The Summit
“…and I hope each of our countries will be able to work together to shape the future for the benefit of us all.”
Polite applause rang out as Chancellor of Germany concluded his speech. John Graves did not join in. After over a decade in office as a United States Senator, the high-minded rhetoric that always filled the Global Peace Summit bored him more than ever. Instead, he grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server, and took a sip while scanning the auditorium for anything more interesting. It was a sea of suits, tuxedos, and more suits. There were barely any dresses among the crowd of world leaders, CEOs, and reporters; barely any women to catch his eye, let alone take to bed.
With the speeches concluded, the floor of the massive room transformed from a lecture hall to a political battlefield. Graves drifted through the herd of people like a wolf, passing knots of European commissioners and Silicon Valley upstarts, each one eager to interrupt the next about how important they were. He grabbed an hors d'oeuvre from one of the tables and grumpily chewed on it. At least the food was good.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, John. Lobbyist money dry up?”
Graves turned around to find the source of the voice, and then wished he hadn’t. It was James Reed; also a Senator, and Graves’ long-standing political rival. A headache in human form. Graves greeted him with a painted-on smile.
“Ah, James. You know I can’t turn down a free meal.”
Reed chuckled politely. “Of course. You’d eat with the devil himself if the price was right. But at least some of us have principles.”
Graves suppressed the urge to wipe the smug look off of Reed’s face with his fist, and instead retorted, “Speaking of the devil, how is your daughter? I heard she’s currently in bed with the press.”
Reed’s eyes narrowed. “Emma’s doing well, thank you. Ambitious, like her father. She’s working on a piece about political corruption, actually. Maybe your name will come up.”
“Be careful, Reed.” Graves said. “I don’t take threats lightly.”
“Oh, do you feel threatened by me, Graves? You should. I’m sure you’ve seen the latest polling numbers. You had better enjoy your last year in office while you can.” Reed smiled again, flashing his teeth. “Anyways, I need to go say hello to the Prime Minister. See you at the midterms, John.”
Graves sourly watched Reed disappear into the crowd, wishing he had thought of some kind of stinging retort. He needed a stronger drink. After a few minutes of exploring the venue, he found a small bar in a corner of the building away from the festivities, and ordered an old fashioned. Graves nursed the drink, fantasizing about ways to punish James Reed for his insults and antagonism. Who did he think he was, trying to upset the established order that Graves had worked so hard to build? Reed and his daughter were a political powerhouse, and Graves had to admit that no amount of contempt could smother that fact. They played the game well, and Graves hated anyone who played better than he did. The ice clinked in the glass as he took another sip. Reed’s threats weren’t baseless; the numbers did tell a story Graves didn’t like. But they weren’t the only story. He had survived worse, and he hadn’t made it to where he was by playing fair.
Footsteps signaled a new arrival at the lonely bar. Turning around, Graves was surprised to recognize the man as Victor Saren, the CEO of the biotech corporation ViTech. As Saren sat down a few chairs away, Graves found his interest piqued. Always on the lookout for useful connections, he stood up and walked over. Saren looked up as he approached and raised his glass in greeting.
“Senator.”
Graves returned the gesture. “Mr. Saren, your reputation precedes you.”
“Just Saren, please.” The two men shook hands, and the businessman inquired, “Have you been to the Summit before? You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“I try to make it when I can, but you know how it is,” Graves said. “You can only hear the words ‘world peace’ so many times before you want to blow your brains out.”
Saren chuckled. “Don’t be so pessimistic; much more happens here than one might expect.”
“Ah yes. I’ve heard that you throw a hell of a party, Saren.” Graves let his political mask slip a fraction. “Some powerful friends have told me a few juicy details.”
Saren’s mouth curled into the faintest smile. “I enjoy showing people something they haven’t seen before. Most men don’t know what they truly want until they see it for the first time.”
“Oh? And what does a man like me truly want?” Graves asked.
After a calculated moment, Saren responded. “Power. But not political power. Something more personal.”
“I’m interested.”
Three hours later, Graves stood in front of Saren’s penthouse suite at the summit hotel, recalling the end of their conversation.
Midnight, room 1203. Don’t be late.
He steadied his breathing, overcome by a combination of anxiety and excitement that he hadn’t felt since he gave his first speech as a Senator. It felt like crossing some kind of threshold, setting events in motion that would be irreversible once started. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, however; the ‘juicy details’ he had mentioned to Saren were actually closer to vague hints from people who did not want to be incriminated.
He knocked.
The door opened, but instead of Saren greeting him as Graves had expected, it was a burly, well-dressed security guard. He didn’t ask for a name or even introduce himself; he simply patted Graves down for weapons, and then stepped aside.
“He is waiting for you,” the man said with a thick Russian accent.
Graves walked down the short entrance hall and looked around him. Even for a luxury hotel, the suite was magnificent; in the low light, the ceiling loomed dozens of feet above them, and floor to ceiling windows showed an uninterrupted view of the Swiss Alps where the summit was being held. It was breathtaking.
“Ah, Senator Graves, glad you could make it.” Saren greeted him from the kitchen, where he was pouring two tumblers of Macallen 25. “Whiskey?”
“Thank you.” Graves sat down on the leather couch in the living room, admiring the view. There was no one else in the room.
Saren walked over, handed Graves his glass, and then reclined on the opposite couch. Both men took a single sip in silence, and then Saren spoke.
“You know, I’ve done my homework on you, Graves. I know what kind of man you are.”
Graves raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”
“Yes. As a businessman, it is my job to know my customers and their needs better than they know themselves. And I do know your needs, Senator. You see, I invited you here tonight to offer you my company’s most exclusive product. A product that I believe will fill those needs perfectly. I could tell you all about it, but in my experience, a demonstration is always more effective.”
Intrigued, Graves leaned forward as Saren took out a small bell from his pocket. He rang it once, and the sound resonated in the silent room.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, from the direction of the bedroom, Graves heard a strange shuffling sound. He turned and started with surprise. Three creatures were moving down the hall towards them. They walked on all fours like animals, but as they came closer, Graves realized with a shock that they were human. Human women. Their arms and legs were each doubled up in binding sleeves, forcing them to crawl on elbows and knees, and each woman’s face was covered with a kind of hood that left their nose and mouth open. There also appeared to be tails sprouting from their rear ends, which swayed side to side as they crawled. Aside from the hood, tail, and sleeves, however, they were completely naked.
As they reached the living room, two of the women curled up by Saren’s feet, Graves looked on in near disbelief as the third climbed up onto his lap with a dexterity that seemed impossible given her bindings. The hood on this one had an imitation of cat ears on the hood, and as Saren stroked the covered head of the woman, she shivered sensually and let out tiny, breathy whimpers.
“Senator, meet Mittens.”
A flush climbed up Graves’s neck. He could not remember the last time he had seen anything so profoundly depraved, and so perfectly designed to appeal to appetites that he never would have dared voice to another human being. He took a slow breath and tried to maintain his composure, but his heart was beating so hard it was almost visible in his chest.
“God damn,” he said after clearing his throat. “So ViTech pimps out prostitutes now?”
“Don’t insult me, Graves,” Saren answered. “Not prostitutes. Pets. Broken, modified, and trained. These three are my personal collection, but I assure you that we have perfected the process and have already produced many more. Would you like to try one?”
Graves responded without hesitation. “Yes.”
Saren smiled. “Who would you prefer? You’ve already met my catgirl.” He gestured to the woman at his right leg, slowly humping his shoe. “This is Luna, my puppygirl. Very friendly.” Then Saren introduced the last, whose breasts were almost twice the size of the other two. “And this is Daisy, my cowgirl. She’s a bit clumsy, but her milk is delicious.” At the sound of her name, Daisy gave a low, wordless moan.
Graves swallowed hard. “I’ll take Luna.“
The puppygirl didn’t hesitate. She pulled herself off of Saren’s shoe and crawled to where Graves was sitting. She sat back in a begging position between the senator’s legs, tongue lolling out, strands of drool beginning to fall to the floor. Graves looked up at Saren to make sure they were on the same page.
“If it makes you more comfortable, I think I’ll enjoy myself as well,” Saren reassured him, and undid his belt. “Daisy, Service.”
The cowgirl poked her head around until she found Saren’s crotch, and pulled down his fly with her mouth. Graves watched for a second as wet sounds filled the room, and then eagerly undid his own belt.
“Luna… Service,” he ordered, slightly uncertain of himself.
The puppygirl responded so quickly it was as if she’d been listening for that single word all her life. She nosed forward and buried her face in his lap. Graves felt the heat of her breath through his pants, and a second later, she had his semi-hard cock in her wet mouth. She braced the tip with her lips and worked her way down, choking herself noisily, and the greedy enthusiasm of it made Graves’s head swim. He had fucked plenty of interns and campaign staffers over the years, but none of them had ever been this eager or shameless. He gripped the back of Luna’s head and pushed, feeling her throat convulse around him as she took every last inch.
Christ. If he’d known that this was what the biotech sector had to offer, he would have switched careers years ago.
“The drug therapy we use makes them constantly aroused, but they’re completely obedient,” Saren explained. “We put them through intense psychological conditioning, to the point where they can’t even cum without permission. The tail plugs aren’t decorative either; they’re used for reward and punishment, vibrating or shocking based on behavior. And the hoods allow you to control exactly what they can see or hear.”
The senator nodded with closed eyes, barely listening. All he could focus on was the mindless devotion of the creature lapping at his cock, the tickle of her breath and the eager whines she made every time his shaft pulsed against her tongue. Her lips were plush and soft and her cheek was warm against his thigh. With the hood covering most of the girl’s face, she barely looked human. She was just an animal, a set of holes, a toy made for sex.
Graves wanted one.
Forcing himself back into the present, Graves opened his eyes and met Saren’s gaze. “What’s your proposition?”
Saren answered with one hand casually deep in Mittens’ cunt while she mewled into the couch cushions. “You know that I don’t need your money, Senator. However, your area of expertise would be extremely useful for furthering my company’s goals.”
Graves tried to keep his voice steady as Luna sucked his balls into her mouth. “What do you need from me?”
“While ViTech does have thousands of successful and legitimate products, these petgirls are obviously not acceptable to our government, culture, or society at large, no matter how much people truly want them. While currently merely a nuisance, the law is still a long term risk to me and my company’s future. I’d like to change that, and instead turn that risk into an asset, eventually expanding our market to the millions. If you control legislation, you control the culture, and if you control the culture, you can reshape the world to your design.”
Saren pushed Daisy away and pulled Mittens onto his cock. The catgirl gave a yelp at the initial penetration, but sat still on his lap, her pussy simply keeping the CEO warm and hard while he continued.
“A bill is going to be introduced to the House in the next few weeks. It includes an expansion of conservatorship law to permit complete and irreversible ownership, as well as federal funding for a pilot program in the women’s correctional system. Training, framed as rehabilitation. Everything will be incremental, plausible, and palatable to the public.”
Graves stroked his chin. “You want to normalize this. Boil the frog, so to speak.”
“Exactly. And I need you, Senator, to turn on the stove.”
Luna whined as Graves’s hand tightened on her head. He stroked her ears, feeling how she writhed in pleasure at his touch. The plan was simple but effective, and he could see Saren’s vision. The slow transformation of a culture that claimed to value equality into one where any woman could be trained, collared, and reduced to something less than human. The idea was tantalizing.
“And what do I get in return for helping you?” Graves asked.
“You get a powerful ally in myself, in addition to the other senators, judges, and congressmen I’ve recruited. Oh, and your very own petgirl, tailored to your specifications. Of course, if my plan succeeds, you’d even be able to legally keep a menagerie like mine one day.“
Graves gripped the armrest as Luna’s throat almost pushed him over the edge. “I do like the sound of that. Alright Saren, I’m in. It’s not going to be easy, though. I’ll need to look over the bill to form a strategy for getting it passed. And I need a list of our allies in Congress, so I’ll know who to trust and who to leverage.”
Saren nodded like this was all a forgone conclusion. “You’ll have everything by tomorrow morning. But tonight, relax. My pets will take care of you.” He set Mittens down, and then stood, scooping Daisy up as he did so. Saren laid the cowgirl on her back on the coffee table between them, and positioned Daisy so her head and hips hung off of either end.
“Want to try her pussy?”
Graves grinned wolfishly. “You’re too generous.”
He stood, pants dangling at his knees, and moved to the table. Daisy’s body trembled, her hips twitching in time with her heaving breaths. Her accessories were all black and white cowprint, and her enormous breasts were already dripping puddles of milk onto the glass tabletop. Her collar had a miniature cowbell dangling from it, and small, useless horns protruded from her hood.
Graves spread her stumpy, bound legs, and was almost taken aback at the sight of Daisy’s cunt. It gaped, impossibly wet, drooling clear fluid across the seam of her thigh and soaking the base of the tail plug in juices. Her clit was engorged, more red and swollen than Graves had ever seen in a woman before. Graves pressed a thumb to it and Daisy convulsed, a pathetic, guttural moo escaping her.
At the other end of the table, Saren lined himself up with Daisy’s mouth and forced his cock up to the hilt in a single thrust. Right as Saren bottomed out, the cowgirl’s pussy contracted in a violent spasm, her hole winking open and shut, dribbling a fresh rush of grool. It was as if her throat was wired directly to her pussy.
Graves ran his hand over Daisy’s thigh, feeling her muscles twitching and jumping while the cowgirl’s moos were muffled by Saren’s cock. The cowbell at her throat chimed with every buck and heave. Graves pressed his shaft into Daisy’s cunt, taking his time, savoring the helpless, wriggling body in his grip. She was so sloppy and hot that he almost came right as he entered her. He took a second to steady himself, and then gripped her hips and started fucking, hard and deep. The cowgirl mooed louder, body shaking in time with every thrust, and Saren matched Graves’ rhythm on the other side of the table. The senator watched with delight as Saren reached down and twisted Daisy’s nipples, spraying milk all over herself and onto the coffee table as she screamed in pain or pleasure.
“Mittens, Luna, dinner.” Saren ordered, snapping his fingers.
The petgirls perked up at the word, and Luna crawled up to Daisy’s mountainous udders, milk still leaking from the pinched nipples. The puppygirl nuzzled in, then latched onto one breast and began sucking greedily, the slurping audible over the slap and squelch of the two men using the cowgirl. Mittens joined in, nursing from Daisy’s other breast. The milk that didn’t go into the girls’ mouths sprayed out in messy arcs, running down their faces, their chins, soaking Daisy’s chest until her skin gleamed with runoff.
The sheer depravity of the scene was too much. Graves lost control, grunting as he came harder than he had in years. He pushed deeper, hips flush to her greedy flesh. Daisy’s cunt gripped him, spasming in wild spasms that milked the head of his cock. Graves groaned and let the grip of it wring the seed from him. He filled her, pulse after pulse, so much that it leaked out, mixing with her juice and running down over his balls and the glass table beneath. The cowgirl shuddered around him, mooing in a low, stupid way that vibrated through the root of his cock and filled his chest with a sick pride. It occurred to him that she might not be on any birth control, but he quickly dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter if she got pregnant. Daisy wasn’t a person; she was just a pet.
He pulled out with a pop, giving Daisy’s hip a slap. Her tail twitched spastically, like she was trying to wag it. Luna trotted over without being told, and began cleaning Graves’ cock with her tongue. Mittens crawled forward, elbows sliding on the cold glass like she was drawn by the scent alone. Graves watched her in a kind of trance as she nosed between Daisy’s thighs and lapped at the mess he’d left behind. Her tongue was quick, insistent, kitten-pink and greedy. He could see her jaw working as she sucked the last drops of his cum from Daisy’s gaping, quivering cunt, pausing only to breathe through her nose and let out a purr that vibrated up her neck. Daisy twitched at the touch, her legs kicking pathetically, unable to close or resist, not that she seemed to want to. The cowgirl’s head lolled, tongue falling out the side of her mouth, moaning softly as Mittens cleaned her with methodical, hungry precision.
Graves sat back down with a satisfied sigh. Across the table, Saren zipped himself up with a practiced efficiency and asked, “Well? How was it?”
“Fucking incredible,” Graves answered. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Saren. Although…”
“Although? You’re not satisfied?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I was just thinking about the process of getting these girls fully trained; it must have been wonderful to witness the transformation. The moment they lose their grip on their humanity.” Graves finished putting his pants back on, and grabbed his jacket. “With the pet you send me, I think I want one with a bit of fight left in her. Someone who needs to be put in their place. Someone like Senator Reed’s daughter. My German shepherd has been needing a proper bitch to break in.”
Saren smiled and shook Graves’ hand.
“The customer is always right. We’ll talk soon, Senator.”