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The Milking Pods

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Adagiodjiang

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Filo barked and shook his head, the grey anthro wolf not in his right mind. Although he was from a proud bloodline, he did not act like such, the handle of his leash handed back from Nobleman Wu to the king.

“He has been a fine dog,” Nobleman Wu said with a smile and a respectful bow, for he was truly grateful to have been permitted to use one of the king’s changed subjects for his attentions. “But it is time for him to serve a greater need and I would keep him from you no longer. If there are any others that you would like trained and subjected to public display, I will, of course, be very glad to assist in any way possible, my king. Say the word and it shall be done.”

The king, his face neatly trimmed and presented with no facial hair that day, smiled warmly, looking down at the anthro “dog” sitting obediently on the pavement. It was quite as if the dog, whose name had once been Filo but had taken on several new names under Nobleman Wu’s care, really thought he was such, but all manner of scientific intervention had changed his brain over the years. Most of it, of course, had been done on the table in his laboratory.

“I know exactly what to do with him,” a tawny-furred lioness, Minerva, purred, sliding her paw over the king’s arm, tail snaking lightly back and forth. “The western cities claim Filo as theirs, demanding his release… Of course, we cannot have that. So, I have the perfect place for him.”

It was darker than anyone looking into the rule of the tyrant king could ever have understood, but they could not, undoubtedly, simply release Filo, even if his mind changes could be reversed to some extent. A small, round mechanical device implanted into the top of his spine, right at the base of his neck, feeding him a constant supply of drugs, though it had been engineered perfectly so that his body produced everything it needed to make more and more of the drug. It only needed maintenance, roughly, once every six months, maintaining him in a state of need, even if the anthro “dog” didn’t know what it was.

All he knew was that he was a dog and he had a master – and a new master! How wonderful! With his leash handed over to the king, Filo’s pink tongue lolled out happily, wagging his grey-furred rump. He shook himself off bodily as if shaking water from his fur, tail beating back and forth, back and forth. If someone only glanced at him, they would have been fair enough for not seeing him as an anthro, not as a thinking, sapient being.

Well, Filo had been that, once. Not anymore.

The problem with keeping Filo, of course, when the western cities (they did not name them anymore, not those that opposed the king) demanded his release, was that it would agitate them more: and the king did not want that, not until he was best poised to crush them. Once they were under his rule too, there would be no further trouble, expanding his control, step by step, march by march.

Yet to hide him in the meantime, to make it seem as if Filo had died in battle, a glorious death defending what he believed in… Ah, it would not have been a bad death to have, but the king loathed wastefulness in any way and he had never wanted to see the rebels who had opposed him bloodied and dulled, the life gone from their eyes. That was why they had been made useful in his world, his society, under his control.

There was only one place that he could hide Filo, where the brainwaves of his subject, bound and incapacitated, would be rendered mute and dull, so slow and so sluggish that it would be quite as if they never existed at all. Even the agents sent from the west would not be able to source Filo with their brainwave detectors, each brain perfectly mapped for an individual, unique like a fingerprint. And that was exactly what the king wanted: total secrecy.

At his feet, Filo waggled his backside and yapped, his tail thick with fur, sweeping back and forth, back and forth.

“Woof!”

The king smiled warmly, stroking his head, fingers threading between his ears. Filo leaned gratefully into his touch, rumbling a soft murmur of canine contentment.

The milking pods would do nicely for the dog.

*

One thing that would help, with regards to the milking pods, was the fact that Wu had never once allowed Filo to ejaculate while he had been under his care, making him the perfect candidate for reward training. To be drained and trained, over and over again, to experience such pleasure that his mind slipped down and down and down, until it was even lower than a simple, canine existence. It was a pleasure and sweet ecstasy that the king, in a way, was envious of. But that was just why he allowed his subjects to experience it, softening their lives and giving them a long, sweetening existence, right to the end of their natural days.

Was he really such a tyrant after all?

The laboratory was safe, a little darker than most, but still clinical, the stag that had opposed him in his running for mayor, Kionne, tucked away safely in the original milking pod. Others had come and gone, for their experiments, but rarely stayed. The pod had been upgraded too over the years, the stag anthro bent over as if on his hands and knees, his backside exposed where a tube was fed into his anal passage, offering pleasure and stimulation, along with waste disposal: an ingenious design. A helm covered his face, though a visor had been implemented so that it could be slid back to check the eyes of the experiment in the pod whenever needed, similar panels set into the low pod so that the subject could always be checked, always exposed.

Hidden under Kionne the deer was the tube flexing and pulling around his cock, forever milking him of his orgasms, another tube fed down his throat so that he was forced to drink down a concoction of nutrients and aphrodisiacs forevermore, maintaining his health. It even slowed down the loss of muscle mass, even if that was never again going to be an issue for Kionne.

Another panel, glowing faintly green, could be pulled over the entire pod to hide the stag away if ever needed, locking to a code, but they had not needed to use it, except for demonstrations.

“Good boy, Filo, good boy. We will have you set up nice and snug in here.”

The king smiled and petted Filo on the head as the dog sat there and wagged his tail, not knowing that he was a wolf, not remembering anything of his life as an anthro. It didn’t matter to him, not as the man removed his chastity device, which had covered his soft, pliable cock while still allowing him to urinate through it. The metal cage, set so that Filo could be aroused while wearing it too, all for his humiliation and Wu’s amusement, though the dog didn’t understand.

He just thought it felt good sometimes, not understanding his new master’s wrinkled face as his chastity was removed, covered in dried up pre-cum and urine, fragrant at best, though Filo did not need to be polite. He looked back and forth, keenly sniffing the air, his tail wagging slowly. Where was he? What was he doing there? He hoped his master had a treat for him!

“There you go, boy.” It was telling that the king was taking care of him himself, but Filo did not know that, for the king was just another man, another master to him. “Let us have you set up! Hey now!”

The king laughed as Filo leapt and bounded, practically frolicking, a far more active dog than Greyin had ever been, though that was probably a little of their prior personalities slipping into it: fascinating. He would have to ask his scientist and technician team to study the effects of the drugs on active brains more, for it could bring great benefit and joy to his people.

That it could control too, well… That was by the by.

Leading the dog, naked with his soft, pink cock hanging down, down a level to B3F, he smiled, stepping into the room as the doors whooshed back, the airlock releasing.

The stag had been poised on show, two more pods empty on either side of him, all panels slid back so that his body was completely exposed. The king smiled as he stepped inside, though his eyes did not linger on Kionne’s exposed equipment, the humiliation of having his tail hole plugged and fucked as the tube bulged with the presentation of a phallic device.

“Hello, my old friend.”

The stag’s eyes, visible through the visor, widened, groaning around the tube plugging his muzzle, the device fitted over and around his head as if the lower part of his face, including his nose, was covered in a muzzle. He had not had it off in months, but he was still in his mind. But how much of his mind was left, the stag would never know. He could have thought that he had his full capacity to think remaining and be unable to even form a coherent thought: that was how potent the drugs they fed him were.

Maybe it was bliss not to know, though fear still stirred in his heart, tugging weakly, so very weakly, at the pod, his arms and legs neatly trapped within the device. His tail twitched back and forth, one of the only body parts that he was free to move. During his time there, he had shed his antlers, which were displayed on the wall as a trophy, his new rack slower to grow back with how they restricted his motion and freedom.

The lights flickered on, one by one, revealing machines, graphs and studies, though the space around the stag was clear and everything was kept clinically clean, so that they could always approach the subject when required. The mayor smiled, leading Filo to a milking pod on the left of the stag, though he went into it a lot more willingly than Kionne had, that initial time. For Kionne, there would never be a second time to enter the milking pod, considering that he would never get out of it.

“Mmmmph! Mmmm-mmhmm-mmph!”

“I’m sorry, old friend,” the king said with a shake of his head. “I cannot release you. This is not your time.”

It was Filo’s time, the dog climbing up obediently into the pod, though his master had to snap his fingers and point a couple of times in instruction for him to understand exactly where his “paws” were supposed to go. He whined happily and licked the king’s face with his warm, wet tongue, a slap and slide of pink flesh that had the king chuckling, shaking his head.

“You are a silly dog, Filo…but this will be better for you in here, trust me.”

Of course, he trusted his master, he always trusted his master. Even though one master had been changed for another, he eased into the pod, the mask fitted snugly over his muzzle. That mask left his eyes free, though the dog whined as the tube slid inside his muzzle, easing open his throat. A little numbing spray, fed by the pod and the machine that it was a part of, helped somewhat. But Filo would not have to worry about things like that anymore.

It eased him in, another tube with a rounded, closed tip penetrating his tail hole, pushing deep as the wolf jerked and tried to thrust, his eyes wide with pleasure. Oh! Oh, it felt good, so good, so good indeed that he could not help but thrust and grind, wanting more. Even his shaft was stimulated, fed into something soft on the inside, another part of the machine, though he was held in place, the restraints tightened increasingly, so as not to shock him, until he could not thrust at all, although his muscles still contracted as if he was.

It was hard not to do anything, though his mind reeled, understanding that it felt good, but not seeing that it was what he had been craving the whole time, that shock of pleasure that did not let up, throughout his time as Nobleman Wu’s dog. Sweet liquid flowed down his throat and he gulped and gulped even though he didn’t have to, his entire body warming through, tail lifted, exposing his backside and balls without any shame at all.

A dog did not have shame. And that was what made him different to the stag, weakly pulling at his restraints, horrified to see it all happening to another right there beside him. Of course, Kionne could not turn his head that much, locked into his pod as he was, but he could hear more than enough to know what was happening. He’d experienced it himself, after all.

He thrust and thrust, the dog losing his sense of self, but he had not truly had any of that left as a pet dog anyway. That was not for a dog, never for a dog, not something he needed, his cock throbbing, aching deeply. Again and again, he tried to thrust, grinding and humping madly, his legs contracting, striving to thrust, to fill, to follow some base, instinctual need that Filo had never had the chance to pursue before.

“Wurrrff,” he tried to bark around the gag, eyes half-closed with pleasure, tail still wagging the whole time. “Wurrfffmmmphh, mmmmhmmph…”

It was too much for him, held back for too long, and it was no surprise to the watching king that he approached his orgasm swiftly. But the dog did not know what was happening, not even that his body had been denied something, for the mind could not understand something that it had not experienced before: at least, not in his mind-controlled state.

But he could lust for it, tongue pushing eagerly against the tube that fitted his maw perfectly, allowing him to dig his teeth into a harder, rubberier exterior. He could thrust and he could hump, his body going through the twitches of motion that were permitted to him as his backside felt full, swelling with need, straining down as his prostate was stimulated.

“Aaarroooffff!”

He couldn’t help it and neither was Filo supposed to, not as he ejaculated finally, feeding his cum down the tube covering his cock, sucking and pulling at it, though it was thicker and clumpier than it should have been. Such was the curse of finally being allowed to climax after so long denied, though the king made a mental note about the state of his semen. That was not the quality that they would need from Filo while he was locked into the pod, though he did not see a future when the dog ever came out again.

The king smiled at him, Saron folding his hands neatly over his stomach, merely watching. His scientists could work out the technical side for him, he was merely there for his subjects. Not so long ago, or so it seemed, Filo had thrashed and rebelled on the operating table. Why, it was only a few months ago. And, now, he was the perfect, obedient pet, walking straight into the milking pod as if it was a special treat from his master.

Kionne had sagged into his body, his breathing heavy and laboured, head swimming with the drugs. He didn’t know, again, where he was or what he was doing, for his mind was further gone than he’d realised. All he’d known, on seeing the king, or another human or anthro for that matter, was to fear them, that “more” came from them.

The stag didn’t even know what that “more” was as his brain shut down again, softly taking him to a darker place. Yet he could be pulled back, right to the edge of control, where he knew why he was fighting, why he’d twisted and jerked, even when his mind had not known the reasoning for his fear.

Sitting in a chair beside Kionne, the king tapped a couple of buttons adjacent to a screen on the side of his pod. In a moment, his supply of the mind-altering drugs was cut off, though it would take a while for him to come back to senses that allowed him to string words together into a thought that made sense. The king might not need him to talk, but he was willing to wait, the stag’s head heavily tipping forward, eyes closed, sides rising and falling rapidly with snatches of breath.

Beside them, Filo moaned a broken howl through his gag, climaxing again. And again. And again.

Eventually, the stag blinked, the room coming into sharper focus around him, though his mind was still slow and thick, as if he was dragging his thoughts through sludge. His heart clenched in fear and he knew where he was, paws trying to tighten into fists, struggling again, though he didn’t know how much time had passed.

Days? Weeks? Even months? He could not say, only fight, struggling weakly, panting heavily as his heart rate shot up.

“Now, now, old friend…” Oh, hell, he knew that voice. “Now is no time to fight your fate.”

The stag heaved and panted, his cock throbbing, though he tried to ignore that, even the pressure of the machine trying to force another orgasm on him, pulling and flexing around his shaft. He strained and shook, the one person that he hated the most sitting beside him with a sick little smile on his face.

Saron. Saron the tyrant. The mayor who had beat him and ascended to a tyrant king.

Kionne shuddered, the tyrant’s hand coming out, stroking his head lightly. Thankfully for Kionne, the thick rubber of the helm over his head, securing his muzzle in place despite the visor being slid back for the moment, stopped him from having direct contact.

“Now, Kionne, I have brought another here this day,” he said, “but I have come with an offer for you. Are you willing to listen?”

Go to hell!

_ _

It was the first coherent thought Kionne had had in months (the stag did not know that it had been longer) and it still came to him slowly, heavily, pulsing, drifting, forcing him to chase it.

“Prove that you are more of an anthro than the animal that you presented yourself as,” the king said, his upper lip curling ever so slightly in distaste. “Then…maybe…you can be released. I have not yet decided, but I wish to show mercy.”

The top part of his helm was removed, what had been secured on him at some point but was merely to restrain him further and, of course, to hold the visor in place for when it was needed. The main part of the device was what was fed into the pod, the muzzle on the lower half of his face containing the tube jammed down his throat. Although the stag grunted and tried to shake his head, a new device was slotted into place over his head, covering his eyes completely like a standard helmet.

But that was not all of it, as a sharp jab in his buttocks had him grunting around the tube, even if he had not thought he could feel pain anymore. No… No, he would not submit to the king, and yet there was a part of Kionne still that wanted to prove to him that he was more, that he was better. For he had only sought to wipe out the tyrant mayor, at that time, because of the plans he had put forward.

And look at where that had gotten him.

He blinked, gasping, though the tube didn’t feel as heavy in his mouth as before. He looked back and forth, blinking as something come into view, the display feeding to his eyes as if it was being seen with his own eyes.

It was easy, after all he had been through, for his mind to slip, to believe that he was there, in the scene, a green forest stretching around him, the physical sensations of his body falling away. Yet something was there, something bright and something real, his head swaying lightly as he looked down at his body, his legs.

But it was not the body that the stag remembered, snorting and taking a faltering step back, weak and wobbly, for it was the body of a feral stag, like one of his ancestors, the ones still living out in the wilds far beyond the city. He swallowed hard, something sweet in his mouth. Perhaps he was salivating for the green grass around him, dappled with sunshine as it fed through the branches and leaves of deciduous trees.

He was not to know that a nanobot had taken control of his brain too, that another jab had been planted into the back of his neck, firing them straight up his spinal cord. He inhaled deeply, softer, sweeter scents tickling his nose, the aroma of fresh flowers and rich, peaty earth that had not been treated by any human or anthro hand.

His legs didn’t work properly though as he wobbled in place, snorting, tail twitching, he could feel it. That was normal, yet the form was not, even if his mind changed, not remembering where he had come from. But why then was he in the forest?

It did not make sense, but perhaps it did not need to make sense, at least not to him…

He wobbled, taking an unsteady step and then another, cloven hooves managing to work, somehow. It was natural and unnatural at the same time, though he did not know, did not understand.

The forest was soothing, however, easing tension from his limbs, the trees a comforting barrier between him and predators.

The stag shook himself. There were no predators for anthros, not beyond… No. He could not form the thought, but he thought that he was not meant to be there, which was very much not a thought that any stag, not like him, should have had.

He was something more than a stag, even if he didn’t understand. That mere drop of understanding had to tell him something more, had to give him a fraction of a glimpse into what was happening to him.

Outside the pod, the king watched the stag try to move in the pod, though it was amusing enough to bring a curl of a smile to the corners of his lips.

“How funny…”

The stag, of course, tried to walk in the pod as he did in the mental world, though it was only a virtual one that Saron had had his technicians design, a sort of test environment. It helped them see how experiments would react in a way that did not change anything physical about them before such changes were implemented. Still, they were searching for other uses of it, the feed of what the stag was seeing transmitted to a moderately sized tablet, which Saron held loosely in his hands.

The stag grunted, ears pricked, not knowing what to do. That scent… there was something in the air, something that was natural but most certainly not fauna. His nostrils flared and puckered wetly. What was he to do? He tried to turn back, to go back the way he’d come, but his legs would not obey him, locking up and then forcing him to follow it, that lightly musky, cervine aroma…

And then he saw her, grazing a sweet patch of grass beside a forest pond, the light hitting her short fur coat just right. The doe was a red deer, just like him, but did not boast the male’s rack of antlers, head rising with a bead of morning dew clinging to her lips. Groaning, the stag shook his head, advancing slowly, even as his mind tried to pull him away, something pulling in the base of his belly, further “back” than it should have been.

Was he…a different kind of stag? Oh, but he could smell the need of the doe on the air, his tongue pushing out to lap over his lips, to moisten his nose even more so that he could better feed her scent into his system.

He was just seeing…what she wanted, he told himself, the doe turning to present herself to him. He was not going to do anything he didn’t want to. And yet not even he, not knowing who or what he truly was, could resist the urge of mating.

Her hind legs braced for him, tail flicking up to reveal her sex, tucked away under the white fluff of her backside. Yet she was a feral doe, not one that he “should” have expected, pushing his nose under her tail to take in her scent.

Oh, she was so sweet… He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling shortly in sharp puffs of breath, taking it all in.

She was feral… He was not.

His eyes widened in understanding. A trick! It had to be a trick! But he couldn’t stop himself, already pushing up over the doe’s back, his cock sliding out, long and slender, all to penetrate her deeply.

Not a feral, I am an anthro, not a feral, I am an anthro.

_ _

He repeated the words repeatedly in his mind, but his cock struck home and he pushed inside her, bellowing, drowning out even his own words. He slammed inside her, though her body was perfectly soft and willing for him, a savage jab of his cock sinking home, right where it belonged.

Outside the pod, the king’s lower jaw fell slightly slack as he shook his head, wondering at how far the stag had fallen so swiftly.

“Ah, perhaps the reversion to crude instinct was what you needed, after all, my old friend…”

Kionne couldn’t help it, letting out a long, low groan within the virtual world, the world that his mind, in that moment, thought was real.

“Mmmmm… Ohhhhhhhh…”

His moan echoed through to the king, his eyebrows raising, watching everything avidly from his seat, though the outcome, to be fair, was as expected. The stag, after all, simply could not help it, not with the scent of a fertile doe in his senses, curling deep.

The stag, with that first thrust, shuddered and thrust bodily within his restraints, to the full (yet small) extent that was permitted there. In his mind, he was mounting the feral doe with wild, powerful abandon, but, in reality, he was just locked into the milking pod, the machine sucking around him, pounding his tail hole, making him feel more pleasure in his active mind since he had been locked in there.

The animalistic roar though, oh… Oh, that had been better than anything, taking the king’s breath away. Nothing like that bellow could have convinced him that it was better that the stag remain as he was.

The stag grunted, awash with pleasure, his cock filling the doe again and again as she trembled under him, bleating for his attention. She wanted more, just like him, and he was just the stag to give it to her, mind hopelessly swirling between pleasure and the knowledge that he was an anthro. Yet it was so hard to keep his mind on track with lust aching through him, his cock feeling so good, balls on the edge of release.

He had to thrust, had to grind, had to follow every stroke of his cock with a grunt until, finally, he spent himself inside her with another bellow and a heart stop. His throat trembled with the force of his cry, but he did not pull out, proudly remaining deep with most of his weight taken on his hindquarters, gracefully taking the doe while he flooded her with his cream, staying perfectly still.

In the pod, the anthro stag’s body trembled and relaxed, the tube that collected his semen filling with a hot spill and rush of new fluid, more than he had produced in any single orgasm in the last month. Still and quiet, he was docile there, patient, though his sides shuddering with breath, his brown fur matted with sweat.

Slowly, Saron removed his display helmet, sliding it off his eyes while Kionne groaned, blinking rapidly. Yet his eyes remained wide and staring once he was comfortable again, snorting and whuffling softly into his mask. The sensory receptors within the tube even noted the stag pushing his tongue more and more eagerly against it, as if he was looking for something.

The king peered in closely, though did not touch the stag, not wanting to interfere.

“Fascinating…”

There was nothing there. No life, no light, behind his eyes, no sapient life. The stag had not broken free of base instinct but succumbed to it completely – and the simulation that he had been pushed into had only run for a few minutes! It was as if he had only been waiting for the right moment to fall, or perhaps he had been poised to do such for a very long time indeed.

“My old friend, can you hear me?”

The stag’s ears twitched, but otherwise gave no sense of recognition in his eyes, no spark of thought.

The king smiled.

“My, oh, my…” He stood and brushed off his trousers of imaginary specks of lint, more concerned with his appearance than the stag’s comfort. “It seems that Joseph’s methods are working as well as ever, though I did not expect… Ah, it is no matter. It has been too long, indeed, since I have visited him after acquiring Hika and it would not be right to let him go unvisited for so long. It is now time to check on him and how he is doing.”

Saron smiled and pet Filo’s head lightly, the dog having whimpered and moaned through multiple orgasms already through his time there, the stag clenching his buttocks, trying to thrust even then. But he would be fine, just fine, supplied with the suitable fate for his mind as Saron tapped the buttons and set the timer to re-supply the drugs to him, all that would take him away to a better place and a better time.

Sometimes, it was all he could do for his subjects, even those that opposed him.

But he would never let them suffer…