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Orbiting a lush alien world, Dr. Deacon Dawson inhaled the chill recirculating air, trying to refocus himself away from his eager feelings of anticipation.

To hear Deacon tell it, he was born ice cold, always distant and naturally reserved. He didn’t need much from his nannies, preferring self-sufficiency. He didn’t need much from his siblings, who were useful for picking up social queues but otherwise just a burden. He didn’t need much from culture at large, enjoying studying mythology and the occasional dumb comic book, but doing so communally seemed pointless. He didn’t need much from his family, their colonial fortune hardly needed to buy his way into a proper education as his academics spoke for themselves. Money opened doors for him, but nothing was automatic.

Life was transactional to Deacon when it came to nearly everyone around him. His mother was proud when he had already secured his doctorate at 22. His mother was elated as he was leading his own bioengineering research team at age 26. His mother was shocked when he took a job with their bitter corporate rivals at 28. Within four years, his terraforming microbes had revolutionized human interstellar colonization, and his mother saw him buy out the controlling stake in family interests. His sister claimed it was just to cut her off, and remove another perceived burden. Deacon was never the type to give you the satisfaction of knowing for sure.

With no interest in political gladhanding, a waning draw to corporate power, and nearly infinite wealth coming in from a piece of every suddenly easily accessible mineral extracted, Deacon found himself with the first historic instance of actually having no more worlds left to conquer. He paid a seemingly steep price for immortality foregoing any domestic bliss or comfort, but by his name and work he already had historical notoriety well accounted for.

Unknown to everyone but himself, that fame was never enough. He planned to reimburse his efforts with Godhood.

Having his starship built was a trifle, so many new industrial concerns eager to curry his favor. Outfitting the laboratory was slightly trickier, but the suppliers feeding his bioengineering empire would twist and deform just for the chance to have a decent lunch and hear a fake laugh. Keeping a habitable zone planet a secret proved most difficult of all. His scout cartographer was personally promised a hefty sum in exchange for his silence and the needed information. Had he made it home to spend it, he would have been quite comfortable. Corporate security was well accustomed to sanding off the remaining edges of his smooth getaway. Deacon would be found in the infinite when he wanted to be, and not a moment sooner.

For two years he orbited the watery rock in solitude, monitoring the atmosphere as microorganisms devoured hydrocarbons into friendlier ingredients for life. Dead masses turned to rich soil, and larger plants and animals were eventually introduced, taken out of stasis and turned loose on a budding world. With practiced skill, the march of life was conducted until the only additional resource needed was time. In that interim, Deacon moved from applying his prior research to completing his next.

To be the Patriarch of sentient life in his private Eden, Deacon nominated himself. He thought no partner suitable to mothering his mission could possibly exist.

As treated air left his lungs in a huff, relieving his momentary lapse of focus, Deacon knew he was close to finally creating a being capable of withstanding his perverse desires. Bans on creating fully sentient life were insipid and pointless, and who should know better than the pioneer of the base process? His spite at such misguided restrictions to his genetic proliferation refocused him on his task. It took time, more money than most worlds could fathom, and his unique genius to accomplish this. When his own efforts failed Deacon pioneered another great work, a fuzzy logic genetic sequencer capable of inference from any known living thing in the galaxy,

In the bioengineering bay of the starship, automated intelligence monitored the vitals of his designer mate. From an artificial embryo to her fully mature form only took a month, her crafted genetics proving suitable to his ultimate goal. He had modeled her after a comic book heroine that caught his eye decades ago, a furry feline goddess, fighting monsters of the week. Most of her fur was a silky white, with stripes of orange and black accentuating her overtly generous curves and planting a vague heart mark right above her womb; a delightful surprise diverging from the original design. What was planned were her abilities; an ovulating feral heat that would fill her surroundings with potent pheromones, generous heaving breasts already underway brewing up powerful laced milk, and a reproductive system tuned to provide him more mothers for his project, gestating and recovering nearly as fast as proteins could bind and mend. This viable clone stood apart from the others in the laboratory with a name written on its pod instead of just a number: Hera. Something suitable for the goddess he needed.

As blinking lights danced off of steel walls and pre-planned routines whirred into execution, Hera’s nervous system received its final tuneup. Programmed directly in her mind was an education like none other in centuries, abundant with the fiction of sheer erotic fantasy. Her mind was already quite capable of the exact nerve responses Deacon had in mind, but he didn’t consider himself much of a teacher. The ship’s intelligence started enacting his latest developmental mental programming, inferring the proper education from the colony world’s cast datastores. Experiences and memories of courtesans and sex slaves from every text his networks had access to imprinted themselves alongside simple language, motor functions, survival basics, domestic skills, space colony operations for safety, and unquestionable carnal instructions to ignore any embarrassment or taboo. Etched deliberately was the importance of unwavering loyalty to carry out her command to breed the planet as well as she possibly could. The pliable thirst of her DNA influenced her to embrace her role eagerly as the machines molded her. These were the genetic modification routines that made Dr. Dawson so powerful, and no censorship or limit was placed on the computer’s ability to arrange them.

Deacon looked on longingly through hermetic glass from his control room as his machines released her from her pod. His cocktail glass dripped a bead of sweat, mocking its drinker as a bit of anxiety caused Deacon to perspire. He swirled his glass once in interest once her organs took over from life support with seemingly no issue. He allowed himself a deep smirk as she rose, and the android assistants began to habituate her to the first experience in her new designer world. This was the last planned clone built from scratch, so he took a moment to appreciate the novelty. Acclimation wasn’t going to take very long due to the genetic gifts Hera was given, and her future children wouldn’t have to be thrust into the world so artificially, so this might be a rare sight, Deacon mused. Over the next several days, Deacon kept Hera’s monitoring front and center in his workspace. Watching Hera explore her body before sleeping, her hands tweaking and testing her erogenous zones, he figured his candidate was ready for hands-on testing.

Hera roused from her slumber at the sound of the plasteel door sliding into its recessed alcove. Deacon strut through the threshold with all of the hubris that led him to the moment. Hera’s artificial etiquette wouldn’t let her speak first. Deacon allowed her to gaze at him until the first whiff of his male essence properly registered in her breeder senses. When he saw her yellow eyes dilate, Deacon could no longer wait to claim his creation.

Deacon embraced and ravished his new mate, indulging in the softness of her fur and the comforting plush of her motherly figure. Hera’s pheromones began to surge through her bloodstream at the first touch, and her anxious breath left her with a soft moan. Pecks became kisses and her hands simply could not explore the man she was made for fast enough. Deacon knew she had been programmed to respond and not initiate, but her bestial breeding instincts are too powerful for her to hold back. The thought thrilled him further. In Deacon’s mind, his control already couldn’t be questioned.

Hera looked right through Deacon as her clawed fingertips gave a slight tug to the hem of Deacon’s shirt. After receiving a slight nod of encouragement from her creator the simple tee was in shreds on the floor for some drone to take care of later. With her eyes drinking more of his slender but toned form she quickly buried her muzzle into his chest and huffed, dosed on the pheromones her instinct demanded she craved. Receiving the proper authorization, her ova followed instructions prepared to accept Deacon’s seed, ovulating on the spot. Hera felt her little used lungs heave for whatever air could be left in the room as she felt her design reward her for her proximity, recognition for putting herself in position to be properly fucked and filled.

The cat hit the mattress with a mewl as Deacon suddenly pushed her back onto the plush bedding. Her eyes were fixed on Deacon as he discarded the rest of his simple clothes, kicking them off with disdain for being the impediment they now were. Hera could feel her wetness matting the creamy white fur accenting her dripping, burning up pussy. With Deacon this close and Hera this ready he could indulge in the scent of her need as well. His nose would never pick up pheromones like hers would, but this was adequate. Deacon could feel the virility of a younger man in his veins, and was pleased the sensation came on so quickly. He knew there was more for the taking.

Hera arched her back as he kissed his way down the gentle fluff that outlined her belly, and she could feel her inner workings warming up to deliver her progeny. When he parted her legs to inspect her glistening wetness, a single word finally, breathlessly, escaped her muzzle.

“Master…”

This close to the petal he had crafted to pluck her essence was stronger still, primal and invigorating. Deacon exhaled slowly through his nose and felt his tension melt, a moment’s pause to relish the feeling of what he considered fulfillment, well earned after all the hassle to get this far. Ready to sate his curiosity and make his kitty squirm, he lashed his tongue up her wetness and flicked the tip of her cute little clit, and savored her taste. A yowl of pleasure rang out against the prefabricated walls, expertly tuned senses sparking her first real life reaction. Both of them were feeling the spark of life, either by dark desire or explicit planning. There was nothing artificial at all about the lust beginning to steam the air around them.

With Deacon’s curiosity sated, he could set to work acting on his more impatient impulses. He was maybe a touch surprised at his own eagerness, but with the beauty below him that could be reasoned away. Hera’s body was radiating heat as her eyes bored into his, conveying she couldn’t be any more ready. Deacon took one second to trace her folds with the head of his steeled cock, enjoying the unique friction that came from where nectar soaked pussyfur met the pink opening aside before pressing his length inside her. Hera’s pussy was a furnace, any hotter and it might start steaming as her womanhood was claimed. Deacon took the first step towards populating his colony as his hands found purchase above her hourglass hips and he pressed the rest of himself inside her sodden pussy. Deacon’s mind told him he should savor this, but a new voice compelled him to take her now.

Hera’s tail straightened and her claws raked the sheets when Deacon’s cock rammed into her deepest part. Only a few seconds in and she struggled to parse the entirely new, deadly acute new sensations. The mirth of being used for her programmed purchase, the borrowed animalistic broodlust added to her makeup, and the unmistakable truth that her pussy so lovingly sculpted by her master was made to enjoy this as much as he did. Hera’s mewls quickly turned to wails as each new nerve was spoiled properly with even the collision of hips offering up a more intense and realized pleasure. Hera’s inner walls grasped and massaged the maleness as it began pistoning in and out of her, eager to be filled and hesitant to let go. Deacon’s groans of satisfaction was the only praise she’d ever need again,

Deacon’s mind was swimming in victory as his shaft was drowning in pussy, strands of her excessive wetness easing the path to claiming her harder as the smacking sounds of her breeding joined the soundfloor. No one else could offer him the raw thrill of feeling this masculine but himself, as always the only good in life came from what he sought. With nearly a sneer as he collected his thoughts, he wanted to refresh her programming and remind Hera of his first and highest command.

“You’re going to be the mother of my children, Hera. A Matriarch to a generation, too prosperous and widespread to ever fade. You were made to serve, and I demand your service. I’m going to fill you with my seed, watch you grow the inheritors of this world, and see you birth the future. Feel it in every part of yourself, your destiny as my little breeder..”

His words were too gruffly spoken to reverberate off the steel walls but echoed in her conscience. There was no doubt to her purpose, nor to the truth of Deacon’s command. Hera felt a singular purpose that people seek religion for and felt in that moment very much to be a destined goddess. Her flexible legs wrapped around Deacon’s body, beckoning him to be closer, deeper. The desire to be one with her mate shared equal space with the constant firing from her enhanced erogenous body. Deacon took her roughly then, another groan of pleasure inspired the way her curves rippled under his assault. Small droplets of milk formed on her darkening nipples as her body finalized everything else it needed to deliver the raw fertility demanded of her. There could be no higher purpose when there was no other purpose.

Deacon’s pace quickened as he chased his own release. He hiked up her legs and thrust himself further, feeling her innermost barrier put up its token resistance. Desperate shrieks were all the cat could manage between hurried breaths as her epoch sped towards her as well. A drop of sweat beaded off of Deacon’s forehead from his effort as he let himself go, slamming past her cervix and unloading his seed directly into her anticipating womb. Rope after rope of the hottest, densest, and most rewarding cum load of Deacon’s life shot into her, starting the short swim towards Hera’s ready eggs. It wasn’t long until the fluids in Hera’s bespoke reproductive system quickly rushed his swimmers to her ova, and Hera was rewarded again as they hit paydirt.. As the proper prize for fulfilling her purpose she screamed out in her life’s first, but no less life changing, breeding orgasm. Deacon was nearly in pain from how hard her fluttering cunt grasped and tugged at him for every last drop, his naturally doped mind also eager to reward and compensate. He nearly collapsed on top of his goddess, to feel the softness of her fur again, seeking a warmth in the afterglow he had so rarely felt. By god, had he ever found it.

The feeling of holding the mother of the future close, of hearing her strained vocal cords rasp after being pushed to their limits, of feeling the heat radiating through her fur, of knowing his depraved edict was set in motion was an incredibly rare, but addictive feeling of satisfaction. When Hera cupped her ample, quickly engorging breast to offer him her milky bounty, he latched on without a second thought. He had designed her milk to fuel his libido, after all. One of the more irresponsible components of Hera’s design, but Deacon never did show heed to resisting himself.

The creamy sweetness of Hera’s milk tasted divine. A few exploratory suckles turned into greedy nursing as he swallowed down one mouthful after another. Hera would produce her first litter in a few days, but there was no sense letting today’s stock go to waste, each reason to continue indulging easier than the last. It was only when Hera’s letdown faded and he moved to drain her other breast dry did he notice her rubbing her fluffy belly, already beginning to show and beam the proof of new life.

“I can feel them… seven. No, eight. All female… hmm.” A brief moment of reflection snuck its way off of Hera’s tongue. Her contented smile didn’t budge, as she traced her palms over her womb. Deacon’s hand joined hers to caress the start of her maternity with a consuming satisfaction. It got harder to concentrate on his satisfaction as the laced milk began to take effect, his balls hard at work producing his next batch of seed, and his barely softening cock springing back to attention. Nothing could have stopped him from wanting to drain Hera dry for more of this feeling of virility, this sense of being that spoke to the heart of his maleness.

Hera looked into Deacon’s glazing eyes, and spoke again. “Master, would it not be more efficient to introduce males to my litters? A single male for breeding would present a bottle neck to my blessed goal. If I am designed to repopulate as fast as possible, I think I can make that work sufficiently.”

It was only then did Deacon parse the first confusion of the several beginning to cloud his mind. “Hera… that is not what I intend. I am to be the patriarch of this world. Over time, when I am no longer capable, I may impart myself on another body I design for me, but I will sire this world myself. Maybe you were made to be a bit too perceptive.”

Hera did not reply, and only cradled Deacon closer to her bosom. Deacon seethed a moment at Hera being so brazen as to comfort him, but quickly could not justify any anger. A once passive emission of pheromones became an active one, as Hera’s awakening as a woman also awoke more of what the intelligence that designed her genome had considered appropriate. Too much of Hera’s chemical allure was already seeping into every part of him and stealthily clouding his mind. His hubris had shrouded his sharp mind from grasping he couldn’t quite know exactly what he would be exposing himself to when he let an algorithm decide how to make her pheromone cocktail as potent as it could be. And by chance they had come up with something perfect enough to sway the architect of life on so many worlds into something more pliant.

With no more of Hera left to drink for the moment, Deacon was luxuriating in the heat of their bodies. Stress, apprehension, and maybe too much more melted away as Hera began heating back up before he first claimed her. With the milk’s aphrodisiac bounty preparing him as well, he couldn’t tell where her inferno ended and his began. Had her endorphins been any less perfect he might have realized Hera was causing herself to ovulate again, her programmed mind determined to execute her repopulation goals as efficiently as possible. Without any external stimuli. Even if what might be stopping her is a master too pridefully misguided to seek what could be the only righteous path to ensuring her new species endured. Her genetics were crafted so malleably, the instructions printed at the root of her genetic code began to receive their first pass of self editing. Deacon couldn’t possibly have ever dreamed any life could react such as the way he was about to experience.

The nutrients from Deacon’s first load had already gone into his daughters, rapid division taking place inside her kitten maker. Hera’s body consciously and subconsciously rewrote the genetic code of her ova on the fly, ensuring a few other males to ensure the sole breeder bottleneck would not last long; her biology encoded cascading traits distinct enough to ensure inbreeding was no worry at all until their numbers approached the countless.

Another indication that Deacon’s level of control was overestimated came courtesy of Hera’s surprising strength. Or was he just that much more receptive to her whims? Too out of it to comprehend why he was suddenly pinned to the mattress, too consumed by his balls that felt bigger than they had ever been and the insistent throbbing of his cock, Deacon could barely tell up from down. Noticing her dear breeder’s confusion, Hera offered a knowing grin. “We’re going to make your mission come true Master. Our line will live forever. You’ve taught me so well. Please, help me make our descendents… perfect.”

Deacon offered a weak nod of approval, unable and now unwilling to put any of his concerns forth. The last part of his paradigm that saw the impending danger, that was educated enough to clock the runaway consequences of what would happen, that had any idea Hera was about to get herself pregnant with another litter to her own designs and not his; That part spoke as loudly as it could in a final attempt to flee, detoxify, and reconsider. It spoke as a whisper to the waterfall next to the lustful worship quartering in every other part of his mind. Deacon felt certainty without doubt and made it his new everyday mind as Hera’s hand guided his cock past her damp and grippy lower lips once more.

Deacon looked up as the curvy calico began bouncing on his shaft as the same goddess he had seen thirty minutes before became not a figure to covet, but a being to revere. Hera’s body was becoming a temple to motherhood in real time, and he was allowed to be exhilarated by it. Calm coos and little chirps joined Deacon’s exaltations as Hera picked up the pace. Hera had no real need to convince Deacon with more words. Having tasted his seed Hera was now familiar with every angle she could chemically exploit, and further concerns about being restricted from who she wanted to become didn’t seem to be any trouble. The concocted kitty instead thought about gyrating her hips, squeezing his dick to ensure an even bigger genetic payload, and taking careful note about what felt best for them. She was instructed to satisfy him after all, with the slutty wisdom of ages. There was no reason to modify that directive at all, and she did not intend to.

Whatever was left of the once proud geneticist was still enjoying himself as his partner for life jiggled and moaned about him. Every inch of his hardness was tenderly caressed with the perfect texture to send jolts back down his spine and to his frontal lobe. It felt like her pregnant pussy just evolved and learned to get better and better at milking his cock dry, because it did. Deacon’s riches that funded this entire affair came from knowing life could be pushed to adapt, to create a new cradle for organisms to thrive, and this was indeed yet another breakthrough. If the pretty kitty dominating his mind wasn’t proof, nothing could be. Hera giggled with delight and captured his lips in a kiss as her waist continued to swivel and delight. The warm air from Hera’s whisper tickled Deacon’s ear with a command of her own. It was far less grandiose and egotistical than any missive from her master, and much more primal. Simple. Direct.

“Breed me again, Master. Again and again. I promise, your wishes will come true. We’ll cover this world”

Hera’s domination of his mind and total pheromone control might have been resistible to this point by a more wisened, less ego driven man. Having already sealed away his will for good, Deacon never could have been that man anyway. Deacon’s sized up, productive cumtanks unloaded again. Hera’s gravid form changed as her belly pushed further outward still, both as Hera used his genetic material to grow her young, to seed the next litter that would ensure her little victory, and from the sheer volume Deacon had been compelled to produce. Not a drop leaked out as Hera’s pussy soaked in every drop, rope and dribble it could. Deacon leaned forward and screamed with the force of his release, burning this moment of pleasure into every ion encoded in his brain. Too high to comprehend his pleasure and too exhausted from having his simple human form so pillaged for his essence, Deacon collapsed backwards onto the now soaked mattress. His body was anointed in every part of her, and the mere mortal frame of the self appointed god passed out then and there. Hera’s smile never faded as she looked upon him with tenderness.

The imprinted inferences that educated Hera’s mind immediately started taking stock. The kittens in her womb already wouldn’t take long to gestate at all, especially if she could use Deacon’s genetic material more efficiently. From there problems were more basic like energy, nutrition, and infrastructure. Hera only had a cursory knowledge of the mechanisms of the colony and how they supported life, but she was adaptable, and could quickly figure out more. More of whatever. If genome changes were needed to ensure success, that could happen Also Deacon’s beautiful mind would be a real asset as many of these issues could be addressed by the strongest of the next generation and Hera could pass along the traits she wanted. Maybe she could even refine the intelligence that encoded her. Hera considered self replication for a moment, but found the idea rather boring. With an outline on how much she could breed without bringing the whole colony down on herself, Hera allowed herself a moment of intimacy as she snuggled up to the father of her children. He was her master and patriarch, after all. They were alone, isolated, and had nearly any resource they needed. And once they looked like they would outgrow this world, maybe it would be time to join the galaxy at large.