn’t entirely familiar with those muscles, but they clenched eagerly, regardless, and the horse grunted, his cock jerking inside her. So, Dahlia did what her body told her and squeezed even harder.

This time, she was rewarded with a heavy throb and then a bloom of warmth inside her as her stud let out a neigh of pleasure. He came like a firehose, flooding her heat-struck body with his potent cum and quickly leaving her pregnant. Not that she’d know it, at least not before she had some time to recover. However, the way that orgasm – and she joined him in it, thrashing and moaning in utter, shattering pleasure – clouded her mind, seemingly for a long time, ensured that she’d join the hyena in being a happy, eager breeder.

Even before the horse had finished filling her womb with his cum, Dahlia dimly understood that she really wanted to be pregnant, willing her body to accept that virile blessing, and accept it, it did, to the tune of satisfied groans and reassuring little coos from her cellmate. Callie took a moment to press her palm against Dahlia’s belly, as if willing her to conceive, as if it was the greatest of blessings. Certainly, it felt like it, a satisfying fullness that she had never felt as a man.

It confirmed something inside her, the humiliating laughter of her stud aside. That this was, somehow, meant to be. That she had always been a woman, and despite their cruel methods, the prison’s keepers had been right. At the very least, she was immediately hooked on that feeling, addicted to the rush of having someone empty every last drop of cum in their balls into her.

The next fear years were a blur. Her belly swelled, and then she gave birth. Then, as she begged to be bred again, her stud – a new one, this time – did so eagerly. Time stopped mattering, really, with her and Callie often cuddled up and heavily pregnant in their shared cell. Heavily pregnant or leaking with plentiful, wonderful cum.

Yet slowly, over time, a kind of doubt crept in again, intruding on that warm fuzzy state a few weeks after she had once again been knocked up. By now, she had lost all recollection of just how many times she had given birth, and while knowing that she had, and would again, filled her heart with pride, that nagging doubt grew ever stronger.

Dahlia really wasn’t sure how she felt, at that point. The transformation had left her mind rather clouded. She knew it was because of whatever the prison kept putting in every meal that she ate, and she knew that she should’ve been resisting the urge to get repeatedly bred, but it was nearly impossible. The cause seemed noble, which made it worse.

Yet inside herself, she also knew that this wasn’t the right way to go about things. The cause was just and even necessary, and it could even be good – should it only target those amenable to being transformed – but the cruel approach that her prison took to do doing so didn’t work. Neither did the brainwashing that she desperately tried to break out of. It had to be at least part voluntary.

And yet she couldn’t completely shake herself awake. After all, she was enjoying it. Her cellmate, even more than herself, was loving it. And so, her days became a blur of being constantly fucked, of being swollen with yet another rapid pregnancy and quickly giving birth to another litter of deer that’d help bring the world’s population back to stable numbers.

But then, one day, after that had gone on for had to be years on end, her nameless captors gave her a gift. She would, finally, be allowed to use the until-now vestigial cock that hung between her legs, that the yet unpolished transformative drugs she had been given hadn’t managed to make disappear.

“You’ve earned enough trust that we might as well put you to work,” the otter warden said, patting Dahlia’s pregnant belly. “Well, the other kind of work. You’ve certainly been a good baby factory for us.”

She liked the name Dahlia. It felt a lot better than the previous name she once had. And this body felt better too, despite the smoldering anger at being forced into it. Still, the approval had her practically melt at the otter’s touch. The drugs didn’t help. Certainly, it felt good to be a good girl, but how much of that was really her?

Regardless, the otter’s webbed hand slipped lower until it touched her sheath, all but neglected until this point. “We didn’t really mean for you to keep this. Or for you to have four tits. The process is imperfect, but at least it always ends up with us able to breed you… and since you did keep it, we might as put you to work using it. Wouldn’t you like that? To be a good little breeder and stud for us?” she prodded, and her finger similarly prodded the very tip of Dahlia’s cock where it peeked out with dawning arousal.

“Y-yes,” Dahlia stuttered. She wanted to disobey but couldn’t. Whatever they were pumping into her kept her both helplessly horny and pliable.

“Good. Start with your cellmate. I think she’s just about ready and fertile. And you’ve kept enough of that dumb, distasteful male part of yours that I think it’ll only take one good sniff of her heat to get you going,” the otter told her. And that was that.

She returned to her cell like a good breeder, and sure enough, she found Callie there. Briefly, it struck Dahlia that she’d never learned what her name was before, but at the same time, it didn’t matter. Callie had fully embraced her new role as a woman and especially as a pure breeder, to the point that she barely had any agency anymore.

The otter had been right. She did smell of heat. It wasn’t that Dahlia hadn’t been able to smell the beginnings of it before, but it hadn’t been this strong, and without permission to use her cock, she hadn’t allowed herself to react to it. This time, she did, feeling blood rush to her cock at the sight of the hyena, resting in her bed with her legs just slightly spread, and her perfect breasts bare. By now, she was like the epitome of curvy, fertile womanhood, with little of that initial androgyny left.

“I am to breed you,” Dahlia said. The words felt strange and unfamiliar leaving her lips. Even in that distant life as a male she had never impregnated anyone, yet the desire was suddenly there, just as overwhelmingly strong as her need to be pregnant. “You okay with that?”

Not that consent really mattered here. She’d get fucked anyway. But Dahlia still had enough control to ask; it felt like the right thing to do, and so, she did.

“Y-you? They’re finally letting you use that?” Callie replied. She opened her eyes to look at Dahlia, and those eyes immediately fluttered. Had she been trying to focus on not letting her heat overwhelm her? If so, those attempts had just failed.

Dahlia assured her that they did, and an expression of pure relief descended on the hyena’s soft, feminine face. She spread her legs a little wider, revealing a soaking wet pussy. She looked just as dazed as Dahlia felt, like neither of them were anything more than slaves to their urges.

“Then please, I need to be pregnant,” she whimpered, even reaching down to splay that pink little slit open for the doe. “I need to always be pregnant.”

She was there in an instant. At least these urges were familiar enough. Perhaps not those to finish inside and fertilize her, but certainly the ones who told her to slide her cock deep, deep into that blissful embrace. And so, she rubbed her tip against the hyena’s entrance, and her body quaked with desire.

“Please,” she repeated, utterly broken now, with no real self to hold onto the way Dahlia had managed. She had fully surrendered, and while it was incredibly erotic in that moment, at another time the doe might’ve found it sad. Right now, her cock demanded too much of her to think of anything but the roaring, deafening lust that made her throb eagerly.

Dahlia thrust into her, a feminine moan of pleasure escaping her lips as Callie’s submissive pussy engulfed her shaft. Briefly, she had been afraid that it’d feel jarring to use her cock after so long, that it’d somehow deny the womanly identity that she had grown to rather enjoy – much more than she had ever enjoyed being her male self – but there was no such discord, only pleasure.

Her breeder urges took over fully. With a growl entirely uncharacteristic of a deer, she grabbed the hyena’s hips and slammed herself all the way into her welcoming, fertile body. Callie moaned in turn, almost mindlessly, with senseless joy at fulfilling her purpose. As much as Dahlia wished she could’ve somehow saved the hyena, the urge to put her body to proper use was much, much stronger, and she began to rut into her ruthlessly, rocking the curvy hyena back and forth on her bunk.

It was nearly all-consuming, that sweet ecstasy of a warm, tight hole clenching around her cock. Even this felt far better than sex ever had as a man, despite being driven by the same instincts. The whole heady realization that she could both be pregnant and grant that gift of motherhood to others was deeply intoxicating, her hips moving with a somewhat drunken sway as she claimed more and more of the pleasures the hyena’s fertile cunt eagerly offered her. Though she felt her own pussy leaking down her thighs in sympathetic arousal, this time it would be neglected in favor of the wonderful tension and pressure building up in her cock.

She was actually going to do it. She was going to plant her seed inside this beautiful hyena and then her belly would swell, just like countless males had done to her. Dahlia could barely think at all, acting like a carnal automaton as she fucked Callie senseless, even leaning in closer to bite her neck. It felt amazing, it felt meaningful.

Of course, not having used her cock for so long – years – it didn’t take very long before her muscles were trembling as she thrust, quickly and erratically, pinning the hyena down in an almost feral kind of frenzy, pounding her into that thin, uncomfortable mattress. Callie cried out for more, and Dahlia gave her exactly what she wanted, bucking her hips until the hyena suddenly tensed up and then came, wailing in ecstasy and begging to be bred both with her hoarse voice and her twitching, clenching, milking body.

That part, feeling an eager pussy milk her cock as it came, clenching and spasming, was something Dahlia had felt before, but her shaft felt so much more sensitive than it had before, almost like a swollen and virile clit.

And so, she came almost immediately, groaning as she felt a shockwave of pleasure shoot down her spine, forcing her to hilt all the way inside Callie. It was just as good as that first time being bred had felt, and with each heavy pulse of her cock, knowing that this was when that magical moment of fertilization happened. Dahlia let the pleasure overwhelm her, throbbing inside Callie’s eager body as she pumped her full of sticky, thick, pent-up cum with each irresistible twitch of her shaft.

It felt good. It felt too good, like an addiction immediately taking root. She couldn’t stop shaking as she came, fingers digging into the hyena’s body as she drove herself deeper, or at least tried to, wanting to pump her seed as deep as it could possibly go, to paint her cervix and to fill her womb to the brim.

Dahlia nearly collapsed when her orgasm was over. She felt utterly, deeply satisfied, yet for the first time in a long while, her mind was wonderfully clear. Crystal clear, like she could think properly again. She held herself inside Callie’s pussy for a little longer, wanting to soak in the afterglow, only pulling out once her cock began to soften and slip back into her sheath. Obligingly, she propped a few pillows under the hyena’s hips to stem the flow of cum from her flushed slit. It didn’t really matter if she was in this situation out of her own free will, after all. All that Callie wanted was to stay here and be bred for the rest of her life, so there was no reason to deprive her of that joy.

Then, Dahlia sat down. With her mind clear, feminine and “masculine” lusts finally sated for the first time in years, Dahlia could finally think. The grip of the drugs they put into her waned, and with it, the submissive feelings. She still believed in the mission they had here, but not in this way.

She’d escape, she decided, and organize her own prison. She’d name it after Artemis, the ancient goddess of the hunt who sometimes cursed men to become women. Only it wouldn't be a curse, like it was here, inflicting mindlessness on those that should instead choose to change willingly. Yes, a plan, finally. She knew where the exit was, but it was securely locked. Dahlia also knew who had the keys. At least, one pair of them. The otter. And as she quickly came to realize, utilizing that icy mental clarity that a proper “male” orgasm wrought, the doe had only one real option for getting her out of the way.

Dahlia sat there for a moment longer, admiring the hyena’s cum-soaked slit while she practically purred with satisfaction, seemingly entirely absorbed in her happy place of feeling the plentiful seed soak into her and impregnate her once again. Though she felt proud of what she had done, her thoughts were now on the plan. Somehow, she needed to get rid of the otter, or at least get past her, and thankfully, this little encounter had revealed to her exactly what she needed to do.

It wasn’t hard to get the supplies that she needed to accomplish that plan. The opposite, rather. She was trusted now, assumed to be so deep under the prison’s spell that she wouldn’t dream of resistance, and so, when she approached staff and told them that she needed aphrodisiac drugs, they assumed it was to encourage her cellmate, and they gave her what she needed freely.

It was still a dangerous plan, of course. She had to somehow ride the line between being aroused enough to fuck the otter and leave her in a senseless daze for long enough to steal her keys, while also not succumbing to the subservient trance that lust brought out in her. Yet, it was a risk she had to take. It wasn’t as if she could steal a uniform, blend in, and simply walk out. Not with this body and its plentiful curves. Even compared to the other inmates, she looked like a fertility goddess, with multiple pairs of breasts and her wide hips, widened further by all the times she’d already been bred.

And her cock, of course. She was the only one who had managed to keep theirs. Dahlia decided that when she had her own organization for repopulating, she’d let all of the prisoners choose. After all, despite apparently being a woman, she didn’t mind that thing at all. It felt like a natural, feminine extension of her body despite what it might’ve looked like at first glance. Who said a woman couldn’t have some masculine attributes? No, that was their failing, and she’d fix that. She felt her cock stir at the very thought of it.

One step closer to danger. But also, one step further from arousing suspicion. Nobody would think that a stud walking around with a firm, focus-devouring erection would be up to anything but her virile task.

She returned to the nameless otter in the guise of reporting that she had done what she had been asked to, but concealed in her hand was a syringe, just like the otter had used on her in the beginning. It wasn’t full of those transformative chemicals, but instead, aphrodisiacs and heat inducers.

“Yes?” she asked, as Dahlia stumbled – or pretended to, to give the impression that she was still in a malleable trance – into her office. “Is your cellmate pregnant?”

“Yes,” Dahlia slurred, continuing the act.

“Perfect. In that case, we’ll put you to proper work as a stud until you give birth and are ready to be bred again, yourself. Isn’t this shaping up just wonderful?” the otter laughed, stepping closer. “Maybe we’ll give you a little something to put you into permanent rut. Perhaps harvest that cum of yours-”

Her words were interrupted by a pained yelp as Dahlia jammed the syringe into her neck and injected her with far more of the drugs that any woman was ever supposed to receive. Then, just as she opened her mouth to scream for help, Dahlia – who might not have been strong, but being a deer, she was still bigger and stronger than the otter – clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her.

Though smaller, the otter might have been able to throw her off. She was strong enough to put up a challenge, certainly, but it only took moments before the cocktail of drugs took the fight out of her as she, too, fell into a full-blown heat.

“You… fuck,” she managed to squeeze out, despite Dahlia’s hand muffling her voice.

“Wouldn’t you rather get bred than complain?” Dahlia whispered back in a low growl, digging through the otter’s pockets until she found what looked like a digital access card attached to a bundle of keys. “You know, if we strip those clothes off and toss you into a cell, it’ll be a while before anyone figures out who you are.”

It was the otter’s time to shudder.

As much as it was a nice thought, she’d probably manage to alert someone if she was left alone and somehow cleared her mind. Dahlia had to take matters into her own hands; she knew exactly how utterly insensate being bred had left her, the first time, and her cock was already swelling as the otter weakly struggled against her.

She was in no condition to really resist, moaning and whimpering and already soaking her uniform. It came off easily, leaving her naked, and despite the obvious fury that the otter must’ve felt at what was about to happen – after all, the prisoners were meant to be the ones getting bred, not her – she couldn’t resist, not with that amount of aphrodisiacs in her blood. And so, she folded easily over her desk while Dahlia unzipped her uniform and pulled it down, all the way over her small but perky breasts and then her enormous rudder of a tail, finally baring both her ass and that dripping, suddenly very vulnerable pussy.

“You know, I bet you will look just beautiful with your belly so round that you can barely walk,” Dahlia mocked her. And of course, that mockery only made the otter shiver, her mind barely registering the tone over the promised outcome, which her body suddenly deeply yearned for, just the way every woman did when dosed up on those repurposed medicines. “I mean, why else would you have founded this prison?”

“I didn’t-” the otter protested. And then she moaned as Dahlia thrust into her, all the way into her, mimicking how her first stud had bred her. Rough, sharp thrusts, entirely dedicated to getting herself off and inseminating her victim as quickly as possible. It worked just the same on her as it did everyone else, and soon Dahlia’s captor was squirming and moaning, unable to voice any kind of protest.

Dahlia had expected that it’d take her longer, having just finished with Callie. But if anything, she was more sensitive now, and taking out all that frustration that’d built up over years on the otter was an intoxicating spice of its own. Every little precum-splattering throb inside her was payback, and ensuring that she’d swell with pups would be the final revenge. It had her near the edge before she knew it, and though it certainly clouded her mind to feel the otter clenching so eagerly – and yet quite unwillingly – around her cock, but it was not enough to make that newfound, beautiful dominance waver in the slightest.

No, she’d fuck her full of pups, and then she’d make her escape, even if that second part seemed far less exciting in the heat of the moment.

The sweet, familiar pressure welled up in her loins once more. With a grunt and a final thrust punctuating that frenzied, feral mating, Dahlia hilted inside the otter and sealed her fate with spurt after spurt of thick, rich cum, only made more potent by all the drugs she had been filled with, the otter’s own tricks ensuring her pregnancy. Of course, she wasn’t in a state to complain; instead, she came like a firecracker as the first gush bathed her cervix in virile white, thrashing in absolute bliss as that newfound craving was utterly satisfied.

She was left mumbling quietly to herself after her pussy had stopped obediently spasming, after her inner muscles were done tugging on Dahlia’s cock and begging for more. She slumped down on the desk and stayed there, with her ass in the air and her sex leaking with copious cum.

Dahlia didn’t stay to savor the moment this time, only taking a quick glance at her handiwork as she pulled out. A beautiful look, really. Affirming, of the fact that while she was certainly a woman, this was no less a natural part of her, a wonderful little gift that she could share with everyone. And she would. Oh, would she ever. Perhaps she’d create another hermaphrodite like herself and they’d take turns stuffing each other’s pussies full. But that was for later. Right now, her mind was clear again, and with that, Dahlia began her escape.

A quick look around the office while the otter was out cold – or rather, out hot, floating on those happy clouds of a satisfied heat – revealed that they had spare uniforms too. It was a tight fit to squeeze herself into one with all of those sinful curves of hers, not the least of which were from a second set of breasts and her sizeable sheath, but with minor discomfort and a lot of squeezing, she managed at least a good enough fit to not immediately raise suspicion.

With the keycard in hand, Dahlia was ready to get out. But then, she had an idea, and quickly returned to her cell, where she found Callie waiting as always. Yes, Callie wanted to be a breeder and nothing else, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t embrace that role in a slightly nicer place, wherever she ended up establishing Artemis once she managed to regain access to her bank accounts.

Callie was obedient as always. At first, she hesitated, thinking that leaving with the doe would mean things would go back to whatever “normal” had been for her, before all this, but when Dahlia quickly explained her idea, her face lit up.

“We could have a place where everyone enjoys it just as much as you,” the doe told her, and with that, Callie was entirely on board, promising to become her new organization’s first breeder. Well, granted, she’d have to beat Dahlia herself to that, as the doe certainly wanted her fair share of pregnancies, but it was a noble enough goal regardless.

Together, they simply walked out, with Dahlia in her borrowed uniform and Callie completely and shamelessly naked. Nobody questioned the doe when she showed them the otter’s card, explaining that she had been tasked with using the hyena to seduce more victims for the prison.

Of course, what she actually did once free was to hire every private investigator and lawyer in the country to take them down. Not that what she had received wasn’t a blessing, in a way, having revealed her true self like that. She just didn’t like them, and extracting their funds would go a long way towards a space station.

The idea came to her like a sudden revelation. Oh yes, she’d establish Artemis in space. That way, there’d be no distractions. And although she’d certainly try to keep it ethical, she didn’t want someone like herself disrupting its operations.