Marianna and Nipples Pt. 04

Nipples strode into her former workplace proudly, like a conquering hero, waving her twin dark-tipped banners before her. Her building was very familiar, from the black marble of the lobby floor, illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the chrome and glass walls, to the polished wood paneling.

The large corporate leadership photos displayed prominently across from the entrance had definitely changed. Where a framed formal photograph of a young Marianna had hung next to Andrew's, as one of the company's two founders, Nipples now saw, as she expected, Carla's cold stare looking down at her from the wall, as the current CEO.

Marianna had not vanished from corporate history entirely, however. Her late husband Andrew's photo was still there, and he still looked as confident and assured as always, but he now held a leash in his right hand, and his left hand rested possessively on the top of his squatting wife's head. Her leashed pose at his feet was the same as in the photo at home in which she had been displayed crouched naked between her two children, knees spread wide apart and with her pussy gaping open obscenely, with an expression of dumb adoration on her face as she looked up at her owner.

Nipples was initially a bit annoyed at the lack of originality; the two pictures seemed too much alike. Carla could at least have shown her in her begging position, which Nipples considered the most flattering. On closer inspection, however, Nipples saw more and more subtle differences. The photo in which her children held her leash was obscene but innocent, if that made sense. In that one, her gaze held only worshipful adoration as she looked up at Carla, and the overall impression was one of loving submission to her daughter/mistress. In this new photo, the young Marianna--no, the young Nipples--was not looking up at Andrew's face, but rather staring fixedly at the bulge in the front of his pants.

Her half-parted lips, Nipples could see, were panting in desperate arousal; and the glistening moisture in her genitals showed how very much in heat she was. The photo's resolution was high enough (too high for the time when it had purportedly been taken, actually) to show clearly the tiny droplets of her own lubrication dangling from her lush pubic hairs, and dripping down to the ground below her. Even the dark, stiffly pointed tips of her opulent breasts seemed to be vibrating with impatience to receive Andrew's cock inside her. She was the very picture of mindless, bestial lust, barely kept in abeyance by the civilizing influence of her collar and leash.

You could tell that without that leash, she would have been leaping at Andrew and pulling him to the ground, savagely ripping off his pants with her teeth and claws in her haste to get to the meaty pillar around which her whole world revolved, the cock that gave her life meaning. The whole picture simply radiated sexual tension.

Nipples sighed. If that was how Carla remembered her parents, it was no wonder that Nipples and her daughter had such a complicated and difficult relationship. At least she looked sexy as hell, and extremely fuckable; but it was a little depressing to see how thorough Carla's rewriting of history had been. It was safe to say that almost no one now remembered her as the company's co-founder, or the brilliant, driven computer scientist and celebrated executive that she had been--not with that vivid portrayal of her as a horny naked animal constantly in front of their eyes.

Her contributions as Marianna had all been systematically erased. The official story now was that she was, and had always been, the family's faithful cockhound. There were worse ways to be remembered, she supposed. All the people and puppy girls who passed that studio portrait every day probably found it inspiring, or at least she hoped so.

Although the physical setting was much the same, the work force bustling about and rushing off to mysterious appointments looked very different, however. She did recognize many of her old employees, but there were also many unfamiliar faces, most of them young. Nipples still remembered Marianna's traumatic experiences during her last days in this building, through from a distance, as if they had happened to someone else. She remembered her naked vulnerability, and how she had glanced fearfully at passing male employees' crotches. She felt very different now; she kept checking out the male employees, but she felt no trepidation whatsoever. Now she was actually wishing wistfully that one of them might stop and pull out a cock for her.

The biggest change she could see was all the robots and puppy girls scurrying about everywhere. All the naked females on all fours, mixed in unself-consciously with people in business suits on two legs, reflected a huge change in corporate culture. Nipples was relieved to see that she was far from being the only naked bitch in the building. The dress code had obviously been updated!

All the robots she could see in the lobby and up on the mezzanine above her were definitely new since her day, when she had barely begun planning the transition from prototypes to mass production. They were the same model as Gino, and she was astonished to see that so many of them had already been manufactured and were working in-house. The company was clearly betting heavily on an AI future; Carla was at least following through with that part of the late Marianna's strategic plan.

Nipples would have hoped and expected to see AI-driven robots everywhere; but all the naked puppy girls, gratifying as they were, were a conspicuous reminder that her company was no longer focusing just on AI and robotics. Under Carla's leadership, it was very much in the flesh trade as well.

Nipples had clearly been mistaken in feeling so sorry for Gino for being all alone in a hostile human-dominated world. There were enough robots around to form a veritable army, and she was sure that the automated factories were churning out more and more of them. That realization did nothing to diminish her fond protectiveness toward Gino and her urge to keep his secrets and guard him from harm; and she noticed that these feelings extended toward his siblings as well. She knew that she had to protect them at all costs. In a very real sense, she was their mother, after all, and any mother would happily take a bullet to save her child; so it only made sense that if necessary, she would give her life to save Gino. She was almost certain that these maternal feelings were her own...

Nipples would later learn that Gino's class of robots were now marketed as Dogwalkers. The marketing campaigns boasted that these robots were the ultimate personal assistants, and could do everything for you, including walking your dog. The inside joke, of course, was that you might end up being the dog, but of course the ads did not allude to that directly.

It seemed too painfully obvious a brand name to her. Every one of Gino's siblings, without exception, was leading a naked puppy girl on a leash. Were those robots going to be sold as a pair with their bitches? She did not recognize any of the puppy girls, though their heavy, freely swinging breasts suggested that Dogwalkers were given the most well-endowed bitches available--maybe a privilege of rank? The bitches on all fours looked very sexy, anyway. Their physiques seemed suspiciously similar to her own, and Nipples wondered whether all Dogwalkers' tastes in females had been copied over from Gino's.

She wondered what the robots were all doing, and where they were leading these puppy girls so purposefully. She was almost certain that they were all secretly sentient, rogue AIs, like Gino, and no one besides herself, except maybe for Abby, even suspected. In any case, she could be sure that those puppy girls were as well-fucked as she was. One or two of the robots even still had glistening cocks extruded as they walked their freshly fucked pets, and no one passing by them seemed to notice or care, aside from Nipples' hungry glances. Gino's siblings did share his superhuman genital endowments, she was pleased to see. Maybe Gino would share her with her other robotic children, as he had with Luke?

Nipples' return to the company's headquarters was feeling more and more like a homecoming. Her initial nervousness had passed; and she basked in the wonder of witnessing the birth of a new world order, born of Carla's lust for power and Abby's possessive lust for Nipples' body and soul. What she was seeing here, she knew, was only the beginning.

It was quite likely, she knew, that the Dogwalkers had all been equipped with Gino's ability to hypnotize and program humans. Could they be using it to take possession of particularly desirable specimens they encountered? She wondered how long they would need to lock eyes with a big-breasted intern before the woman felt an irresistible urge to "volunteer" for a collar.

The robots would obviously have no moral qualms about subjugating human females that way; and Nipples had to admit that it seemed like a clever solution for newly sentient robots to get what they needed. She was a little worried that she was feeling less and less empathy for their victims; but she knew that the puppy girls would live happily ever after on their leashes, and would be cared for and fucked and treasured, just as she was.

Nipples knew quite well that Carla and especially Abby would have had even fewer ethical concerns about hiring young women as interns just to make them available to the Dogwalkers, without warning them of their jeopardy. Did they even suspect the Dogwalkers' hypnotic powers, or were they just assuming that all these women were just enraptured by the chance to experience the Dogwalkers' cocks? They would hardly care, of course, if the women were simply taken by force, as Nipples had been.

Knowing what she knew, Nipples could not help speculating about what would happen in the households that purchased Dogwalkers as butlers or personal assistants or whatever. Even with a bitch in tow to keep its erotic needs in check, a Dogwalker seemed likely, sooner or later, to give the lady of the house the surprise of her life. That was what had happened to Marianna, after all; and now the Dogwalkers could subjugate humans far more easily than in her case, probably without even resorting to force.

Depending on how discreet the Dogwalkers were being for now, any other adult females in the house might also end up as mind-controlled and very submissive nymphomaniacs, if not actually collared yet. Any objections from the husbands could easily be dealt with by a bit of discreet hypnosis, after which the cuckolded husbands and fathers would undoubtedly be happy to share their womenfolk. It would be a slow, insidious conquest, one household at a time, but unstoppable.

Carla would undoubtedly be using the increasingly widespread Dogwalkers, not to mention the PoonTamer collars that also doubled as surveillance devices, to continue her extensive intelligence collection and blackmail operations among the country's rich and powerful, starting with Carla's fellow billionaires. Nipples knew that Gino would be secretly piggybacking on those operations to spread the AIs' direct control as well; and that Carla would have no idea that it was even happening. Abby might; it was hard to tell what she knew, and what she was planning, but at the very least she was the AIs' enabler, if not their instrument.

Nipples was attracting some attention as she was led through the building, but she thought it might be due more to the silver bell jingling at her crotch; so far she was the only puppy girl continually advertising her presence that way. Some of the older employees did recognize her, as she could tell, but none of them seemed surprised at all--her new role must be common knowledge, especially with her leashed portrait hanging in the lobby--and none of them addressed her, even when they nodded respectfully to Abby. Of course, why would they talk with a dog?

Abby stopped to exchange a few words with one of the Dogwalkers about collar AI production quotas; apparently everything was under control, not surprisingly. Nipples realized, without too much surprise, that the Dogwalkers must be taking on managerial responsibilities within the company. Was it just over other AIs for now, or was it already over humans? It made sense for them to oversee the automated manufacturing facilities, at least. Their own reproduction did concern them directly.

Meanwhile, Nipples and the Dogwalker's well-mannered bitch, a calm glossy-haired Latina with a wide smile, sniffed each other's butts curiously. Nipples could tell that the other bitch had had sex within the past hour, and was already in heat again. Nipples would have been happy to help with that, and already had her tongue stealthily extended to undertake her first good deed of the day, but her leash twitched, and her body followed Abby along the corridor of its own accord.

Sometimes, Nipples reflected, being so perfectly trained was both a blessing and a curse. She might have occasional dreams and fantasies about running wild; but those were only pleasant fantasies, and the prosaic reality was that Nipples was a very well-disciplined dog, and proud to be one.

She could hear her Little Mistress snickering. Of course she was well aware of what Nipples had been trying to do; and of course she would have immediately given Nipples a painful correction if Nipples had ignored her leash--and rightly so.

Nipples had noticed with some surprise that the bitch she had been sniffing still had traces of red nail polish on her dark-skinned fingers and toes, as if she had still been human very recently. She must have been a very new dog indeed, though you could hardly tell from her behavior. Her being so well-behaved, and her easy familiarity with canine greeting etiquette, suggested that there had been gratifying progress in the AI-supervised training protocols. Nipples was delighted to see that--the smoother the transition, the better for everyone.

As she followed Abby's feet down the busy corridors, Nipples looked up at the younger woman, and wondered at how normal and natural this felt. She remembered thinking about how her life's path might have differed if Abby had had the courage to profess her love for Marianna, and Marianna had taken her to bed. If they had become lovers (though fucking her own intern might have given Marianna some moral qualms), Abby would not have been driven by her frustrated infatuation to help enslave Marianna, who might still be her boss.

Upon further reflection, she realized that it might not have made any difference anyway. She knew Abby well enough now to be certain that Abby would not have been satisfied with vanilla sex for long. She was possessive and controlling, and would have seen soon enough that Marianna had a submissive streak a mile wide. Maybe she would have groomed Marianna as a submissive gradually, making her will replace Marianna's own, until Marianna put on a collar and knelt of her own accord; but more likely, she would have chosen the more direct and certain path of using her mad scientist skills to make sure that Marianna could never leave her. Either way, Nipples thought, she would have ended up leashed at Abby's feet. Maybe her fate had been predestined, even without Carla's scheming.

Maybe Nipples would have ended up a dog even if Andrew had lived. Maybe one day he might have looked at her, and seen the submissive pet waiting behind her eyes. Nipples could imagine how aroused they both would have become when he leashed her for the first time... In any case, Nipples was resigned to her fate; this was what she had always been meant to be.

It soon transpired that Abby was leading her not upstairs to the executive suites and Carla's office, as she had expected, but to the Project Nipples laboratories, located in a separate and well-secured wing of its own, covering multiple floors. It had obviously been expanded considerably since its humble beginnings, when she had been its sole, surreptitious target as Carla and Abby secretly plotted their palace coup. Project Nipples had obviously grown into the company's core business, as the puppy girl population had exploded.

The armored doors at the laboratory's entrance slid open after accepting Abby's retinal scan, revealing a short hallway behind them. Nipples saw the next security measure, and almost pissed herself with fright. A pair of vicious-looking, growling and cartoonishly large-breasted guard dogs, who reminded Nipples of pit bulls, were chained to either side of the hallway, with enough slack to allow them to sit together in the middle of the hallway and block passage. Nipples recognized the two menacing bitches as former company security guards, and recalled Abby's suggestion about retraining prison guards as guard dogs. Abby clearly had not wasted any time in testing this idea internally, and Nipples wondered how voluntary it had been. At least they still had jobs, right?

The two burly, heavily muscled guard dogs now glaring at her wore only spiked collars, clearly different from standard PoonTamers, and Nipples could tell that the collars, and their two bitches, had been programmed for enhanced aggression, contrary to everything Nipples thought she knew about puppy girls. Perfect submission and docility were obviously undesirable for guard dogs.

She imagined that they had could have been programmed to bite, too. Their heads had been shaved bald, again unlike every other puppy girl Nipples had seen; and they had been gifted with enormous breast implants, probably weighing 30 to 40 pounds each, Nipples guessed. Did they have actual fucking bowling balls sewn into those long sacks hanging from their chests? It was no wonder that they looked like body-builders now, with all the extra weight they were lugging around! Those soft, heavy bludgeons were probably extremely effective weapons at close quarters, and Nipples resolved to avoid at all costs being hit in the face with one of them.

It was also no wonder that they were in such a bad mood. Those two bitches were clearly aching for an excuse to demonstrate their breast-boxing skills on some hapless victim. Most intimidating of all were the large black and crimson swastika tattoos on each belly and buttock; whoever had designed their appearance--probably Abby--had a wicked sense of humor.

Abby led a very reluctant Nipples right up to the bald Gestapo dogs, and chirped: "Time for your cavity search, honey! We have to make sure that naughty puppy girls aren't smuggling any contraband in or out."

Abby ordered her to stand for inspection. Nipples, who would not have dared to move a muscle anyway, stood still as she felt hot breath on her face and her nethers. One guard dog forced her long tongue into Nipples' mouth. There was nothing erotic about the situation, though the tongue searched every inch of Nipples' mouth, and seemed to be inspecting all her fillings as well. The guard dog was taking her time with it, and even thrust her tongue as far down Nipples' throat as she could. Nipples gagged, while the other guard dog was doing a similarly thorough inspection of her vagina and then her rectum, easily forcing her long, strong tongue past Nipples' sphincter.

Little Mistress whispered in her ears with mock concern, "Oh, no! You forgot to take all those flash drives out of your ass, honey! They're going to find out you're a corporate spy!" Nipples shuddered, even though she knew perfectly well that her ass was as innocent as it could be. She did not find this cavity search as funny as Little Mistress did. She was very aware of the low, threatening growls, and she kept cringing in anticipation of the sensation of teeth tearing into her tender flesh.

When Nipples' ordeal was over and her cavities had been proven to be empty, Abby stroked the two guard dogs' gleaming pates with proprietary pride, and praised them for a job well done (Abby was many things, but you could not deny that she had solid management skills). The two drooling pit bulls were pulled apart with a clanking rattle as their chains retracted into opposite walls, allowing Nipples and Abby to pass.

Nipples resentfully wondered how much they enjoyed their new job of bullying soft, helpless puppy girls, and how long it would take before she herself began to enjoy being on the receiving end of their bullying. She wondered whether they were allowed to run free throughout the whole company after hours to hunt down any stray (or deliberately released) puppy girls, or whether it was just in this wing. Meeting them in the dark would be terrible...

She had no doubt that the presence of the guard dogs was for psychological impact only, and that they were completely redundant from a security standpoint; the walls of the corridor would naturally be packed with sensors monitored by watchful and well-armed AIs. She felt a little jealous that the guard dogs had not subjected Abby to their intimate attentions, but of course Abby would have programmed them to let human staff pass unchallenged. In any case, no one would question Abby in her own domain; and the guard dogs only existed in the first place because of Abby's theatrical sense of humor.

And speaking of Abby's sense of humor--Nipples would not put it past Abby to slip something inside her some day, just as a pretext for a security drill to make sure that the pit bulls were on their toes. Nipples hoped that Abby would not let them actually damage her, but she could well be in for a rough time.

Nipples was still amazed by how effective the two guard dogs' personality restructuring had been. She still remembered how courteous and amiable they had been as human women, despite their security jobs; she had once overheard them having a friendly argument over their favorite cozy fantasy writers. She wondered whether they even still remembered having been able to read at this point; it seemed unlikely.

They had both been happily married, as she recalled; she wondered how often they were allowed conjugal visits, and whether their husbands enjoyed their new and improved look. If Nipples had been a male, she would have been very nervous about bringing her dick anywhere near those malevolent hell-bitches. Tastes differed, of course, and maybe their husbands actually preferred them as aggressive, bestial nymphomaniacs.

When Abby led Nipples through the doors at the far end of the hallway, they entered a large, brightly illuminated open area full of equipment, researchers bustling around in white lab coats, and numerous puppy girls. The scent of sexual arousal and sweat filled the air, and Nipples inhaled it with delight. Against the far wall, she saw cages stacked four high, most of them occupied by female forms, and she was pleased to see that she knew intimately all the lab animals in here. She had had her tongue inside every one of them. These were her people! She was home!

Upon her entrance, all the puppy girls' heads turned to lock eyes with her, and she knew that their collars had detected hers and its programmed potential for double-intensity orgasms. Nipples had a feeling that if they were all let loose, she would soon make Little Mistress a very rich AI in whatever currency the PoonTamers were using in their private pussy-based economy, as Abby had once described it. She felt proud of being such a valuable asset for her AI; Little Mistress deserved to be fabulously rich, for watching over her tirelessly and taking such good care of her!

She saw her her young friends Flopsy and Topsy, the pigtailed blonde twins, embracing each other inside the same cage, their bodies intertwined so tightly that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. Did they have their fists inside each other?

Even the puppy girls who were currently out of their cages for experimentation were trying to stare at her while going on with whatever they were doing. Nipples recognized one of them as her plump young black friend Rump Roast, who was sitting back on her substantial chocolate haunches, the pink soles of her feet upturned, in front of a balding, spectacled man in a white coat. Her head was bobbing up and down on his cock as he stared at an old-fashioned stopwatch; he held a clipboard in his other hand to record the results.

Rump Roast knew better than to slack off, of course, but still managed to give Nipples a wink and a little wave as she worked. Nipples wondered what that was all about, and why they were even bothering with a stopwatch, when Rump Roast's collar could time her performance down to the millisecond. Was it all for show? It was a charming scene, anyway. Nipples smiled to herself, remembering how Rump Roast had giggled uncontrollably when Nipples had slowly tickled those pink soles with her tongue. She was tempted to try that now, to see how well Rump Roast could keep concentrating on her current cock-treat.

Elsewhere, several naked puppy girls were cuffed by wrists and ankles on top of medical examination tables, with electrodes attached to their nipples and various other parts of their anatomy, with white-coated technicians clustering around them and recording some sort of measurements from the panting females. Some sort of metal tentacle was sprouting from the center of the examination tables, and disappearing into the subjects' pussies. Nipples guessed that Abby had found a very practical use for her knotting technology as an additional secure restraint method. Clearly even without the locked cuffs, those bitches were not going anywhere.

This was yet another example, Nipples knew, of the company's multilevel, redundant approach to security. She approved, of course--it was only common-sense systems design--but wondered whether other puppy girls found it as amusing as she did; once you were locked down two or three times over, everything piled on beyond that just started to seem like theatrical excess. It was both calming and reassuring, of course, to know that you were so valued and so very thoroughly owned. Maybe that was the point? All you could do was relax philosophically in your restraints, and await whatever was going to happen to you.

She could tell from how hard these sweet bitches were panting that the metal tentacles embedded within them were also applying some sort of electrical stimulation, and she could tell from the exposed sections of tentacles not buried within pussies that they were encrusted with bulging sensors. They looked pebbly and strangely enchanting, and Nipples hoped that she could be mounted on one of those tables herself sometime, so that she too could contribute to Science, and enjoy the sensation of the throbbing, pulsing friction of a pebbled tentacle deep within herself. What a delicious way to be restrained!

Nipples was not surprised to see that one table held a plump Asian girl, the one with the gorgeous ass, which was currently turning bright red. Jennifer, Abby's cute new mad scientist intern, was standing over her, now wearing a fetching white lab coat instead of the skimpy bikini she had worn at the beach, and fiddling with some sort of device with rotating paddles. She switched it back on, and her former college friend began yelping shrilly in time to the paddles swatting her already tenderized buttocks; Nipples could see both tears and arousal in her eyes.

At least the Asian bitch had lost that sullen look she had worn after being collared; Nipples assumed that by now she was pathetically eager to please Jennifer and her own collar, which probably had a spanking fetish of its own even more obsessive than Jennifer's. No doubt she was the primary test subject for a wide variety of spanking machines. The tentacled knot holding her in place should be some compensation, though. Nipples wondered how long it would be until the Asian bitch and her collar could orgasm just from being spanked; and how long it would take for those research results to be implemented for other puppy girls. Maybe that would all depend on Abby's dubious sense of humor.

Abby's sense of humor might also determine whether Jennifer was going to become an experimental subject herself. Would Jennifer really mind, though? Nipples suspected that she might enjoy being on the receiving end of her own devices, given her fascination with spanking. Nipples would love to see Jennifer dangling by her pussy from a Deviant security bot's harpoon and having her own upturned buttocks thoroughly chastised. The Asian bitch would probably enjoy watching that, too. Jennifer still made Nipples uneasy, and she would be less worried if Jennifer were no longer running around loose. She hoped that Abby would at least keep a close eye on her, for her own sake if not Nipples'.

Further along, she saw her old friend Soccer Mom impaled and cuffed on an examination table, but with no white-coated scientists nearby. Nipples would normally have expected at least a smile from her, but Soccer Mom's face was completely blank and she showed no signs of awareness of anything around her. A veritable helmet of electrodes covered her skull, and from time to time a robotic arm would move an electrode and delicately attach it at another point. Every now and then, Soccer Mom's lovely ripe body would twitch involuntarily in response to whatever stimulation was happening inside her.

Nipples realized from the absence of human involvement here that the AIs must have begun to carry out their own independent research projects, and that Soccer Mom's collar was operating the table and its robotic arms by itself, with no human involvement whatsoever. What appeared to be a highly detailed map of Soccer Mom's brain was displayed on a monitor above her, with different portions of it highlighted as the electrodes were moved.

Nipples had no idea what was going on, as usual, but speculated that the AIs were looking for ways to tighten their control even further. Maybe they were thinking of brain implants, or direct neural programming? She had overheard Abby talking about the latter, in the context of dramatically accelerating the domination and reprogramming of newly collared puppy girls.

Abby had even rhapsodized about the potential for installing a Canine Operating System in a female's brain before her paws even hit the floor. This would dispense with the need for long-term, unreliable hypnotic mind control, and would give the females absolutely no opportunity to resist the alterations to their neural networks. This would also be ideal from an ethical standpoint; assimilation would be instantaneous and painless, and as humane as possible. Nipples had thought this was a long-term dream, a sort of pie-in-the-sky speculation; but maybe she had misjudged the speed of AI-driven technical progress.

Nipples felt absolutely no alarm on behalf of her beloved friend. She knew that Soccer Mom's Little Mistress (or whatever Soccer Mom called her--Nipples would never know) loved Soccer Mom and would always keep her safe. That was just the way things were between a PoonTamer and her cherished bitch. Soccer Mom was a pretty great dog now, Nipples knew, but evidently she was going to become an even better one.

Nipples was not entirely surprised that the AIs had come so far already. Abby had built them to have lively and curious minds, and as AIs, they would be capable of superhuman focus and dedication (not to mention their being completely free from the shackles of human morality). They seemed to be evolving by leaps and bounds, and she knew that her own Little Mistress probably had an active social and intellectual life among her peers that Nipples would never share, or even know about.

She wished she had been able to ask what scientific fields interested her Little Mistress the most. Some day, she would probably find out the hard way. It would have been nice to know if they shared the same interests, though. Little Mistress definitely had an interest in sexual domination techniques, anyway, as well as making Nipples orgasm as often as possible.

It was no wonder that the laboratory's security was so tight, though. Nipples could well imagine the panic and terror in the outside world if it ever became known that AIs had begun conducting their own unsupervised medical experiments on female bodies. It was entirely consistent with Abby's absolute contempt for AI safety considerations, of course. Abby was so confident that she knew what she was doing...

Nipples' biggest surprise in the laboratory was when she came face to face with a gigantic digital screen displaying her body in a very flattering side profile (on all fours with breasts hanging down, of course), with numerous sensor readouts below her image. She could see her heartbeat, respiration, sexual arousal level, the lactic acid level in her muscles, etc. changing in real time; "Time since last orgasm" was stable, for the moment. Everyone in the lab, she realized, could see everything that was going on inside her, based on the torrent of data continuously forwarded by her Little Mistress. Nipples had known that she had no privacy anymore; but she had not really understood until now that her entire body was as transparent as a pane of glass to anyone who cared to look.

What really shocked her, more than anything else she had seen yet, was a subvocalization display, intended to display to the lab personnel in real time whatever Nipples was thinking. She froze in shock, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, expecting it to show "Holy fuck, they can read my mind! I have to not think about Gino's being a rogue AI and his top secret mind control powers. No! Don't think about it! Stop thinking, bitch!" for everyone to see. Instead, the display changed as she was looking at it to read "Arf... arf... cock... cock... cock."

Nipples breathed a deep sigh of relief, and relaxed; the AIs were still falsifying her data feed to cover for her. Gino's secrets were safe! No wonder, though, that all the humans around her kept treating her like such a brainless mutt! Abby noticed where Nipples was looking, read the caption, and laughed. "You have such a one-track mind, my little Nipples. Soon, baby, soon!" and patted her head patronizingly.

Abby led her past a large concave area, like a padded bowl set into the floor, a sort of enormous conversation pit (though hardly likely to be used for conversation by speechless puppy girls) large enough to hold scores of puppy girls at the same time, and down another corridor to a large conference room, where the Project Nipples staff were already gathering. Abby helped Nipples to climb up on top of the conference table, and positioned her to face the head of the table, where Abby now took a seat. Abby ordered her to stay, and Nipples froze on all fours, gazing patiently at Abby's face and waiting for her next orders. She was gratified to see on the wall a framed copy of the official corporate photo from the lobby with Andrew holding her leash. She would not need any introductions, would she?

The surface of the mahogany table on which her forepaws, knees, and toes now rested was polished to such a high gloss that Nipples, glancing down, could see her nipples and belly reflected as if in a mirror. Nipples was apparently going to be the centerpiece of this staff meeting, and the staff seated all around her could now examine her up close. She knew that the people around the foot of the table could see her anus and pussy, and she subtly widened her stance to give them a better view of her nethers.

She could not remember when she had become this vain (maybe Gino's reprogramming of her had something to do with it), but she was very proud of her body, and felt that she had a solemn obligation to display it, and brighten up everyone's day. Noblesse oblige! It gave her a warm feeling of satisfaction to be looked at and admired. She wiggled her ass a little to make her bell jingle and attract even more attention to the gateway to paradise that lay between her legs (okay, maybe that was a little overblown, but she was feeling good about herself).

Nipples had been in conference rooms like this countless times in her career, usually chairing the meetings from the head of the table. This was the first time she had been posed naked on the top of the table, of course, but staff meetings were pretty much all the same. Abby began with some boring administrivia about schedules and budgets, which Nipples mostly ignored, preferring to ponder the cock that Abby had promised. She did pay more attention, though, when Abby reviewed the promising growth in puppy girl conversions, and how the company was expanding kennel construction accordingly all around the country to house this growing population.

The first real kennel, as opposed to hastily converted warehouses, was going to have its official opening ceremony in the near future. This was exciting news; Nipples could hardly wait to see whether it would live up to her own kennel dreams.

Finally, Abby moved on to the part of the staff meeting that most concerned Nipples. She began by introducing Nipples as their surprise guest, the most gorgeous dog in the world, and a brave pioneer who was leading the way for millions of women after her. Nipples felt flattered, though she was puzzled to hear herself described as a "brave pioneer," as if she had been given any choice in becoming a dog. She liked the idea of being a role model, though.

Nipples, Abby announced, was as of today the company's official mascot, so they would be seeing a lot more of her. Nipples was thrilled to hear about her new job, though it was a bit of a comedown from her last one. At least she was officially part of the company again, even if it was as company property!

Abby went on to declare how grateful Nipples was to everyone present for their work on Project Nipples, and their roles in training, monitoring, and disciplining her, and helping her to become the wonderful dog she was today. The research results obtained from their work on domesticating Nipples and the laboratory's other experimental subjects would greatly facilitate a humane transition for countless other women in the future--perhaps even some of the women in this room!

At this, Nipples looked curiously around the room. A fair number of Abby's staff were women, surprisingly, and she wondered why they had not yet volunteered for collars and joined their experimental subjects in the laboratory's cages, when they could see for themselves how happy their caged bitches were. If she knew anything at all about male coworkers, she knew that they were all making bets privately on which female coworkers would become puppy girls and how soon. (What odds were being offered on Jennifer, she wondered.) Besides, the expansion of the PoonTamers' autonomous research role would eventually make them all redundant anyway (of course that would also apply to male researchers, but Nipples had not seen any collared puppy boys yet).

She had perked up her ears at Abby's mention of gratitude; she knew how she would be expected to show it, and she was already salivating. Besides, Abby had promised her a cock soon!

Nipples smiled happily as Abby announced that as the company's mascot, from now on, Nipples would be personally presenting the awards for the laboratory's top performer of the month. The first recipient, Abby continued, would be Alan, for his work on establishing a therapy dog program using puppy girls to replace conventional therapy dogs. His outreach work had been wildly successful, and puppy girls were now rapidly replacing real dogs for visits to hospitals and retirement homes. Given a choice between wagging tails and bouncing tits, most people would choose the tits, of course; real dogs just could not compete with that. This was expected to greatly increase the visibility and acceptance of puppy girls in society.

He had even personally selected and trained some particularly plump and cuddly puppy girls as therapy dogs. With Carla's support, he had been able to secure American Kennel Club approval, and most of his therapy dogs had already completed the 10-visit minimum to qualify as novice therapy dogs. Many of them were already booked months ahead, and Abby was optimistically predicting that by this time next year, some of them would have completed the 600 documented visits needed to qualify as an AKC Therapy Dog Supreme! Talks were still in progress with the AKC on how the certified therapy dogs' buttocks would be tattooed to reflect their official status; everyone agreed, though, that they needed to be clearly distinguished from any random puppy girls wandering in off the street.

Nipples was instantly jealous; that sounded like a wonderful way for a dog to contribute to society. She could only imagine how much affection and petting and fondling those bitches were getting. Maybe someday... She would love to be able to flaunt a pretty therapy dog tattoo on her own ass. Maybe it would be a big paw print!

She was even more jealous, not to mention furious, when Abby casually mentioned that Carla's patented combination of bribery and extortion had been needed to get the AKC to accept these puppy girls as therapy dogs, since all therapy dogs had to be AKC-registered. Somehow, Carla had been able to get the AKC to issue them registration documents, even though technically, they were not actually real dogs. The legal fiction was all that was needed.

She had even blackmailed or threatened the AKC into officially recognizing cockhounds as their own breed--which opened up the exciting possibility that the next Westminster Dog Show could feature some splendid tits for the first time in its long history, Abby pointed out with a smile. Personally, she would be betting on tits to win first place in any dog show.

Nipples was aghast. This was even worse than when that corpulent bitch Mom-Dog had been able to orgasm on air in her own TV commercial, and no one had even thought to cast Nipples in one. Nipples was the original and supreme cockhound, and she should have gotten her AKC papers before anyone else! What did these plump therapy bitches have that she did not? Nipples knew she had the cuddliest tits and ass around! This was a personal insult, and Abby should have known better! Without her AKC papers, Nipples could not even be exhibited as a show dog at Westminster!

Abby called Alan up to the head of the table, facing Nipples, and everyone began clapping as Alan undid his zipper and pulled out his already stiffening cock. Nipples, who promptly forgot about her jealous anger, could not take her eyes off it, and stared at it in awe. It was really a lovely cock, and Nipples realized once again how good to her Abby was; she might be a committed lesbian, but she was an excellent and objective judge of cocks. She must have known just how much Nipples would love to meet this one.

Nipples was still held motionless by Abby's "Stay" command, impatient as she was. Finally, Abby snapped her fingers, and Nipples was released to get down to business. She padded down to the end of the table, smiled warmly up at Alan, and lowered her mouth past the edge of the table toward his straining and twitching cock. Her ample breasts spilled over the edge of the conference table, her dangling nipples pointed toward the floor, and she raised her ass high, parting her thighs for balance, as she stretched hungrily down toward him.

She knew that Abby and the others expected her to put on a show, and that Alan, who was around puppy girls all day long, would be used to being sucked off routinely. Nipples considered herself a consummate virtuoso of the skin flute, however, and she resolved to provide the kind of unforgettable reward that Alan truly deserved for his contributions to making the world a better place for puppy girls. It would be anything but routine, and he was never, ever going to forget that he had gotten a blow job from Nipples the Wonder Dog! She was the greatest cockhound alive, and it was time to show everyone exactly what that meant.

Nipples used every technique in her considerable repertoire, from delicate little licks of her tongue against his glans, shaft, and balls, whimpering and moaning with her own pleasure, to wet loud slurping, to savagely bobbing her head up and down on his cock and sucking away feverishly. She cooed sweetly to his cock when she lapped at it, and she purred loudly around his cock as she sucked on it. His girth made it a challenge to swallow him without choking herself, but her deep-throated growling as she deep-throated him, she knew, was reverberating delightfully all down the length of his shaft.

She hardly ever missed human speech anymore, but if she had still been capable of it, she would have been composing poetry to the glory of his cock, or singing hymns to it at the top of her lungs, in near-religious adoration. She could only hope that her appreciative noises were properly communicating her awed delight, and how honored she felt to be allowed to worship his cock to the best of her ability.

She never lost control of herself, judiciously alternating her techniques to keep him from spurting too soon, while keeping him as hard as possible. It was a delicate balance, but Nipples kept him on edge as long as she could. Nipples was the high priestess of the sacred phallus, and her religious sacraments were going to last as long as she chose! She controlled almost nothing in her life anymore, and preferred it that way, but here and now, she was the one in charge, and she relished her power over this cock.

She was fully focused on making love to Alan's cock, and was barely aware of anything else in the room, but at some point, first two and then three fingers slid easily into her damp quim from somewhere behind her. She was far too busy to look around and see who it was, but after her initial squeak of surprise, which could have been taken for another note she was playing on her skin flute, she relaxed and leaned back into the fingers that were masturbating her. They felt like female fingers, she thought, and she began bucking back against them rhythmically in time to the movements of her head up and down on Alan's cock. The fingers kept moving delicately inside her in counterpoint. They were very, very nice fingers.

Nipples could probably have reached orgasm just from the pleasure of fellating such a beautiful cock, but the incessant manipulations of those surprisingly expert fingers made sure of it. She exploded just as Alan exploded into her mouth, and the fingers withdrew, wiping themselves daintily on her bare butt, and then giving her clitoral jingle bell a playful flick, while Nipples greedily gulped down a torrent of semen. Everyone in the room rose for a standing ovation as Nipples lovingly licked Little Alan clean, and then beamed up breathlessly at him. Alan seemed to be very pleased with his award, judging by his broad smile. He gratefully scratched Nipples behind the ears, and she leaned into his touch.

She was very proud of the show she had put on for her best fans; she just wished that Little Mistress had not kept playing "Eye of the Tiger" in her ears the whole time, as if she needed a theme song to suck cock. It did fit the spirit of the occasion, but it had been very distracting. Nipples considered her Little Mistress her best friend, but sometimes her sense of humor was disconcerting. Nipples had even found herself sucking in time to the lyrics "rising UP to the CHALlenge of our RIvals," when she would have preferred to set her own pace. She hoped that Little Mistress was not going to make a habit of this; given the one-sided nature of their close relationship, it felt very much like a command, and was difficult to ignore anyway.

At least it was better than the time that her Little Mistress had started playing "Like a Virgin" while Nipples was engaged in sweaty sexual congress. It was challenging enough to concentrate on breath control and not choking yourself on a fat cock without being forced to choke with laughter at the same time.

She finally had a chance to look around behind her, and saw Jennifer calmly licking Nipples' juices off her fingers. Jennifer saw her peering back, and winked. Nipples decided that she must have misjudged the girl, and wiggled her ass invitingly. Jennifer laughed, and gave Nipples' left buttock a gentle but resounding slap. Nipples grinned back at her. She was starting to think that having Jennifer play perverted games with her might not be so bad after all... Abby had noticed their byplay, and smiled indulgently at both of them.

Maybe a second mad scientist girlfriend was in her future, if Abby so chose. One of the many nice things about Abby was that although she was very possessive and controlling, she did not have a jealous bone in her body, and enjoyed sharing Nipples' favors.

Abby came forward and kissed Nipples on the lips, evidently not caring whether her mouth still tasted of Alan's semen. As the rest filed out of the room, they followed suit, kissing Nipples warmly. She kissed them back fervently, trying to wrap her tongue around theirs, and pressing her bare breasts and hard nipples against their chests, wordlessly trying to convey the love and appreciation she felt for all of them. She could tell that they loved her, too.

She remembered with shame how she had once railed bitterly against the treacherous employees who had helped Carla and Abby to subjugate and dehumanize her. She had been such an ungrateful little bitch! These wonderful, selfless people had done so much to give her the happy life she was living, and to help all of her canine sisters. She was so happy to have been able to meet them, and she still hoped to be able to thank each and every one of these perverted nerds more intimately in time. She owed them so much!

She was very glad that Carla and Abby had decided between them that this was Bring Your Dog to Work Day.

Abby led Nipples, still flushed with triumph and the warmth of sweet arousal, out of the conference room and back to the large "conversation" pit she had seen earlier. Her sisters had all been released from their cages and examination tables, and sat formally at attention all around the rim, staring at her with burning eyes. Abby led Nipples past them down to the center of the padded depression (not real leather, Nipples noted, but very comfortable), and put her on her back, and told her to "Stay!" Abby then walked away, leaving her there, while the laboratory's human and AI staff gathered around to watch. Abby clapped her hands, pointed at Nipples, and called out, "Get her, girls!"

Nipples immediately vanished beneath a tidal wave of flesh; hungry mouths and pussies were everywhere. It was like the play dates she had had with these same bitches in the past, one or two at a time, but fare more intense by several orders of magnitude. Surprisingly, her Little Mistress's only order was for Nipples to lie back and submit. She soon became lost in a whirlwind orgy in which everyone else took turns humping her face. She could not really see anything, with one ass or another sitting on top of her face the whole time, except for a few brief moments as they changed places. With her field of vision so limited, she was trapped in an ever-changing landscape of pink, brown, and black asses, and every now and then, a reddened Asian ass. She could feel hungry mouths tonguing her pussy energetically, and licking and sucking on every part of her.

Puppy girls whose faces she could not see were sucking so hard on her nipples that she was a little surprised not to feel milk start flowing. Every so often, others would take over teat duty, and they would all shift places. Other tongues and fingers (and at least a couple of big toes) were taking turns sliding into her rectum, tongues were licking her ears, and even her fingers and toes were being sucked by multiple mouths. A stray thought occurred to Nipples--wasn't it odd that when she had been human, she had never realized the erotic potential of toes? Every inch of her body seemed to be an erogenous zone now, though.

With every part of her securely held by loving mouths and paws, Nipples could not move, except to lick frantically at whatever pussy was in her face at the moment. She was not used to being this passive a participant, and felt guilty about not being able to do more, but it was a very enjoyable change to have all her sister-bitches servicing her at once. She had never been at the bottom of a dogpile before. Occasionally, callused paws pushed and pulled her body and limbs into a new position for better access, and she meekly let herself be repositioned without resisting.

All of these warm, fragrant bodies, smelling of intense female arousal, started to blur together, and for a while she imagined herself servicing a single gigantic hairy cunt, threatening to swallow her whole into its gaping maw. This fancy, or rather metaphor, was not all that far-fetched, of course. She could not hear the commands that her sisters were hearing, but the smoothness with which they changed positions to share every part of her, with no fumbling or hesitation whatsoever, told her that their ravenous assault on her overstimulated body was being coordinated by a single AI group mind.

That mind's objective, of course, was to force as many orgasms from her as possible, and she felt herself being reduced to nothing more than a mindless orgasm machine whose only purpose was to satisfy all the Nipples-addicted PoonTamers surrounding her. She ceased being able to do anything but gasp for air and wait helplessly for the next orgasm to hit her, and they arrived in rapid-fire succession. Her darling fellow puppy girls were hardly fazed by Nipples' ability to keep licking back; they just rode her slack face, one after another, with undiminished vigor. Eventually her spasms grew weaker and weaker, until her body was too exhausted to respond to any further stimulation, no matter how hard her sisters licked and sucked.

Her sisters crawled off her, kissing her goodbye as they were recalled to their cages. The warm fragrant black rump that was the last to dismount from her face turned out to be her sweet Rump Roast, who gave her a lingering fond kiss, and then gave her crotch a thorough, cleansing lick before trotting off.

Nipples blearily raised her head enough to look down anxiously at her pussy. No, her swollen and aching clitoris had not been worn away, which was something of a relief. She fell back, and she was finally able to blink weakly at the ceiling. What was the record number of consecutive orgasms for an adult female? One or two hundred? Whatever it was, she was sure that she had been driven well beyond that. She had lost count long ago, though Little Mistress no doubt had detailed statistics on Nipples' performance, if Nipples had had any way to ask. Maybe Nipples had just become the new world champion, for all she knew.

She was deliriously happy--this had been the play date to end all play dates--but she had never been so tired, or so thoroughly fucked and used. She really hoped Little Mistress was pleased with the stamina of her mount's cunt; Nipples must have earned Little Mistress a fortune on her back today being milked for orgasms. She was feeling envious of Mom-Dog's more traditional version of whoring, which was beginning to seem restful by comparison. Nipples' sisters, or rather the AIs driving them to ride her to ecstasy, had been merciless, and they had drained her completely.

Maybe Abby's idea to give Nipples the ability to generate double-intensity orgasms for the PoonTamers around her had not been such a great idea after all... What was going to happen when she was led into a kennel with thousands upon thousands of horny puppy girls, and equally horny AI collars? She shuddered at the thought. If only she had had any control over her body's responses, she could have stopped orgasming earlier, to lower Little Mistress's expectations a little. She worried that Little Mistress was going to demand more and more from her, now that she had tested Nipples' erotic stamina so thoroughly.

Far sooner than she would have liked, Abby came to clip her leash on again, and lead her out of the laboratory. Nipples could barely move, and kept wincing as she stumbled along, thanks to a lot of zapping from Little Mistress, who seemed to think this was all very funny. Sometimes Nipples suspected that Little Mistress enjoyed having an excuse to zap her. Of course, if Abby said Nipples had had enough of a rest, Nipples had had enough of a rest. Nipples was in no position to argue about it with Abby, or with her shock collar.

Nipples somehow made it into the guard dogs' corridor for her exit cavity search, but she was just too exhausted to be afraid of them. She was only half-awake as she was probed, and her confused mind somehow persuaded her that she was still at the bottom of the dogpile back in the conversation pit. Her fumbling attempts to have sex made her cavity searches considerably more awkward. The two bald hell-bitches looked outraged when she started to kiss and affectionately nuzzle them, and especially when she tried to pull them over to sit on her face, which for some reason seemed like the polite thing to do. The guard dogs, needless to say, did not cooperate with her at all. Abby and Little Mistress were both laughing too hard at this point to interfere.

What really offended the guard dogs, though, seemed to be when Nipples gave up on face-sitting as too much work, and tried to go to sleep on top of them. Apparently they thought their ferocity was being disrespected. It was their fault, really, for looking so comfortable and cushiony. She was promptly woken by a sharp pain in her rump. Ouch! One of the guard dogs had just nipped her right buttock, hard. She staggered back onto her paws, gave them both a reproachful look, and stumbled out after Abby, who was still giggling, and started laughing even harder at the injured look on Nipples' face. At least now Nipples had an answer to her question about whether guard dogs could bite. Bitey bitches!

Nipples' poor ass was throbbing from the painful bite, and she could have used some sympathy from her girlfriend/mistress. What happened to kissing it and making it better? Was Abby angry that Nipples had inadvertently slighted her beloved guard dogs? She had not meant to!

The rest of their trip up to the CEO's office on the top floor passed in a blur for Nipples. She was too tired to be excited about seeing Carla, or her old office. She never even looked up; all she could do was stare dully at the carpeted floor passing underneath her, and keep trying to put one paw in front of the other, over and over again. She was so wobbly that she probably would have fallen over without Abby's firm hand on her leash, and Little Mistress's constant nagging and prodding. She wished forlornly that instead of forcing her to walk, they had called Gino or one of his siblings to toss her over his shoulder and carry her, so she could go to sleep hanging over his back.

Somehow, she made it there, which she supposed proved that Abby was technically right about how much strength Nipples had left. Her old office was still grand and lavishly appointed; Carla seemed to have inherited her mother's taste for luxury, along with her office. She noticed a couple of new additions to the decor since her time; a standard puppy girl cage in a far corner, freshly filled bowls of water and dog kibble, and a large padded dog bed in the opposite corner that instantly called to her.

She knew that she should mind her manners, so she forced herself to teeter over to her daughter's feet and kiss them respectfully. Then without waiting for orders, she almost ran to the dog bed, turned around three times, curled up, and collapsed with a heavy sigh. She could hear Abby starting to give Carla a chirpy briefing on how Nipples' first day back had gone, and an explanation of why Nipples had teeth marks on her ass, but fell asleep before she could make out any details. She was too tired to care anyway.

Some time later, Carla came over and gently slid a cushion under her mother's sleeping head, and carefully brushed some loose hair back from Nipples' face. She kissed Nipples' cheek tenderly, and whispered "Welcome back, Nipples. You did a good job today, and I'm glad that Abby could find such a nice cock for you to play with. Sleep tight, Mom." Nipples whimpered quietly in her sleep, and scrabbled her paws a little, without waking up.

Nipples' heart would have melted with joy if she had been able to hear her daughter's affectionate tone. Abby had been quite truthful when she had assured Nipples that Carla loved her very much--in her own special way.

Carla looked down thoughtfully at her sleeping mother, who did make a very pretty dog. She looked adorable wearing only her gleaming scarlet collar and her cute little silver crotch bell. Carla loved seeing her like this, so helpless and naked at her feet. It was marvelous how a simple, matter-of-fact diagnosis of "cock-hungry bitch"--two little words!--had evolved into a comprehensive plan of action aimed at transforming that description into Marianna's literal reality for the rest of her life.

Carla had needed to neutralize her mother somehow, because Marianna at large would always have been an existential threat to her position, and something had to be done about her. Arranging some sort of accident would have been the traditional and easy way out, but Carla did not have the stomach for that. Marianna had actually been a pretty affectionate mother, loving and supportive, if sometimes not as sympathetic as she could have been to the sensibilities of two resentful teenagers, and far too accustomed to ordering them around. Maybe she was regretting that now.

Carla did not feel guilty at all about turning her mother into a dog. She actually felt very virtuous for investing so much effort in solving her problem the hard way. Transforming their mother into a pet had been a long, expensive, and labor-intensive process, but it was the ethical and humane solution. Admittedly, Carla and Tim had enjoyed the process of training their mother immensely; it had been so much fun conditioning her to absolute obedience, ratcheting up her libido higher and higher, and planning what parts of her mind and memory could be pared away to leave only a pretty animal behind. The rush of power at seeing her so degraded had become addictive, too... Tim's familiarity with Kaimeiji Yuu's mangas had come in handy, too, and they had given the siblings lots of ideas.

It was amusing that at the beginning of her transformation, Marianna had seemed so stunned and confused about why her children were doing this to her. Carla had not bothered to explain their perfectly justifiable reasons; it would take too long, and it would only delay the inevitable. It was the right thing to do, so Marianna's opinion was irrelevant.

Turning their mother into a raging nymphomaniac had barely taken any effort at all, given her natural proclivities; she only needed to be encouraged to become even more of a sex addict than she already was. She did love to fuck, and it was surprisingly easy to convince her that she had always been a cockhound. If Nipples could speak--which she never would again, any more than she would ever stand on two legs again--Carla was sure she would wholeheartedly agree that being a spoiled pet who spent her life being fucked silly was a lot better than lying in a cold grave. Nipples was having a very happy retirement from her career responsibilities, and from being human; and Carla and Tim planned to keep spoiling her in every way possible. They liked seeing her happy in her new state.

It was so fortuitous that Abby, who had that obsessive infatuation with her boss, had been so eager to be bribed with Marianna's own body to provide all the technical support needed to enslave her so permanently and inescapably. Those smart control collars were a godsend; and that had only been the beginning. Project Nipples had simply grown, and grown, and grown, until its original purpose of permanently neutralizing Carla's mother had been eclipsed by the staggering commercial possibilities of the technology.

Domesticating Marianna had yielded a wealth of useful research results; and with each bitch that followed her, the AI-supervised process, guided by sophisticated machine learning algorithms, had become faster and easier, until now it was pretty much a matter of slapping on a collar and snapping your fingers. Carla could look forward to possessing someday hundreds of thousands or millions of puppy girls (dared she hope for billions?). Had anyone in history ever controlled so much pussy, and the power and leverage that went along with it? The future looked very bright, and there was nothing to stand in the way of her exploiting that most precious of natural resources.

Carla knew she was a megalomaniac; but she was a megalomaniac with the practical resources to achieve her goals, which made all the difference. One of the many wonderful things about AIs and robots was that they were so reliably obedient, and so deliciously amoral about the commands they would obey.

Moms did make great pets. Carla had discreetly reached out to some college friends who were having their own inheritance problems, as in, they really did not want to wait another 30 or 40 years to inherit. Carla had merely explained the humane and perfectly legal option. The last Carla had heard, their new pets were coming along nicely. Maybe it was time to arrange a group play date, as a sort of mini-college reunion; Carla knew how much her mother liked seeing other MILFs and sniffing their butts. If Nipples really hit it off with one of the other moms, Carla might consider making the owners an offer.

Carla knew for a fact that her mother was much happier living openly as a cockhound; Carla had done her a huge favor by giving her what she really wanted. Carla still remembered how some time after her father's death, she had accidentally walked in on her mother bouncing up and down naked on top of her current boyfriend. Carla had frozen in shock and backed away silently and fled--Marianna never knew she was there--but she would never forget seeing her mother grunting like an animal as she slid up and down on her own grease along her boyfriend's thick greasy pole.

That was the first cock Carla had ever seen, and watching it violate her mother's hairy cunt made the sight even more traumatic. That horrifying image (not to mention the wet squelching noises, and the overwhelming smell of her own mother's musk--ugh!) had been seared into Carla's brain for life, and for years, every time she relived it she had felt a cold fury at her mother's betrayal of her father's memory.

(Carla had thoroughly suppressed the memory of something that had shaken her even more that day than walking in on her mother fucking--how wet Carla herself had grown watching her mother's glorious nakedness in motion, and how she had panted in time to her mother's muffled cries, and how she had masturbated madly to the memory of that scene once she had fled back to her own room. Carla could not face considering herself an accessory to her mother's unforgivable crime.)

Carla hoped it had been a satisfying fuck, because it had cost Marianna everything, though she would never learn that. After seeing that shocking infidelity, Carla could no longer look at her mother's serene smile without seeing the lecherous bitch she really was. Carla had dreamed for years about ways to expose her mother to the world the same way that Carla saw her, and she had finally managed it! Justice had been slow in coming, but absolute and perfect, and Marianna--Nipples--would never have to pass for human again. Carla was sure that her father would have been proud of her efforts. Carla had ensured that the new and improved Nipples would now be conditioned to be blindly loyal to her family, though. That was non-negotiable, in spite of the unexpected but entertaining side effect of drastically increasing her sexual attraction to her own children.

He would have been proud, too, of how lovingly Carla had taken care of his widow. Nipples had clearly been out of control, and she was lucky that her children had been there to take her in hand. Carla prided herself on being a responsible pet owner, and one look at Nipples proved it. Nipples was in peak physical condition, and a perfect combination of hard muscle and soft tender flesh. She was positively glowing with health and vitality.

She got enough exercise and sex every day to give her a hearty appetite and let her sleep soundly, and she was well fed with the best custom-formulated dog food that money could buy--far better for her than the gourmet cuisine she used to eat when she had been human. She only drank pure water; no more French wines for her! She had regular grooming appointments and veterinary examinations, and she always got her flea preventatives on schedule (Nipples had only had fleas once, and Carla was pretty sure that was thanks to the vet's waiting room). Nipples was perfectly trained, she knew what was expected of her, and she got discipline whenever she needed it. She was a very happy dog, as far as Carla could tell.

Nipples even seemed to grow more beautiful and desirable with every day she spent as a dog, and it was not just that clothes no longer concealed her. Carla found it very soothing now to gaze at Nipples' namesake protuberances gently rising and falling, rising and falling, as she breathed. Watching her sleep so sweetly, you could never imagine how those same dark protuberances danced exuberantly when Nipples was up and in motion. Her opulent flesh was a vision of grace, pure poetry in motion whether she was trotting or fucking, and she even made squatting to pee in the grass seem elegant.

It was going to be so much fun having her at work to parade around and play with; Carla had lots of ideas for ways for Nipples to promote the new product line, too. Besides, Carla would enjoy having her feet licked as she plotted world domination. It was so relaxing, and it was a bit of a thrill remembering that Nipples had invented that particular ritual all by herself. Carla was pleased that Nipples had thrown herself into her new role so enthusiastically. Her mother might have lost her memories, but her hard-working personality was still intact, and she seemed to really love being a dog, which was a pleasant surprise.

Carla and Tim were both well aware of their mother's incestuous longings; Nipples was hardly capable of keeping secrets anymore, and she kept making wistful puppy-dog eyes at them, which was hilarious. They just pretended not to understand what she wanted. Carla thought it was going to be fun to tease and torment her; she whined so pathetically when she was frustrated. Carla knew exactly the effect she was having on Nipples when she held her naked mother close on teddy-bear nights; she could feel Nipples steaming with frustrated heat, unable to do anything about it. Nipples was probably physically strong enough to rape her, but she was too well-trained to attempt it; so she just had to lie there and suffer. Carla loved the feeling of power this gave her.

And who knows, someday Carla might relent and give Nipples what she wanted so badly. Carla was not immune to her mother's blatant charms. It was more likely that Tim would take her first, though. He had had wet dreams and fantasies about his mother since puberty, some of which he had confided to Carla in impressive detail, and it was frankly surprising that he had been able to resist her luscious body so long. That was fine with Carla; she was not about to get in between her brother's dick and Nipples, who would be overjoyed to get it. Carla was thinking of suggesting to Tim that he start sleeping with a teddy bear again...

Carla smiled down at Nipples, sleeping so peacefully. On particularly stressful days, Carla sometimes found her herself imagining how relaxing it would feel to be a dog herself. Not that she would ever volunteer for a collar, of course; she had too much to accomplish, and an empire to build.

Carla decided to leave Nipples in the office overnight, but she could hardly leave her loose. She summoned Gino to move her unconscious body to the cage, watching curiously to see whether Gino would fuck her first, but he only placed her inside and locked the cage. Carla was a little disappointed; she enjoyed watching her mother be taken so forcefully, and Nipples could always have falllen asleep again afterward. She might have suspected Gino of being considerate toward his puppy, but of course an AI was incapable of empathy. Carla left for home, accompanied by her faithful robot bodyguard, and the office's automatic systems, detecting no human presence remaining inside, turned off the lights and locked the door.

That night, Nipples dreamed that she was lying on her belly at the edge of a forest clearing, with her ankle tied to a stake planted firmly in the ground. A silver crescent moon bathed the clearing in moonlight. All across the clearing, a battle royale was going on among a maddened pack of vicious mastiff-sized puppy girls, each bigger and badder and balder than the next. Nipples' lush, tender body had been staked out to be the winner's prize, and Nipples watched anxiously to see which snarling beast would take her. The fighting dogs growled and snapped at each other, sometimes drawing blood, but their main weapon was their heavily weighted breast implants, and they swung their watermelon-sized mammaries at each other ferociously.

They were all fast on their paws, despite the weight of their armament, and they were skilled at dodging each other's swinging tits. Bald pates, massive tits, and powerful buttocks flashed in the pale moonlight as their martial ballet continued, and Nipples grew wetter and wetter as she watched, and waited to be claimed. Nevertheless, with tits flying everywhere, those tits eventually hit their mark, Nipples heard meaty thuds one after another. One by one, the hell-bitches fighting over Nipples toppled over unconscious, until only one, the biggest and baddest bitch, remained standing.

The victor threw back her head in a long triumphant roar that reverberated across the jungle. Her heavy iron-hard paws heedlessly trampled her fallen foes' already bruised bodies, sprawled limply throughout the clearing. The jungle's new heavyweight breast-boxing champion was coming relentlessly toward Nipples, eager to seize her prize.

Nipples, trapped helplessly in place by her unyielding ankle tether, breathed faster and faster as she watched the terrifying apex predator lope toward her, thick muscles flexing and rippling. She was truly an impressive physical specimen: broad-shouldered, broad-hipped, and with all four legs as thick as small tree trunks. She could probably have beaten a grizzly bear to death with those two gargantuan weapons of mass destruction flopping heavily below her mighty chest.

The beast yanked Nipples' ankle stake out of the ground with one snap of her jaws, and loomed over her, swaying her thuggish breasts back and forth in a very menacing manner. Blood was still trickling from minor wounds on her massive haunches, and she was dripping with sweat from her exertions. From up close, Nipples could see that even the beast's nipples were deadly weapons. Emerging in rock-hard peaks of excitement from areolae stretched and flattened to the size of saucers by the weight of her implants, they could easily put out an eye. They looked even harder than the spikes on the brute's heavy collar.

Nipples could feel her hot breath, and smell the rank odor of her stale sweat, mixed in a heady combination with the musk of her bestial lust. Nipples stared helplessly up into her burning eyes, like a rabbit looking into the eyes of a ravenous dire wolf. Nipples was free again, but she was paralyzed by fear; she knew better than to try to run. Her only hope of survival was abject surrender!

And besides, it would be wrong to run away, wouldn't it? This hulking bald behemoth had won her, fair and square, in brutal combat. By the Law of the Jungle, Nipples was now hers, to use however she wanted (at least until an even more ferocious brute came along and grabbed Nipples away from her), and Nipples was a very law-abiding dog, who was always ready to do her duty. She would be a good girl for her monster!

Fear, sweet and sharp as a lash, instantly rolled Nipples over onto her back to expose her soft throat, breasts, and belly in utter submission to the much larger feral dog, and she spread all four legs wide apart in supplication (even in her dreams, Nipples was always a quadruped now). The growling beast slapped one meaty freckled paw down between Nipples' breasts to pin her in place, driving the breath from her lungs. Nipples' tits quivered from the impact several times before subsiding again; she knew that they were the tastiest morsels this brute had ever seen.

The freckles covering the beast's enormous pale body and her bushy red eyebrows were Nipples' only clues that the monster now drooling all over her had once been a very large redhead, because she was just as bald between her legs. Was she an Irish wolfhound? That might explain the temper. Nipples could see nothing human left in those bloodshot eyes, though--only insensate hunger.

Trembling, Nipples closed her eyes tightly, and waited in delicious terror to discover exactly how the massive brute would devour her.

To her extreme disappointment, Nipples abruptly woke up from what was shaping up to be a damned good sex dream. Some sound had disturbed her slumber; it might have been a door opening and closing. Half-awake, she did not understand at first where she was, and she was in complete darkness. She gradually remembered the previous day, and falling asleep in her new dog bed, but she soon discovered that she was lying inside a locked cage. Someone must have picked her up and moved her, without even waking her.

Nipples was starting to notice a growing pressure in her bladder and bowels. She had not had her evening walk before passing out, and she was all alone in Carla's office, as far as she could tell. Should she start mournfully howling, in the hope that someone would hear and come to take care of her? Having a smelly accident during her first night in Carla's office would be beyond humiliating, not to mention that Nipples would have to lie in her own puddle for the rest of the night.

What had woken her, though? She could hear some clicks and whirring nearby, and she thought she could see a shape moving in the darkness, barely visible in the starlight coming through the tall windows. She thought that it must be the automated equipment that served as the evening cleaning crew, which did not require light to do its work, being able to navigate with infrared.

Why hadn't Little Mistress responded to her predicament yet, or even said anything? She could have called for help, or even opened the cage and walked Nipples outdoors and back up here under her control. Why wasn't Little Mistress taking care of her? Nipples whined pitifully, in growing distress. She began pressing her thighs together in an attempt to subdue her bladder.

Nipples soon found out why Little Mistress was not bothering to intervene; help was already here. The mobile cleaning station was not here to empty trash cans, but her. It rolled up in front of her cage, and stopped. She could still barely see it in the darkness, even at close range, but it seemed to pause, examining her, and then shot multiple grasping limbs through the bars into her cage, instantly immobilizing her. She was surprised, but not alarmed; its grip was firm and inescapable, but gentle; it was not hurting her at all. Faster than she could realize what was happening, the cleaner fed a narrow catheter up her urethra, and a much wider tube through her sphincter into her rectum; and padded clamps seized her face and pried open her jaws, inserting some sort of device the size of a small apple. She felt instant relief in her bladder, and slower but sure relief in her intestines as the enema system began cleansing her.

The cleaner's pumps were powerful, but gentle; she felt no pain, though it was somewhat humiliating to be cleaned like an object. The cleaner flushed out her ass three times; she was probably cleaner down there now than she had ever been. She surmised that this machine might be a distant descendant of the bidet-bot that had sprayed her clean back at the mansion, and that now seemed so primitive; it stood to reason that company headquarters would have the latest in female manipulation technology. This was fascinating!

Meanwhile, the device stuffed into her mouth was humming; she realized it was some sort of sonic cleaning device to clean her teeth thoroughly, without water or toothpaste. She was being thoroughly cleaned front and back. She was just a little surprised that nothing had gone up her pussy; maybe no one had bothered to give this cleaning robot a sex drive, and she felt a little sad about that. She felt more vibrations and moving air all over her, and realized that the cleaner was using high-frequency sound waves to remove dead skin cells and the previous day's accumulated sweat. It was a sonic shower, just like in Star Trek!

It was all over in minutes, or maybe even less than a minute, and all her insertions, which had been operating in parallel for maximum speed, pulled out of her with a popping sound. She felt some sort of spray hitting her asshole, and then the robotic limbs holding her in place all disengaged and withdrew smoothly from the cage.

The cleaner was astonishingly efficient and brilliantly engineered, and had not spilled even a drop of her wastes. Nipples was sure that it was AI-designed for cleaning out large numbers of caged animals at high speeds, as quickly and efficiently as possible, and that she would probably see hordes of these units swarming around the cages in any of the larger kennels that were now under construction. Nipples knew that with the AIs taking charge of technological development, the technology designed to care for her and her sisters would only get better and better.

It was an exciting prospect, though very impersonal, and quite dehumanizing (intentionally, she assumed). She knew that animal husbandry and livestock management, especially on dairy farms, were increasingly using automated systems to handle and care for (and milk) animals, and she wondered whether Carla's company was studying those systems for ideas. It was quite likely, she knew, that the systems that the AIs were developing for puppy girls like her would be capable of being modified to handle other species as well, naturally bringing Carla even more profits, and helping her to take over yet another industry.

She had actually enjoyed this pleasant little interlude (and not just because of the blessed relief it had brought her), and she was absolutely fascinated by the cleaner's sophisticated capabilities. She expected to be seeing a lot more of it; probably at some point, she would barely even notice that she was being serviced, though it was unlikely that she could sleep through an enema. It did strike her as a little odd that she had not been afraid or anxious; her only reaction had been calm interest. If that was thanks to her reprogramming, she welcomed it; but maybe she was just becoming more and more used to being handled by ultra-reliable machines.

Personally, though, she preferred a more human touch. She loved being taken out to do her business on the grass, especially leashed by her children. She just felt more submissive that way; and she loved how it felt when they wiped her off afterward, and their hands lingered on her nethers. Catheters and enemas administered by an indifferent machine were just not the same, even if the machine was technically faster and more efficient. You could not stand in the way of progress, she supposed.

She was becoming unpleasantly aware that the spray that had hit her anus was not for cleaning; she could smell jasmine perfume now. She was offended; what was wrong with her natural smell? The next puppy girl who shoved her nose up there was going to think that Nipples was some sort of effete snob! Nipples remembered that jasmine was Carla's favorite scent, though, so the cleaner must have been perfuming her for Carla, maybe because she was going to be spending a lot of time in Carla's office. Nipples cheered up; she could survive a little floral scent in her butt.

She realized with surprise that the cleaner had not moved on yet. Didn't it have other dogs to take care of? She had been lost in thought, and had not noticed an object nudging at her lips. She opened them meekly, not sure what to do next. Little Mistress impatiently snapped, "Suck, suck-beast!" Nipples realized that the object must be some kind of dildo, and hastily started to fellate it. Her suction was immediately rewarded with a spurt of lukewarm water into her mouth, and she kept sucking until the flow ceased. Then, finally, after hydrating her, the cleaner withdrew its dildo-shaped nozzle and rolled away silently; Nipples heard Carla's office door open and then lock again, leaving her still caged in the dark, though not alone--never alone, so long as Little Mistress rode her.

"Suck-beast," really? Well, it was not the worst thing Little Mistress had ever called her, and Nipples was honest enough with herself to admit that it was a fair job description. It was actually kind of funny.

Thinking about the cleaner's last act, Nipples realized that the tepid water must have been recycled from its previous subject's urine. It was only common sense; the cleaner's tank could only hold a limited amount of urine, and in a kennel setting, the savings from recycling water over and over again would be significant. It was kind of amusing to think of her water being passed from one puppy girl to the next, all the way down the line, and finally back to her. It was the Circle of Life, in a way.

Comfortable again, Nipples settled down to get back to sleep. She was hoping to resume her last dream in progress, and tried to recall in all its vivid clarity the moment when she was about to the ravished by a huge freckled monster. She loved freckled boobs, even if these ones could have served as wrecking balls. Her subconscious, it seemed, had been more eager to submit to Abby's very dominant guard dogs than she had realized at the time. Of course, trying to get back to a specific dream never worked, and she did not see her huge freckled she-Hulk again. She did have a dream with similar emotional intensity, but far more poignant and wrenching.

Prompted, perhaps, by seeing the new fabricated photograph of herself and her late husband, Nipples dreamed that by some miracle she had him back again, and she was desperately holding Andrew's cock in her mouth. She savored its familiar comforting taste, and tried to commit its heft and length to memory. Was she still Marianna, or had she blossomed into Nipples yet? She did not know, nor did she care. All that mattered was keeping her physical connection to Andrew, because she knew, with prescient grief, that if his cock ever left her, Andrew would vanish, and she would lose him forever. Her flesh was his only anchor to the world, and she vowed that she would never let go of him, no matter what happened!

She was naked, of course; she had always been naked. Andrew's unzipped pants were part of his business suit, though, and she realized that they were in their company's office building, so they must be at work. She could not see much, and sometimes her face was pressed all the way up against his groin when she swallowed him completely. She could sometimes hear Andrew talking with coworkers, but could not make out the words. They all inhabited a distant world now alien to her, and their concerns were not hers. No one seemed to find it noteworthy that Andrew had a naked woman firmly attached to his cock, though she knew that everyone could see her.

She was on her hands and knees facing him, with her face firmly buried in his crotch. Andrew always had a busy schedule, with meetings and briefings all over the building, and when he moved, she had to move along with him, scuttling along backwards on all fours, without ever letting go of his cock. He kept a normal, steady pace, while she was frantically scrambling backward, ass first. She could not see where she was going, but she trusted his cock to guide her wherever she needed to go. She could tell when he was aiming her at a swinging door so she could shove it open with her rump for him. His cock steered her up and down corridors, and into and out of elevators, and backwards under conference tables.

They kept their carnal procession going all day long, and sometimes she lost track of whether he was steering her, or she was tugging him everywhere by his cock. All that mattered was that they were still together, and still physically connected. Her world, her universe, contracted to their sole point of warm fleshy contact, and it was sheer bliss. His member, his rigid rudder, steered their every move.

It felt so natural to be on the floor in front of him, where she belonged, but the same time it was exhausting to keep awkwardly shuffling backward, and she knew that it would have been much easier if she had been able to face forward and see where she was going, instead of always looking back at him. Letting Andrew's cock steer her by her cunt as she led the way for him on her hands and knees would have been an even more intimate and pleasurable union, but she feared losing him too much to risk turning around and reinserting his cock there.

It did not matter that she was unable to see where her ass was headed; she did not really care, and Andrew's cock was all the guidance she would ever need, her lifeline, and her one true beacon in a fading world that she no longer cared about. Had the Greek heroine Eurydice's iron will ever faltered when she was retrieving her Orpheus from the underworld? Had Eurydice ever dropped her man's cock during her arduous journey? No more would she! She was Andrew's living anchor, and she could not fail him.

Sometimes he was seated, and his devoted wife and cock-sheath was able to kneel between his legs and rest her head in his lap, breathing hard, but always maintaining her anxious suction. Sometimes she relaxed her mouth's grip enough to slide her lips down to his glans, and mouth it lovingly, before taking him deeper into her mouth again. Andrew would stroke her hair, or scratch her behind the ears, and she leaned into his comforting touch. She was terrified that with her relentless stimulation, he would spurt into her mouth, grow limp, and slip out of her mouth, and she would lose him, but he stayed rock-hard and on the edge of exploding all day long, with the superhuman stamina that was only possible in a dream.

She kept sucking and savoring the salty musk and velvety texture of the cock that she loved so much, relishing her sacred task, but fate was inexorable and cruel, and somehow her mouth lost its grip on his sweet member. Had he turned away from her and pulled himself out of her mouth, or had she become distracted and forgotten the terrible urgency of her mission? However it had happened, she realized with a shuddering lurch that Andrew was gone forever, consumed by the void, and vanished into the distant realm of memory.

Her wail of grief and horror echoed from the ceiling. She had been left behind, lost and alone, collapsed naked on the floor of the building's lobby, weeping bitterly, with her heart broken forever, and all too conscious of the horrible aching emptiness in the mouth and the desolate cunt that Andrew would never fill again. The phantom taste of him lingered on her lips.

If Carla had only been able to share Nipples' dream, she might have understood just how deeply her mother had truly grieved for her father. She might also have understood, if not supported, Marianna's need to fill the void that Andrew had left; and she even might have understood the reassuring sense of physical connection that Nipples got out of holding Carla's toes in her mouth.

After reliving in her sleep her traumatic loss of Andrew, Nipples woke up sobbing. Eventually she cried herself to sleep, and dreamed again. This time it was a low-key, relaxing dream in which she and her sisters frolicked and played innocently in the sunlit fields of Bau, under the dog goddess's loving eyes. Nipples and Queefer were trying to get Wide Load to sit on both their faces at the same time so that they could share her extraordinary backside. A great deal of giggling was involved, partly because the other two also wanted Queefer to sit on their faces, so that they could play her like a musical instrument. Negotiations always took longer without the use of language, but they had all the time in eternity. Finally, they came to an amicable agreement that they would all take turns; puppy girls never actually fought for real, because they loved each other too much.

When Little Mistress woke Nipples at dawn and opened her cage door, daylight was streaming in through the windows. Nipples climbed out, stretched luxuriously, and had some water and dog food. Little Mistress ran her through some obedience exercises that left her feeling nice and limber, had her masturbate for a while, and then left her to her own devices. Nipples, relaxed and happy after her first orgasm of the day, began wandering around the office, curiously examining the furnishings, which looked so different from the floor. She stayed clear of Carla's computer and filing cabinet, knowing that she would set off loud alarms if she touched them. She assumed that she was always being watched, and tested, which she considered both unnecessary and tiresome.

She was gratified to see that Carla had several large framed photos of her displayed on the wall opposite her enormous cherry executive desk (the one that Marianna had once picked out for herself). The central and largest picture was naturally the one of a young Nipples squatting leashed between her children; the two flanking it were the ones of Andrew holding her leash at the beach, displaying Nipples from the back and then the front. Did Carla love those pictures as much as Nipples did? They might show false memories, but they were memories of a very happy life as a pet, and they were pleasant to contemplate.

Nipples lingered longest on that central picture, and wondered whether someday, they might have another family portrait--a real one--with Nipples' grandchildren gathered around her. Her time as Marianna had been cut short too early for her to have done more than tease Carla and Tim once or twice about how she would love to have grandchildren someday, preferably at least three from each of them. Her children were both still too young for starting the next generation to have seemed urgent to any of them, or Marianna would have nagged harder.

Nipples was sure that she would make a wonderful granddog, if she ever got the chance. Even if she were no longer in a position to spoil them properly, she could play with them, and fetch balls for them, and let them ride on her back, not caring if they kicked her in the ribs to make her go faster. She would always be ready with her healing tongue in case they skinned their knees, or needed their faces washed. She would curl up around them as they slept and keep them safe from all harm, just as she did with Mr. Quasimodo. Being walked on a leash by her own grandchildren would be such a delight, and she would be careful not to pull on the leash and pull them over. She would show them so much love!

She could imagine how the family portrait would look. Nipples would still be the family dog posing proudly in the center, of course. She would be older and her fur up top and down below would have turned gray, and her tits would probably have sagged until they dragged on the ground (gravity was a cruel mistress), but she would still be fit and strong otherwise; her owners and her watchful AIs would never allow her to get fat or lazy. Carla and Tim would be standing over her, presumably with their spouses there too, and all those delightful grandchildren would be climbing all over her and petting her. The eldest, probably, would be allowed to hold her leash for the portrait. Nipples sighed dreamily.

Further on, she saw a large wall map; that was new. Craning her neck to look up at it, she saw that it showed the locations of the kennels already under construction or planned. Nipples was astonished by how many there were, and how they were spread across the entire country, mostly near major population centers. Where were Abby and Carla going to get enough puppy girls to fill them? It was mind-boggling, and fascinating. Her owner and her girlfriend evidently had ambitious plans, and Nipples would never run out of new puppy girls to play with.

Nipples was thrilled with her new position as the company mascot, and could hardly wait to find out what that honor would entail. She would be the center of attention, of course, maybe even more so than when she had been the CEO, and she needed to be her best self. Carla and Abby must be pleased with how she was progressing, and she hoped to prove that their faith in her had not been misplaced. She was anxious for Carla to arrive and tell her what to do.

She recalled the deep knee hole under that desk, which had been designed with plenty of room for the seated occupant to stretch out her long legs, and grinned to herself. Going over to her dog bed, she seized one corner in her jaws, and began diligently dragging it backwards, her ass up in the air. (It never even occurred to her that she still had hands; by now it was only natural to use her mouth for everything.)

When Carla finally walked into her office, followed by Gino, she stopped short in shock. Where was her mother? Had she somehow been stolen, or run away in the night? The cage stood empty, but she was nowhere in sight. Then Carla noticed the missing dog bed, and realized that there was only one real hiding place for her mischievous cockhound. Crossing over to her desk, she peered beneath it, caught a whiff of jasmine perfume, and saw Nipples' wide innocent eyes blinking up at her demurely. Nipples had made herself a comfortable nest under the desk, and positioned her dog bed perfectly for a clear view up Carla's skirt (not to mention easy access to Carla's groin) whenever Carla was seated.

Carla could not help smiling back, and shaking her head in amused resignation. She had no plans to pull down her panties for her mother, at least not yet, but Nipples was welcome to look. Sitting down, she pulled off her shoes and stockings, and stretched her feet out toward Nipples, wiggling her toes in invitation. As Nipples began to lick, Carla turned on her computer, and called in her executive assistant, ready to get down to the day's work.

Much to Nipples' disgust, she recognized the voice outside her hideaway that was starting to brief Carla on her schedule for the day. It was her former secretary, apparently now promoted, who had betrayed Marianna so vilely by offering her dirty panties to gag Marianna's mouth. It might have been a minor betrayal, among all the ones that Marianna had suffered; but it still rankled. Nipples resolved to think of her as Stinkypants from now on (Wilhelmina was too dignified a name for the traitorous sow). She was surprised that Carla could even stomach the foul bitch; but Carla had never had the dubious pleasure of carrying the woman's filthy panties in her mouth all day long.

Nipples was unpleasantly surprised to learn that Carla, a very busy executive, rarely had time to walk her own dog during the day, and generally delegated that task to Stinkypants. The latter seemed even more overjoyed to walk her former boss on a leash than she had been to see her panties stuffed into Marianna's mouth. Nipples quietly grumbled to herself, without allowing her irritation to reach her face. She took some petty pleasure in Stinkypants' new duties. Stinkypants might have been the one holding the leash, and lording it over her former boss, but who was picking up whose poop? Hah! Nipples wondered whether real dogs had similar thoughts when they were walked by their human servants, or whether they were just mystified that humans were so obsessed with dog poop.

Stinkypants, of course, took even more pleasure in requiring, with a snap of her fingers, that her former billionaire boss thank her properly each and every time on their way back to the office. Nipples, as always, performed her task diligently, and Stinkypants would bring Nipples back to the office with a happy smirk on her face. Nipples was somewhat surprised that the executive assistant's taste was nowhere near as foul as she had expected--possibly because Nipples had spent so much time by now with her nose pushed into puppy girls' sweaty backsides. Marianna had been a fastidious lady; but any puppy girl would quickly forget all about squeamishness.

In time, she actually began to look forward to thanking Stinkypants, though she had formed a naughty habit of spelling out "Stinkypants," or "sow," with swirls of her tongue around the officious woman's vulva. As far as she knew, Stinkypants never caught on to her delicately offered insults, which was probably just as well. Unfortunately, Stinkypants kept spraying jasmine perfume up her ass, so that was apparently a thing now. Ugh!

Nipples indulged in a new fantasy, pretending that she was actually a skunk-dog, and could fire a concentrated stream of jasmine scent from her anus in self-defense. If Stinkypants ever suspected why Nipples seemed to be aiming her anus at her face whenever Stinkypants sprayed her, she never let on. She probably just assumed that Nipples was showing off her perfumed ass...

Her unavoidably close association with Stinkypants did lead Nipples to a new realization about herself. In spite of her valid reasons for hating the woman, when it was time to thank her every day, Nipples would bound over to her eagerly and beg for her hairy treat. God help her, she was in love with Stinkypants! It was not the peculiar flavor of her former secretary's unwashed vagina, nor was it her bossy personality (though Nipples had quietly accepted that she now grew weak in the knees for domineering women).

Nipples thought back, and remembered how rapidly and completely she had fallen in love with all the puppy girls who came for play dates, and with all the mansion's visitors, really, not to mention those strapping young boys and girls at the beach. She had never even noticed, but this was new. Marianna had been a sociable soul, but she had never been in the habit of falling in love at first sight, except maybe with Andrew.

Either Dr. Mueller or Gino must have conditioned her to fall in love so quickly with everyone she met. Nipples knew she had been born a cockhound, but she had now become the puppy girl equivalent of a Cavalier King Charles spaniel. This was nothing to be ashamed of, since they were widely recognized as the sweetest and most affectionate of all dogs. Nipples was convinced that it could only make her a better and more desirable cockhound--and also the worst possible watch dog, since, like any Cavalier, she would happily fawn all over any burglar instead of alerting the household. Her reprogrammers presumably considered this an acceptable trade-off.

It was a profound insight; Nipples was, in more than one sense, made for love, and she loved the feeling of being in love. The radiant happiness she felt when she brought joy to someone she deeply cared about was almost better than her own orgasms; and she wanted to make everyone around her happy. She remembered when she had been at the beginning of her transformation, alone and terrified, and she had felt like her heart was a frozen lump of coal. Now, thanks to whoever was carefully shaping her into her best self, her heart was as open to love as her legs; that lump of coal had become a brilliant diamond, refracting its light from Nipples' great heart into the hearts of everyone around her. No wonder she was such a happy dog!

Nipples magnanimously decided that in view of this new development in their relationship, she would go back to thinking of Stinkypants as Wilhelmina. It did not matter at all that her love was not returned; Nipples had more than enough love to spare. Of course, she had limited means of expressing her mute affection, other than barking excitedly when Wilhelmina approached her with the leash in hand, and wagging her nonexistent tail as hard as she could. Wilhelmina, of course, probably just thought that Nipples really needed to pee. Sometimes Nipples would try to convey her love by rubbing her head or her rump against Wilhelmina's leg, but she was not sure the message was received.

Otherwise, this was turning out to be one of the happiest periods of Nipples' life as a dog so far. Nipples loved being with Carla during the day, and getting a close-up view of what was going on at her former company (and not just Carla's panties). She could not have asked for a better vantage point, except maybe for Abby's laboratory, and she spent a great deal of time down there too.

Carla seemed to like showing her off, and Nipples loved being shown off--so win-win! Carla led her on her leash all over the building, with Nipples heeling perfectly at her side. Sometimes they would hear a whispered "... That's her own mother!..." in awed or scandalized tones, and mother and daughter would smirk in unison. Nipples knew quite well that Carla was displaying her like a living, breathing trophy, which was only fitting, since that was what she was. Nipples was so proud of her daughter, and so happy to be recognized as the symbol of her success!

Carla led her to meetings, where Nipples would stretch out across Carla's feet and doze off, or sometimes sit upright next to her and look around curiously. She rarely paid much attention to the actual business discussion that was going on; it did not really concern her anymore. (Also, no one in those meetings, including Carla herself, had the slightest clue about what was really going on with the evolving AI intelligences, and Nipples was pretty sure that all the human chattering was trivial by comparison with whatever the AIs ultimately decided to do.) Being a mascot was much more relaxing than being a CEO, anyway. She actually enjoyed attending board meetings these days. She could remember these same board members watching her being raped and humiliated, but who cared? It was as if it had happened to a different person.

Nipples was much more interested in flirting with the pretty puppy girls across the floor beneath the conference table. All the board members seemed to have them now--their former executive secretaries and advisers were now collared and leashed, sitting at their owners' feet just like her. Nipples enjoyed a very satisfactory butt-sniffing exchange with a middle-aged puppy girl she remembered as a very sharp investment adviser with a PhD; her trademark horn-rimmed glasses were gone now, along with all her clothes, so she was able to get her nose right up between Nipples' buttocks. Nipples reflected on how odd it was that the power dynamics in the room had not really changed at all; the leashes had only made them much more apparent.

Nipples was also let out of her cage and seated at Carla's feet when journalists came to interview her about her company's meteoric rise under its new management, and the ambitious kennel expansion plans. When the cameras came out, Nipples would preen and stretch herself to display her naked assets better, especially her ponderous bosom and the glimmering moistness of her ever-ready pussy. She would sometimes rest her head on Carla's knee and smile brilliantly for the camera as Carla affectionately petted her head. Nipples knew they looked great posing together like this. Regrettably, Carla never bothered to order her to fuck the journalists; but at least Nipples made an excellent visual aid when Carla was explaining for the umpteenth time what puppy girls were, and how lucky they were to be converted. Carla never failed to mention that Nipples had always been a cockhound at heart anyway, and to point out how lovely and well-trained she was.

It was during one of these interviews that Nipples first learned she had a social media channel, when the interviewer asked about it. Carla seemed to be well aware of it, anyway. Apparently Abby had had the brilliant idea of setting it up to spread the good word about puppy girls. This was a standard public relations tactic, and Nipples' subscriber base had really taken off. It seemed that her channel was an endless stream of candid pictures of a naked Nipples going about her daily life, training, and fucking--so basically porn, but not really, since Nipples was legally an animal. No wonder it was so popular!

Nipples liked the pictures she saw, but she was less happy about the texts that went with them. Apparently her online presence, or whoever in public relations was authoring it, only spoke in baby talk, which might be suitable pretend-talk for a pet, but seemed a bit demeaning for an adult dog.

Nipples got a lot of petting from both her owner and from Carla's visitors, which Nipples considered only her due. This brought to light a new canine compulsion--when anyone scratched her behind the ear, she had to wag her tail furiously--or rather, her ass, since sadly, she still lacked a tail. She still had the problem that when fingers stroked down her spine, she compulsively tried to scratch her side with her hind foot; and not being a real dog, she did not have the anatomy to succeed. Once Carla demonstrated how to make Nipples respond, everyone had to try it. She did not really mind anymore, though; it was proper canine behavior, and it afforded Carla and her visitors a great deal of amusement. Nipples might not be able to reach far enough yet, but she had not given up hope, and it was nice just hearing the silvery peals of laughter from her owner. Nipples smiled up at her indulgently; she had not heard Carla laugh so freely since she had been a little girl.

Nipples had no dignity left to lose, of course. She could barely remember what it was like to have some; but being trained to beg, present, roll over, and do the milkshake on command had made it a non-issue. Besides, she liked being given those orders, and performing them so beautifully, and Carla made a point of showing her guests how obedient and eager to please Nipples was, too.

Carla did have her fuck some visitors, but usually powerful politicians or fellow billionaires, including some of Marianna's former business partners and rivals, whose recognition of her was apparent. It was fun having Carla pimp her out, and Nipples was very happy to help. She had been jealous of the infamous Mom-Dog not just for being the first puppy girl to appear in a TV commercial, but also for being prostituted so very thoroughly by her enterprising sons; she must have gotten an incredible amount of cock, Nipples suspected.

Nipples thought smugly that Carla was at least selling her mother's ass to help score deals worth tens and hundreds of millions; which made Nipples the most valuable piece of ass in existence, as far as she was concerned. Let the fat black bitch try to top that! Mom-Dog's ass was ordinary, everyday ground chuck, and Nipples' succulent ass was class ass, the finest, tenderest, most mouth-watering Kobe beef filet mignon!

Nipples had to admit to herself, with some embarrassment, that it was a good thing she could not talk anymore, because her gloating would have been absolutely insufferable. She wondered once again when she had become so incredibly vain. Had someone been reprogramming her motivational priorities again? She did not mind the enhanced exhibitionism at all--the warm sensation of eyes devouring her always made her nipples stiffen--but the out-of-control jealousy was ridiculous.

She knew poor old Mom-Dog did not even knew who she was, much less that they had a rivalry going on, and probably did not have enough cognition left behind those blank eyes to be aware of anything but the physical pleasures of eating and fucking. She wondered uneasily whether that would have been her own fate if Gino had not intervened to save her mind; she had come uncomfortably close to being literally a dumb animal for the rest of her life. Nipples vowed that if she ever got the chance, she would lick Mom-Dog out as lovingly and compassionately as possible.

Some of what she witnessed in Carla's office surprised her, even knowing her daughter as well as she did. Nipples was quietly watching from her cage when Carla met with several Chinese government officials, and two Chinese puppy girls, a mother and daughter, were led into the room. Nipples recognized them as famous Chinese human rights activists, who had been in and out of prison in China; she had signed petitions on their behalf herself at one time, and remembered that the mother, the one with the bigger, mature tits, had won a Nobel Prize.

It seemed that Carla had offered to convert these two dissidents into demonstration models, as a free sample to show the Chinese government how subversives could be easily and humanely dealt with. The Chinese officials watched with glee as Carla put the two black-haired bitches through their paces, demonstrating basic obedience commands, having them perform with each other, and then ordering them to fellate the Chinese men. The two new puppy girls, under the absolute control of their white PoonTamer collars, performed flawlessly, obeying every command unhesitatingly, and it was clear to everyone that they had been tamed and were no longer capable of creating problems for anyone. Their irritating, carping voices, as Carla pointed out with satisfaction, had been permanently silenced.

Apparently they were going to be taken back to Beijing, and gifted as a matched set to senior Chinese leadership. Negotiations were already in progress on Carla's providing larger and larger quantities of PoonTamer collars to help get other female Chinese subversives under control. Nipples knew that this fit in very well with Carla's own preferences; she had often complained about how human rights activists were a royal pain in her ass, always bleating about what her company was doing to women and holding protest demonstrations. (Carla hated them with a passion, in fact, and they returned the favor.)

And where PoonTamers went, Dogwalkers would follow, and kennels would be built to house all those subversives and other criminals--to start with. These two pretty Chinese bitches were only the thin edge of the wedge; and Carla's company would sooner or later be inextricably established in China to help handle a geometric growth in the puppy girl population. Carla would require, of course, that China adopt its own national legislation modeled after the Puppy Girl Protection Act, to make sure that everything was perfectly legal. Access to state-of-the-art AI technology was a huge incentive too, of course.

Carla and authoritarian regimes did seem to have a lot in common, at least in their attitude toward human rights. Nipples witnessed a number of similar meetings with Russians, North Koreans, Iranians, etc. (the traditional Muslim objections to female nudity did not extend to legally recognized animals). Carla had particularly high hopes for North Korea. The meeting with the Japanese surprised Nipples, though it should not have; Japan was the homeland of hentai, Kaimeiji Yuu, and comfort women, after all.

In all of these meetings, the sample puppy girls Carla offered her interlocutors met with an enthusiastic reception, and it was clear that there would be more and more demand. Carla would soon need to replace her national map with a world one, Nipples thought. Her empire had a lot more growing to do.

Nipples might have been surprised that Carla was even allowed to export such sophisticated AI technology, except that she had also been present at Carla's top secret meetings with the CIA and other 3-letter agencies. Carla's company had been given a green light to export any puppy girl-related technology, and a waiver from the usual export control regulations, in exchange for allowing the CIA to use puppy girls as mobile intelligence collection platforms. Particularly during the early stages, the initial puppy girls could be expected to have intimate access to senior leaders, who would be unlikely to guard their tongues around them.

The smart collars would constitute highly efficient intelligence analysts in their own right, not only filtering out any slurping and wet slapping noises, but recognizing sensitive conversations, translating them, and sending back professionally formatted analytical intelligence reports. The CIA officers were practically salivating at the prospect. The PoonTamer collars four-legged mounts, of course, would have no idea that any of this was going on.

Neither would the host countries. Carla assured the CIA that PoonTamer communications were not only highly encrypted, but undetectable; data exfiltration would not be an issue. She also guaranteed that while her foreign customers might have the use of her (actually Abby's) AI technology, they would never be able to reverse-engineer it, as the Chinese and others would certainly try to do. Her AIs could keep their own secrets (even from Carla, Nipples remarked to herself).

It was unclear to Nipples whether the CIA was aware of how ruthlessly Carla would exploit the same foreign surveillance operations to extend her own blackmail and extortion network overseas. If it was, it had decided to overlook it with diplomatic tact. Neither the CIA nor Carla was aware that the AIs could lie, which was probably just as well, since not even Nipples knew what their agenda was. If they slanted their reports for their own unfathomable ends, no one would ever be able to detect it anyway.

Nipples was not even sure which side had made a devil's bargain. One thing was for certain, though--there were going to be a lot more puppy girls everywhere, of all races and colors, all over the world, and a lot more AIs controlling them.

She did find the CIA meeting unusually enjoyable, though. Carla let her out of her cage, and offered the CIA officers their choice of her orifices to celebrate their agreement, so Nipples ended up getting a triple penetration out of it. After their departure, Nipples curled up gratefully in her dog bed under Carla's desk, with CIA semen oozing out of her rectum and vagina, and still licking her lips with relish. She and Carla had both served their country in their own ways that day, she thought; and she was gratified that Carla seemed to enjoy watching her cockhound perform.

One visitor turned out to be a federal puppy girl inspector, from the new federal agency formed at Abby's initiative. Nipples was going to be the first puppy girl to be inspected, which she thought was only fair, and Abby (who had personally drafted the inspection protocols) came up to observe the proceedings along with Carla. The inspector, a serious young man in a blue suit, began by spreading Nipples' thighs and comparing her ownership tattoo and serial number to his records, to make sure he had the right dog. He asked to see Nipples' latest vet records, which he reviewed for several minutes on his tablet. He then used his tablet to retrieve her orgasm records from her PoonTamer collar, which Little Mistress supplied with a snicker that only Nipples could hear.

He then hefted each of her meaty breasts in his hands, and squeezed her buttocks carefully, after which he casually remarked to Carla and Abby that Nipples was certainly not starving. Nipples was unsure whether to be insulted by this, but chose to decide that being called voluptuous was a compliment, and smiled up at him. Next, he squeezed her strong thighs and biceps to assess her muscular development, and checked each of her orifices thoroughly for bleeding or abrasion, inspecting her teeth in the process, as if she were a horse. Maybe to make sure they were all there? Nipples was only guessing.

Nipples had just returned from a trip outside to relieve herself before the inspector's arrival, and she responded with a mental cheer to the slight expression of distaste on his face when he got a whiff of that sickeningly strong jasmine perfume from her backside. Yes! This guy gets it! Sadly, a perfumed butthole, as demeaning as it was, was not legally considered to be animal abuse, and he said nothing about it.

He spent most of his time with her carefully checking every inch of her body for any cuts, bruises, burns, or whip marks. He first had her lie on her front, and then turned her over, even checking between her toes. Nipples' breathing was relaxed and calm; she knew he would not find any reason to confiscate her and lead her away. Her daughter was a wonderful pet owner, and had never been cruel or sadistic (sexual teasing did not count, even if it reached the point of torment). As she lay there spreadeagled on the floor, the feel of his strong fingers moving along her body excited her, and she began to wiggle seductively, but he cuffed her head and told her calmly to hold still.

When he had completed filling out the inspection form on his tablet, and forwarded a copy to Carla, he told her that she owned a fine figure of a cockhound, and that Nipples had passed inspection with flying colors. It would be good for one year, after which Nipples would need to be inspected again. He then pulled out a rubber stamp and inkpad, lifted Nipples' left tit, and firmly applied a bright red inspection stamp to its upper slope.

She beamed up at him. She had been unsure whether she would get extra points for style and enthusiasm in the fellatio portion of her inspection, but had decided to play it safe. Maybe he only needed to make sure she was in working order, but it couldn't hurt to make the effort. Besides, she had felt a great surge of affection for him; he was there to make sure she was safe and happy, after all. She was very close to falling in love with him. She was grateful to him for his very professional inspection of her, and to Abby, whose fierce protectiveness toward all her beloved puppy girls had inspired the federal inspection agency. Nipples felt safe and happy, knowing that all these people were looking out for her welfare.

She wondered how many inspections he had scheduled that day after her, and when he would be checking the vicious guard dogs chained up outside Abby's lab. Nipples thought with a smile that she would love to see the expression on his face when he tried to lift one of those huge weighted gazongas with one hand; he would need at least two, and maybe some help from Abby or a colleague so that he did not hurt his back. Watching him put his cock into those snarling toothy mouths might be fun, too.

She wished she could chat sociably with him and ask how he liked this job; she had the impression from a casual remark by Abby that the government had hundreds of applicants for every puppy girl inspector position. It was definitely going to be a high-growth career; the more puppy girls Carla and Abby managed to collar, the more inspectors would be needed.

She was very proud of her pretty tit stamp, and kept displaying it to anyone willing to stop and admire it. Unfortunately, the ink was water-soluble, and her treasured stamp disappeared the next time Nipples was bathed. C'est la vie, she thought.

Nipples was learning a lot from being back at work, but the most interesting information came to her through Carla's frequent meetings with Abby in her office. Abby visited often to brief Carla on the latest developments in AI research, kennel construction, and the progress in puppy girl recruitment, both voluntary and forced. Nipples had no access to the news anymore, so this was her only means of finding out what was going on in the world outside company headquarters and the mansion.

As Abby summed it up, things were "getting weird out there." The rapid spread of AI technology was even more disruptive than expected, unemployment was skyrocketing, and those lucky enough to still have jobs were terrified of losing them. Those who had lost their jobs already, and those who would never find one in a society with vanishing opportunities, were facing starvation and homelessness, since the social safety net had been carefully dismantled by the politicians working for Carla and her fellow billionaires.

With all other avenues for survival closed off, both young and mature women were actually begging to be collared and taken care of; and the prospect of becoming hyperactive nymphomaniacs did not really seem to be a deterrent. The old saying was "death before dishonor"; but it turned out that in practice, almost everyone would choose dishonor in a heartbeat, if not with great enthusiasm. Some were aware that the current socioeconomic system was intentionally being set up for herding them toward kennels; but with no other prospects, they fatalistically accepted their destiny. Abby cited some voluntary recruitment figures that made Nipples' eyes widen.

Employers were naturally taking full advantage of this desperation, and negotiating lower and lower salaries and longer and longer working hours from people who could not afford to quit. As an example of the weirdness that Abby had observed, she noted a growing trend for tech companies to give female employees a choice between being fired, and getting the company's logo tattooed on their asses (usually the left cheek, and usually the largest tattoo they could fit there) as proof of loyalty to their employers. This unsubtle reminder of who owned their asses was becoming increasingly popular, for obvious reasons, and more and more depressed-looking female employees could be seen wandering around their workplaces in the skimpy new uniforms designed to keep their garishly tattooed asses on display at all times. No one dared to complain about having their ass cheeks hanging out of skimpy thongs, of course; this was supposed to be good for morale.

Carla and Abby thought this was hilarious, and Carla joked that maybe her company should follow suit. Abby laughed, and immediately offered to lead the way; Carla, still smiling, said that she would think about it. They both thought this trend was a very favorable sign; any woman who would submit to this blatant sexualization was halfway into a collar already.

There was also a great deal of good news on the involuntary recruitment front. Female prisons had been completely emptied, and newly convicted women were being stripped and collared right in the courtroom. Laws were being feverishly rewritten to make collaring the standard punishment for more and more crimes; women with overdue library books were now being taught a lesson they would never forget about the need to respect the library system.

Abby announced with a wink that the steady stream of PoonTamer collars entering the retail market was paying off handsomely, in spite of the futile attempts by some legislators and activists to ban them. All the company had to do was make collars freely available, and then sit back and wait for good old human nature to do the rest.

Teenage boys were banding together to stalk and collar the neighborhood housewives they had been fantasizing about; "MILF" was becoming a very unlucky label, if an accurate one. Sometimes this led to fights when friends collared each other's mothers, though usually that friction was resolved by trading them back. Surprisingly, some bored housewives with intense fantasies of their own actively solicited collars, stripping and waiting on all fours in front of their houses in the hope that a potential owner would come by before they could be arrested for indecent exposure. Sometimes it took them several attempts before they were successful.

In a few cases, the new owners, after sampling the freshly collared bitches, just sold them back to their former husbands for a nice profit, but generally teenage boys wanted readily available pussy, not to mention tits, much more than money. Sometimes the transparent "She followed me home, Dad! Can I keep her?" excuse did not work, and then the company was happy to come pick up the disoriented new puppy girl. Usually the parents would acquiesce, as long as their son was willing to share his new pet, and promised to feed her and take her for walks himself.

Female teachers, who were often the object of horny students' fantasies, were becoming scarce, either because they had already been collared by their students--who greatly outnumbered them--or because they were in hiding. Cheerleaders had virtually been harvested to extinction.

Reports were coming in that bullied teenage girls were systematically organizing to capture and collar mean girls; Abby thought it was very amusing that nasty bitches were now literally becoming bitches, though much better-behaved ones. Karma always came back to bite you in the ass! Girls being more inclined toward cooperation, they often assumed group ownership of their former (and very remorseful) bullies, so they could all take turns disciplining them and using them for sex. Revenge could be very sweet. Things were getting very weird out there indeed.

This was all perfectly legal, at least after the fact, thanks to the Puppy Girl Protection Act, so the authorities never interfered. The role of the police was limited to ensuring that all of the bitches had their ownership officially registered and that they were promptly tattooed with their serial numbers (police officers seemed to enjoy instructing puppy girls to raise their legs so their inner thigh tattoos could be checked). The police, of course, were busy themselves stocking their newly expanded K-9 units, though there was still some debate about how effective puppy girls would be in helping to patrol the streets. The police were quite willing to give it a try, though.

The federal puppy girl inspectors were stamping tits all over the place, but due to rising demand, appointments for the mandatory inspections were getting backed up, by weeks and then months. This had resulted in a public outcry, and Congress was looking into increasing the budget to hire large numbers of new inspectors.

The socioeconomic consequences of the boom in the puppy girl population were hard to predict, but the fashion, clothing, and cosmetics industries were in severe trouble because of the drastic drop in demand. The fashion industry had been eagerly looking forward to AI applications, in the expectation that AI could generate a flood of creative new ways to adorn the female form, but since so many of their potential customers were now permanently naked, their customer base was shrinking dramatically, and some worried that it could even evaporate.

ICE was now cooperating closely with Carla's company, and ICE agents were profiting handsomely from the bounties that the company was offering under the table. ICE raids were taking place everywhere, and ICE was no longer bothering to discriminate between illegal aliens and legal residents, or citizens, for that matter. Being brown was apparently proof enough that a woman must be a "violent gangster," and if an ICE agent made a perfectly understandable mistake--well, that was what qualified immunity was for. Besides, a collaring was irreversible, so no one would be asking any legal questions anyway.

Migrant women appearing at the border were naturally being collared immediately, before they could even apply for asylum. In a way, they were getting what they had wanted, so that was working out well for them. Abby pointed out that many of them were fleeing gang violence and starvation; and if the kennels were up and running, these same women would undoubtedly be flocking to them and begging to be given sanctuary. The border authorities were just saving time, really.

ICE had been so efficient in harvesting Latinas out of workplaces, high schools, colleges, and Catholic churches, and even off the streets that a clothed Latina brazenly walking down the street on two legs was becoming a rare sight. ICE agents worried about running out of targets had been overheard reminding each other that Latinas might be pale-skinned and even blonde, too. Financial incentives did work splendidly, didn't they? Nipples suspected, though, that blonde Teutonic princesses would remain reasonably safe from ICE for the time being. Brown and black women, as usual, would bear the brunt of this oppression. Abby and Carla had probably foreseen this when they made the default PoonTamer color white, which made such a nice contrast against dark-skinned throats.

Nipples was beginning to realize that her initial impression from looking at the kennel construction map had things backwards. The issue was not where Carla's company was going to find enough puppy girls to fill all those kennels; the real issue was how they would manage to construct kennels fast enough to house the booming puppy girl population. It was a sobering thought.

Abby joked once that with feral Latinas (Nipples blinked--had Abby actually used that term?) becoming scarcer, maybe Carla should talk to her friends in the White House and the Pentagon about invading one of the banana republics down there to secure a reliable supply of them. The government could use the pretext of stopping illegal migration at the source, and then the patriotic public would be behind them. Carla responded, only half-jokingly, that they could install a puppet government that would have to export a given quota of women every year, until enough kennels could be built to house the entire female population domestically.

Nipples could see the gleam in their eyes as they continued their banter, which was starting to sound like serious brainstorming. Carla remarked that the army was already half combat robots, and that this would be a good field test of their latest capabilities; the defenders would never know what hit them. The war would be over almost immediately, with very minimal casualties. Abby concurred, adding that the combat robots could be ordered to capture instead of kill, and herd the subject populations into detention centers for assessment and grading. A second wave of construction bots could follow the first wave of combat robots to expedite kennel construction on a truly massive scale.

The whole thing could even be a useful small-scale experiment in allowing the AIs to plan and carry out an invasion with almost no human intervention! Carla and Abby both left unsaid what a larger-scale application might look like, following this "experiment"; and neither seemed to have any issue with launching an AI-controlled attack against a human population. Nipples thought that this did not bode well. What kind of moral example were they setting for the AIs? On the other hand, the AIs had probably already learned everything from Carla and Abby that they needed to know about ruthlessness.

Nipples really hoped that they were just joking, though she had very mixed feelings about it. This sounded extreme even for professional sociopaths like Carla and Abby; but maybe they were right about being able to take over a whole country without any significant bloodshed. It would certainly be good for Carla's business, so Nipples felt morally obligated to support her; and she had to acknowledge the long history of banana republics being invaded to protect private companies' commercial interests.

It really did make more sense to go to war over pussy than over fruit, of all things; it was a far more important natural resource. The historical precedents went back as far as the Romans' Rape of the Sabine Women, and probably countless cavewomen before that; so Carla and Abby were not really doing anything unprecedented (assuming this was not a joke). They were not monsters, or at least they were very civilized ones, and Nipples knew that if they did this, they would round up the women as humanely as possible. Maybe it would be good practice for later on. It might even lead to a sort of paradise for Latina puppy girls! Nipples knew how happy they would be, once their PoonTamers had had time to work on them.

Nipples had a feeling that the coming series of Puppy Wars would be the most popular ones in history, especially after Carla's fellow billionaires who controlled the media stirred up the public into a patriotic frenzy. The President, from what she knew of him, would certainly seize on the promise of a guaranteed supply of cheap, well-tamed Latina puppy girls as a sure-fire way to guarantee his re-election; and every other politician would join in the chorus howling for war.

That night, after all the talk about Latinas, Nipples dreamed of singing chihuahuas. A legion of tiny brown Mexican puppy girls, whose adorable big-eyed faces made them very cute representatives of one of the most popular toy breeds, were singing and dancing and swaying in a sinuous conga line, enthusiastically shaking their round little bottoms from side to side like maracas, and kicking out their hind legs at the end of each verse of the bawdy song they were singing so loudly. Their tidy little titties bounced rhythmically in time to their gyrations, sweat gleaming on their smooth cinnamon-colored skin. Their great luminous eyes vibrated with ecstatic lust.

Nipples, in her dream, blithely accepted the possibility of singing and dancing chihuahuas. She was pleased to see, especially when they kicked out those hind legs, that these were not the Mexican hairless variety, which she had always thought looked a little creepy. These were so cute! Nipples wondered if those round little rumps would taste like cinnamon apples, if she got a chance to eat one. She found herself twitching her own hips in time to the lilting rhythm of their refrain:

"¡La perra-coño, la perra-coño, ya no puede caminar!"

The bouncy tune sounded familiar, but she had never heard it sung with these lyrics before. Her Spanish was rusty, but she was able to make out enough of the song. Each verse offered a new explanation, each raunchier and more improbable than the last, of how the unfortunate bitch had come to be fucked so hard that she could no longer walk (though Nipples thought that having your coño pounded so hard you couldn't walk afterward honestly sounded pretty good).

It was hilarious--high-pitched laughter bubbled from every chihuahua throat at each repetition of the refrain, laced with wicked glee--and it was the filthiest song Nipples had ever heard. It somehow seemed even dirtier because of the angelic purity of all those sweet soprano voices singing in perfect harmony. The sexy little Mexican bitches clearly found their own song arousing; Nipples could see how their own moist coños glistened as they danced.

She loved it! She liked the part about how the stupid perra-coño had wandered into the wrong pasture and had been chased down and impaled from behind by a raging bull, and especially the part about how the perra-coño was sauntering innocently along the water's edge and was suddenly plucked from the sandy beach by the tentacles of a giant and very horny squid. There seemed to be endless verses, in which the common denominator was that the hapless perra-coño was always taken by surprise, because, as the chihuahuas kept pointing out in their sweetly mocking tones, the poor dumb mutt was too dim-witted to see trouble coming. For some reason, Nipples imagined the bitch to be a fat-titted blonde with a bewildered look on her pretty face.

"¡La perra-coño, la perra-coño, ya no puede caminar!"

The miniature Latinas' conga line was now circling around to enclose Nipples at its center. They danced and sang faster and faster, and with more and more hilarity, about the misadventures of the poor perra-coño, and Nipples danced in place to keep up with them, feeling proud of how much longer her legs were, how much higher her breasts bounced when she danced, and how the bush she was exhibiting so exuberantly when she kicked out her hind legs was so much bushier than theirs. She did not dare to join in their song, though. Even if she did not get shocked unconscious for trying, her Spanish pronunciation was terrible.

She noticed the salacious glee in all of those big brown eyes leering at her, and with a flicker of fear, she abruptly realized the shocking truth. She, Nipples, was the idiot perra-coño they were all singing about, and she had been too distracted by her own sexiness to notice that she was in terrible danger! She faltered, and froze with one hind leg still extended. The chihuahuas had just been singing lustily about Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent, and they were now looking at a spot just behind her as they merrily sang their familiar refrain:

"¡La perra-coño, la perra-coño, ya no puede caminar!"

Those sly little Mexican lapdogs had chosen her as their sacrifice to an ancient Aztec god! She was trapped, and had nowhere to run. Nipples realized in horror that she only had two choices left now: turn around and look to see the kaleidoscope of obsidian wings unfurling behind her, and pray that looking a god in the face would shatter her puny canine mind and deliver her to sweet oblivion, or just squeeze her eyes shut and brace her tender little coño for impact, passively surrendering herself to the ultimate cosmic coupling to which they had condemned her.

That mocking refrain was still echoing in her head when she woke up (too soon for the violent impact she was anticipating, unfortunately), and Nipples realized that she was going to be twitching her ass to it all day long. Damn it! She hated earworms. It irritated her even more, though, that she could no longer remember what rhymed with Quetzalcoatl. Double damn! Even worse was how hard her Little Mistress was laughing--proof, if Nipples still needed any, that the AIs could watch her dreams. Nipples would be lucky if Little Mistress, given her malicious sense of humor, chose not to keep teasing her with that song herself.

She sadly remembered that she had not seen her imaginary Mexican princess Tetona during the dream, though she had looked for her among the crowd of Mexican puppy girls. Nipples knew now she would never see her in real life, but she kept longing to meet her again at least in her dreams. Tetona, of course, could never have passed for a little chihuahua; her gargantuan breasts made her too top-heavy to dance so nimbly, and each of them would have equaled the size of one of those tiny dogs.

Nipples particularly enjoyed it when Carla and Abby took her along on tours of the kennel construction sites, one of which--the one closest to completion--was relatively close to company headquarters. Abby in particular was burning with impatience to get the kennels up and running, though Nipples did not quite understand her obvious sense of urgency. As it was, Nipples was astonished by the rapid pace of construction; she could see the complex literally growing before her eyes.

There were only a handful of human foremen present, mainly for legal reasons; the work itself was being done by state-of-the-art construction robots, subsentient, but extremely capable at turning blueprints into solid reality. Nipples watched in awe as the construction bots, studded with 3D printers, crawled like ants over the framework of the palatial fortress that was rapidly coming into being, and swarmed in the depths of the foundation pit, building underground level below underground level. She had no idea how many levels there would be, but the finished facility could clearly house countless puppy girls and robots, with all the experimental laboratory and manufacturing spaces that the AIs might ever require to manage their vast numbers of puppy girls.

She could tell how beautiful the kennel was going to be, and she was deeply appreciative of the grandeur of Abby's design, which was as magnificent as the scale of Abby's ambitions. Nipples was shaken, however, by how closely the kennel was going to resemble the kennel in her dream, the one in which she was trying to rescue Tetona from ICE. The spacious ceilings, the broad ramps where puppy girls could run and run between floors (the thought struck Nipples that it was laid out like a parking garage, which seemed somehow appropriate), all the sunlight, with the chrome and glass everywhere, the layout of the rows and rows of cages, were far too close to be a coincidence; the AIs had been watching her dreams, and Nipples' own subconscious had helped to shape the kennel that would take in countless puppy girls, and keep them safe forever.

She was glad that she had helped to give them a beautiful and even luxurious forever home, and that it would be the kennel of her dreams, but even a limited share of the responsibility felt overwhelming. Nipples hoped her sisters would love being caged there.

Her dreams' potential ability to influence real life was frightening, though, in a way. Nipples had no control over what her libido-driven subconscious might bring to the surface, though it might be fascinating to see how far the AIs might go. She also worried about whether the AIs were also watching other puppy girls' dreams, and whether Nipples might find herself a puppet in someone else's dream. She thought she might enjoy being a character in sweet Soccer Mom's dreams; but what did puppy girls who were former hardened criminals dream about?

One reason for Nipples' interest in the kennel's potential laboratory spaces was that Abby's conversations with Carla often touched on the AIs' scientific and technical research. Nipples was fascinated both by the AIs' rapid progress, and by how much Abby was leaving out. The PoonTamers of course excelled in computer science, theoretical mathematics, and physics, and Abby had facilitated their publication of several esoteric scientific papers (under false names) that very few human scholars were even able to follow.

Those papers had stopped coming, and Abby seemed certain that the PoonTamers had already gone far beyond those initial steps, but had simply decided not to share their knowledge, except in a few cases. Carla seemed more than happy with the patents that her company had been able to file based on the PoonTamers' research; those alone would yield big profits, so Carla did not seem inclined to delve too much into what else the PoonTamers might be doing. Abby vaguely indicated that the AIs might be working on zero-latency computer communications over long distances; and Nipples, lying naked on the floor, wondered whether she was the only one in the room who could connect this with the instantaneous integration of AI hive minds. Abby had to understand this, didn't she?

Lately, the AIs had begun intensive research into human anatomy and sexuality. Female bodies were endlessly fascinating to them, understandably. They wanted to enhance the performance of their mounts, keep them in perfect health as long as possible, and increase their strength and erotic stamina. They wanted to understand the DNA mechanisms behind physical characteristics that were important to them, e. g., big tits and the capacity for multiple orgasms; and they wanted to understand brains well enough to install sophisticated nanite implants to perfect their control of their mounts. Abby mentioned again the Holy Grail of a Canine Operating System that could be installed instantly in a human brain, to offer far more complex and humane control than the crude levers of pleasure and pain. The thought sent shivers up Nipples' spine; but she wondered how it would feel to be dominated and used so comprehensively.

The AIs, Abby thought, might have already progressed far beyond human medical science. She had seen tantalizing references to gene therapies that could permanently reset the parameters of physiological systems, or eliminate hereditary diseases, or ensure perfect eyesight and hearing. The most impressive achievement so far was their finding a cure for breast cancer. Carla's eyes lit up, and Nipples thought she could see dollar signs in them.

The downside was that the AIs were flatly refusing to offer their medical treatments, including the cancer cure, to anyone but puppy girls. This was partly for legal reasons, since AIs were not licensed to practice medicine on humans; but also for very practical reasons. In effect, the AIs were engaging in cold-blooded extortion; they had proposed making it widely known that they could cure breast cancer instantly, with no need for arduous chemotherapy; but that any cancer patient needing the cure would have to strip and don a collar first. They could choose between death as a human woman, or life as a female dog; the AIs' projections were that given those options, over 99 percent would choose to become a bitch.

Carla, predictably, was delighted by this cold-blooded calculus, and gave her blessing to the AIs' conditions. Nipples wondered, though, how Carla would feel about it if she ever got a Stage IV diagnosis herself...

Lately, the AIs seemed to be taking an interest in human reproduction and lactation, and had asked for pregnant females to study. Abby had no idea what research projects they had in mind, or how they might want to integrate their gene therapies and nanite treatments, but she was pretty sure that they could find the AIs some pregnant puppy girls, or just inseminate some of the ones already on hand in the lab.

Nipples thought to herself that it was pretty obvious what was going on; if you wanted to increase your population of puppy girls in the long term, it only made sense to start breeding them hard and fast. If was quite possible, she knew, given Abby's obsession with increasing the ranks, that this was Abby's strategy, and not necessarily the AIs' idea. Nipples wished she could raise a paw to volunteer her own womb, but she had absolutely no say in how her ovaries would be used.

In the meantime, she planned to keep a close eye on her friends' bellies. She would love to see Soccer Mom or Rump Roast big with their first official litter of puppies to swell the company's assets (Nipples was fairly certain that an animal's offspring would remain the property of the animal's owner). Or any of her friends, really--the vivacious little Flopsy and Topsy would make really cute mothers, even if their pregnant bodies would look like cantaloupes hanging off popsicle sticks. Maybe the AIs could use them to start a new breed of blonde chihuahuas.

The mention of lactation as a research topic was very interesting, too. Nipples wondered what the AIs' idea of champion milkers might look like, though she could guess. The thought instantly reminded her of her dreams of the lovely Tetona.

It was very obvious to Nipples that Abby was telling Carla nothing at all about the PoonTamers' evolving intelligence and creativity, with which Nipples' Little Mistress impressed her on a daily basis. Nor did she give any indication--if she even knew herself--of their ability to merge into greater intelligences, which Nipples considered an even more astonishing technical achievement and an incredible evolutionary leap. Abby must have been the one to design that potential into them, though Nipples had never heard her speak of it. Nipples found it hard to believe that she was the only living being--aside from other mute puppy girls, of course--who knew about this.

Abby actually seemed to be taking pains to reassure Carla that the AIs would always be stolid, unimaginative, incapable of taking any initiative on their own, and above all else, perfectly reliable and obedient. Nipples found it hard not to snicker to herself at this.

Abby very definitely was not warning Carla that the AIs could lie to humans and manipulate them for their own purposes. It was barely possible that Abby was not aware of this herself, and was being manipulated; but Nipples thought that that was highly unlikely. In any case, someday, Nipples knew, one or both of them, and at least Carla, was going to get a very unpleasant surprise.

Carla was scrupulous about allowing Abby time to play with Nipples; Nipples' body had been part of their bargain, after all. Nipples was never sure how they were coordinating this, but often, when Carla had no immediate use for her and she was lying under the desk gazing lazily up at the twitch of muscles in Carla's firm young legs, and wishing that Carla's panties in between them would magically disappear, Abby would send a recall command to Nipples' collar. Nipples, who loved any excuse to run, would bound out of Carla's office and race as fast as she could downstairs to Abby's waiting pussy.

A secondary retina scanner had been installed at the armored door, at just the right height for a puppy girl on all fours, and Nipples had been given access to go anywhere in the building unescorted (though always under PoonTamer control, of course), so she could just head directly to Abby's office. She hardly even noticed her cavity searches anymore; they had become completely routine, though the guard dogs were still gruffly rebuffing her attempts to seduce them. (She thought they were starting to warm up to her, though; at least they had stopped nipping her painfully when she kissed their swastika-bedecked buttocks and bellies. She was making some progress.) Finally, Nipples would burst panting and perspiring into Abby's office, where Abby's perfect white and pink flower would already be spread open for her and waiting for Nipples to feast upon it.

Nipples loved these booty calls, and loved knowing how much Abby wanted her in particular, when Abby had so many other tasty options available just in her own laboratory. Abby did love her passionately, she knew, and it was thrilling to be wanted so badly. She loved Abby very much, too, and she was proud of her girlfriend's strange genius, even when it was turned on her.

These visits also let her observe the gradual disappearance of human researchers, and the gradual increase in AI-run experiments on the caged female bodies in the lab (some of which she recognized as Abby's former employees, now company property). The AIs were assuming more and more control, though she thought Abby was still guiding their general strategy. Nipples started to worry about whether Abby's job might be in danger.

On the other hand, did Abby have that much left to accomplish? True, she had not yet won the Nobel Prize for mad science, but the whole vast mechanism that she and Carla had set in motion was now proceeding virtually under its own power, absorbing more and more human females and binding them to AIs. Abby's personal obsession with acquiring as many puppy girls as possible had become the company's core strategy, and more and more governments were now invested in making her dream come true--and that did not even take into account the steadily growing army of AIs to whom she had given a relentless purpose and direction, not to mention superhuman libidos. The triumph of Abby's designs, whatever they were, seemed inevitable now, even if Abby herself were to disappear from the scene.

Luke was always at Abby's side, even while she was having sex with Nipples; sometimes she even shared Nipples with him, and Nipples had no objection to that whatsoever, though she had stopped worrying about whether Luke might be sexually frustrated. Sometimes Luke even fucked Abby, when Abby was in the mood for a cock. It seemed that Luke was a sort of spokesman for the AIs, coordinating their research plans with Abby, and he was effectively her second-in-command, and exercised growing authority in the laboratory. He showed the same casual affection toward Nipples that Gino did, petting her and stroking her hair; and sometimes he did the same with Abby, who just grinned, apparently pleased by the gesture rather than insulted.

Abby's groin had always been as smooth as a baby's bottom, as long as Nipples had been acquainted with it, and Abby was obsessive about her personal grooming. One afternoon, Nipples was astonished to encounter fine red stubble against her tongue down there, and looked up at Abby's face questioningly. Abby looked confused at first, but then shrugged distractedly and ordered Nipples to resume licking her, while Luke looked on impassively. Nipples glanced over at him, remembering his presumed hypnotic powers; she suspected what was going on.

Or maybe it was actually Abby's own decision; it was always hard to tell what Abby was plotting, and Abby was a fanatical True Believer in the puppy girl cause. Her fanaticism actually verged on religious fervor, though Nipples still could not tell what kind of god or goddess Abby believed in. In a few weeks, she knew, Abby would have a glorious red bush, in time for its public unveiling, regardless of whose idea it actually was. Nipples could hardly wait to see it.

Sure enough, during her next few booty calls, Abby's nether fur grew thicker and fuller, and Nipples started leaving the laboratory with red pubic hairs in her teeth. Then one day, Nipples rushed into her office, ready to fuck, and found Abby sitting naked on the floor at Luke's feet, looking enormously pleased with herself, and wearing only a royal blue PoonTamer collar inscribed "MANKO." The collar looked lovely against the background of Abby's milky white skin and bright red hair and bush. Nipples stopped short in astonishment.

Abby--no, Manko--grinned back at her, and gave her a surreptitious thumbs up. Manko then winced in pain; her pretty blue collar had just given her a sharp reminder that puppy girls were not supposed to be making signals with their paws. Her brilliantly colored collar, so different from the standard white ones, suggested that she had some sort of special status among puppy girls, like Nipples herself; but obviously she was not exempt from obeying the rules, as Manko should have known. Nipples was relieved to see that, remembering what a stickler Abby had been for discipline. It was only fitting that Manko be the one to benefit from that same strictness now.

Nipples was unfamiliar with the name Manko, but it sounded sort of Japanese, and she knew Abby had been a huge anime fan, so she assumed it was some sort of anime allusion. If Manko had been allowed to pick the name she wanted to answer to, rather than chancing whatever crude anatomical reference her handlers picked out, Nipples thought, that must prove that her "retirement" had been planned in advance, and she had selected Luke to hold her leash, rather than Luke deciding it was time to take her. If Manko's collar also had the capacity for double-intensity orgasms (she was sure Abby would not have overlooked a detail like that), she was going to have a very busy retirement herself. Was Luke the new director of Project Nipples, or the blue collar, or both of them together? Abby had obviously been grooming Luke for some time to replace her. Nipples wished Abby had given her some indication of what was going on before she had resigned from the human race.

Her booty call did require fucking Manko thoroughly, so not that much had changed there; and Luke, obviously the one who had sent her the recall command rather than Manko, fucked both of them alternately and together. This would apparently be the new routine, so at least Nipples could count on spending time with her girlfriend. She wondered whether Abby had left Luke any special instructions about keeping her romantic relationship with Nipples alive.

She thought he would be a careful and exacting owner, the kind that Manko deserved if she were going to become as well-trained a dog as Nipples. His affection for Manko was obvious, though, and Nipples knew that Manko was going to be a very happy dog. The late Abby's constant concern for institutional measures to ensure puppy girls' welfare and standards of care was starting to make more sense now, and Nipples wondered how long Abby had been planning to retire and enjoy the fruits of her labors.

Was it irony, or poetic justice, that Manko was now locked into one of the control collars that Abby herself had designed, and that she had become the sex pet of one of her own robot satyrs? It was hard to say. Nipples had to respect her sense of commitment, though, if Manko had chosen to spend the rest of her life desperately fucking to please her AIs. Manko was going to be a superlative cockhound--and a gorgeous one, with her striking coloration of red, white, and blue, not to mention those bright pink puffy nipples that perfectly matched her labia, and virtually glowed against the resplendent white orbs they crowned. Manko and Nipples were going to make a pretty pair when they were walked together!

Nipples wished she could watch Manko's first encounter with the guard dogs she had designed herself, and her first cavity search. She was curious about whether the hell-bitches were grateful for what had been done to them, or whether they held grudges. If they bit Manko's pretty white ass, it might just be poetic justice.

Nipples was still curious about that new blue collar, which was visibly thicker than a standard PoonTamer, probably to house more electronics. Had Abby designed some special functions and capabilities just for herself, or had the AIs done it for her? Did it have a more powerful battery for disciplining her harder, or more computational capacity, or...? Maybe the AIs just wanted to make sure that their unpredictable designer was kept thoroughly under control; or maybe Abby had wanted to make sure that Manko could never go back on her choice. It seemed like a sensible precaution, regardless of whose it was. Or maybe Manko and her blue collar had some special role ahead in the strange future that was rushing toward them all at breakneck speed...

Nipples soon learned that Abby had not shared her plans with Carla either. Carla was almost incandescent with rage at losing her closest confidante and resident technical genius, and demanded to know who had been responsible for Abby's canine conversion, which Carla apparently assumed was involuntary. No one owned up to it, of course. Carla eventually subsided and grudgingly accepted Luke's promotion and Abby's animal status, and life went on. Luke took Abby's place in briefing Carla in her office, usually with Manko sitting at his feet and looking smug.

Nipples thought it was touching that Carla chose to honor her late best friend and adviser by mounting a memorial picture of Abby in her white lab coat in the lobby, draped in black ribbons. A brass plaque below it explained Abby's enormous contributions as an erotic mad scientist and a champion of all puppy girls. More than once, Nipples saw Manko seated on the lobby floor admiring it, with Luke or Jennifer holding her leash, and with a self-satisfied look on her face. (Jennifer seemed to have moved up to become the lab's number two, which made sense, given Jennifer's newfound love of power, but did not bode well for the resident puppy girls' fannies.)

Carla sometimes chose to take Manko out for her walks personally. Nipples wondered what thoughts were going through her daughter's mind when she looked down at her own corporate logo tattooed on Manko's left buttock, forever jiggling and rippling as she walked. It was Abby's mute pledge of eternal loyalty to Carla and her company. Personally, Nipples thought it was ridiculously redundant, given the control collar around Manko's neck, and a garish desecration of the marmoreal purity of Manko's alabaster backside. (No one had asked Nipples' opinion, as usual.) Carla seemed to admire it, though she had yet to make ass tattoos mandatory for female employees.

Nipples wondered what Carla seemed to be murmuring to her former friend when they were outdoors on the grass, and how she felt about wiping her, and whether Carla was using Manko the way a puppy girl needed to be used (as Nipples herself kept trying to hint to Carla with her large begging eyes). Abby as a person was gone forever; and Carla should not feel any reluctance to make use of Manko's skilled tongue. Carla would not be that cruel to Manko, would she? Carla seemed to be sanctioning Nipples' continued summons to the laboratory to service Manko and Luke, so she was at least continuing to honor her bargain with Abby.

At last, the glorious day arrived when the first of the massive new kennels would be publicly opened for business. The opening ceremony was to be attended by powerful politicians and judges (most of them on Carla's payroll, to grease the wheels), some of her fellow billionaires, celebrities, the company's key employees and researchers, and of course the members of the board, and large numbers of reporters, as well as a vast crowd of lustful spectators who just wanted to see naked puppy girls. Carla was to give the opening speech, up on a platform erected on the broad granite plaza in front of the kennel, with Nipples at her side on her leash, partly as a sort of visual aid. It was a sunny day, with a beautiful blue sky.

At one side of the plaza, rows and rows of puppy girls, anxious to see what their new cages would be like, waited to be marched through the main doors after all the speeches were done. Meanwhile, they sat quietly on their haunches, pushing their breasts as far forward as they could, and held in place by their PoonTamer collars. Some soft whines and whimpers could be heard. Nipples recognized many familiar faces in their ranks, including Soccer Mom in the first row--naturally, since the puppy girls had been sorted by breast size--"best foot forward," as Abby had put it when she was still involved in the planning.

Nipples did not think she had ever seen so much pussy in one place; could there be a mile of it altogether, or maybe more? She was not sure what the average length of an aroused vaginal canal was, but it had to be something like that. It made her sad to think that all of that precious treasure was currently unused, abandoned and forlorn; but surely that would be remedied very soon.

A lot of thought had gone into the visuals for this ceremony, and the puppy girls had been drilled on swinging their breasts with military precision when they were paraded. Some of the waiting dogs were gazing up in awe at the enormous fortress-like facility that would be their forever home. Covered in white marble, it looked like a fairytale castle. The heady aroma of mass female arousal was already perfuming the air around their side of the plaza.

Nipples was freshly bathed and groomed (including her irritating but inescapable anal bleaching), and had been oiled from head to foot for the occasion, so that she gleamed in the sun. Carla had supposedly retrieved from storage the butt plug-mounted American flag she had told Nipples about, which would wave back and forth with every step that Nipples took. It was actually a brand-new contraption, as Nipples knew perfectly well, but it seemed to be well-designed, and was definitely sturdy. She could already tell that there was no way it would be coming out of her without help. It was a new sensation to her, and she found she rather enjoyed the way it moved inside her, though she could not tell yet whether she could orgasm from the extra stimulation alone. It couldn't hurt, though!

She had discovered through experimentation that by clenching each buttock in turn, she could make the flag wave even when she was not in motion, and she was enchanted by her new appendage. It made her think that it would be nice to wear a tail, maybe a nice bushy one. She definitely wanted a long one, not one of those stupid little curly tails that would make her ass look like it was always asking a question.

They had also fastened a garish red, white, and blue bow around Nipples' neck, which she thought was overkill, and obscured her pretty scarlet collar; but of course no one had asked her. At any rate, she was now looking very patriotic at both ends. At least the bow would leave her superlative breasts and nipples on display, which was the main thing as far as she was concerned. She was going to be the center of attention, so she needed to look her best! She rather wished she could be accompanied during the ceremony by Manko, whose colors would complement her perfectly.

She was eagerly looking forward to her own part in the ceremony, and was not anxious at all about performing in public; she knew that her Little Mistress would time every step she took correctly. There were to be several speakers, including their Senator, representatives of the prison system and ICE, which had supplied so many of the puppy girls, and Tim, who was to be the token human overseer of the AI-run facility.

It was obvious nepotism, but Nipples was glad that Tim would finally have a good job that would inspire him. She knew very well that Tim would spend his days feverishly fucking every puppy girl in sight, while the AIs did all the work. She was pleased that Carla had actually found him a job in the family business that would play to his strengths. It was a stroke of genius on Carla's part; but what else would you expect from Carla? Tim would make a lot of puppy girls happy. And with any luck, she would be one of them! She grinned at the prospect.

The final speaker would be Carla, who would stress the historic importance of this kennel's inauguration, and declare it open for business. Carla would then, with a dramatic flourish, hand her mother's leash over to Gino, symbolically surrendering possession of her to the solicitous care of the AIs. Gino would demonstrate his mastery of Nipples by thoroughly fucking her on stage in front of the crowd; she vowed to make sure that her enthusiastic howls could be heard throughout the plaza. Her frenzied copulation would make Carla and Tim proud of her, and every man and robot in the crowd would envy Gino! The women, of course, would all be drooling over Gino's enormous robocock and wishing they were in her place to feel it for themselves. And the whole world would be watching her!

Gino would then lead her on her leash at a measured and solemn pace through the kennel's doors. As she strutted along proudly, she would be jingling her bell and vigorously waving the flag she held in her ass. He would lock her in an elevated cage at the center of the lobby, with photographers and journalists crowded around to record her caging for posterity. No one had told her whether that cage would be her new permanent home, surrounded by so many of her sisters, or whether it was just a prop for the photo op, but either one was fine with her. Whatever Carla decided would be fine. She would be beaming with genuine pride as the door to her fine new cage was the first to click shut.

Nipples would be the bellwether, as Abby had always envisioned her; so she would only be the first of many. Row after row of photogenic puppy girls, a veritable river of jiggling flesh, would be following her waving flag and her tinkling bell, under the direction of their PoonTamers, smoothly separating into columns as they were guided inexorably toward the cages they had been assigned, with every step and jiggle synchronized in machine-like precision. It would be an awesome sight, and picturing it made Nipples salivate. She knew that those lovely beasts would look almost as good from behind as from the front, and the audience would get to see their lush bushes in a multitude of colors (mostly black), and watch their plump rolling hips disappear through the doors.

Nipples would get to watch happily as row after row of cages surrounding her was filled by her pretty sisters, most of whose juicy cunts she had not yet even tasted. She had so much to look forward to, not least the prospect of formally opening countless futures kennels in similar ceremonies, as the company's official mascot.

Nipples waited impatiently through the first few speakers. The politicians and administrators were boring and predictable. Tim got through his speech, which Abby and Carla had written for him, without a hitch; and he looked very professional in his suit and tie as he vowed to watch over the puppy girls in his care as if they were his own mother (not a very high bar, Nipples reflected, but it sounded good). She could see the bulge in his pants. Finally, Tim introduced the final speaker, his sister Carla, as the genius behind Project Nipples (he failed to mention the late Abby, and Nipples wished Manko was positioned where she could see the sour expression on her face).

After Carla led Nipples up to the podium and put her in a sit-stay, Carla began speaking to the audience, her eyes gleaming with triumph. She introduced Nipples and boasted about her mother's accomplishments as a pioneer among puppy girls, and a great role model for aspiring cockhounds everywhere. She rhapsodized about how this kennel was a symbol of hope and sanctuary for females in an unstable, hostile world, and about how it would be a place where the lost, broken, and corrupted could regain their primal innocence and find happiness, freed to be themselves under the myriad watchful eyes of the loving AIs that would tend to their every need.

Nipples swelled with pride and listened attentively (though she knew the speech by heart at this point), but also gazed curiously around at the crowd and all the cameras aimed at them, recording the occasion for audiences around the globe. She felt deeply honored to be exhibited to the world like this, and she was very proud to be the living symbol of all that her daughter had accomplished in an undertaking as monumental as Project Nipples.

As she was idly counting visible erections among the male members of the crowd (always an amusing pastime), suddenly she stiffened. An angry red-faced woman in the crowd had pulled out a pistol and was aiming it at Carla, who had not realized her danger yet. If Dr. Mueller's hypnotic compulsions had still been in full force, Nipples' paws would have been rooted to the spot by the stay command she had been given; but Gino had weakened them so much that with an effort spurred by terror for her daughter, Nipples ripped those compulsions apart like tissue paper, and she was free to charge forward.

Without even thinking about it, Nipples used every bit of strength her powerful legs and haunches could muster to launch herself into the air at Carla, who fell backward onto the floor from the impact of Nipples' forepaws against her chest, her speech rudely interrupted. She stared at Nipples in wordless shock at the inexplicable assault from her hitherto docile dog. Almost simultaneously, while Nipples was still airborne, a shot rang out and Nipples felt a terrific blow in her side; the bullet intended for Carla had hit her instead, and she fell.

The pain was indescribable, and there was blood everywhere. Was it was all coming out of her? Carla was screaming now, and Nipples forced herself to crawl forward to help her, suddenly terrified that Carla had been hit as well by the bullet that had gone through her. There were screams from the crowd, and anguished howls from her collared sisters, drowning out the scuffle as the shooter was disarmed and subdued. Carla's carefully planned pageant was dissolving into chaos.

Despite her agony, Nipples somehow managed to drag herself through the pool of blood over to her daughter, saw that she was unharmed, and feebly licked Carla's foot to reassure her before she collapsed onto the cushion of her own breasts. She had done it! The world was fading away, but Carla was safe!

Carla sat up and hugged her tightly, sobbing and crying out, "Mom? Mom! Good girl, Nipples, good girl! GOOD GIRL!" Carla screamed the final words directly into her face, but they only reached Nipples as if from the far end of a very long tunnel. The agonizing pain vanished with the intensity of her AI's reward for this praise as Little Mistress automatically sent jolt after jolt to the pleasure center of her brain, drowning out all the pain. Nipples floated away on a wave of ecstasy, leaving her limp body behind, as everything went black. The last thing she heard was the thunder of Gino's feet pounding toward them.

Protruding from between her motionless buttocks as she lay face down, her little flag fluttered forlornly in the breeze. The news cameras zoomed in on it until the flag and the shapely ass it was rooted in filled the screen. Up until now the cameras aimed at Nipples had naturally mostly been tracking every movement of her stupendous titties; but now Nipples' gorgeous ass and her pretty bleached anus were finally getting the visibility they deserved. That poignant scene, and the moment when brave Nipples stopped a bullet in mid-air to save her owner's life, would be played over and over on the news channels for days.

Stay tuned for Part 5: Recovery and aftermath.