Today’s custom story was written at the request of Patron Emma Rose Chandler, who described a fairly detailed scenario for her story. I’ve taken her submission and edited and refined it to fit within the Hundehersteller narrative.
I’ve incorporated her suggestions in the following story, which mentions a few other events from a collaboration I did over on the Hundehersteller Tumblr.
Rose looked out the window of the Imperial Airliner and smiled as the sleek craft coasted into its berth. Finally, she’d arrived—and not a moment too soon. She’d certainly traveled a long road, across time as well as continents.
She’d spent her entire adult life living as an informal mistress in one of the barbarian states that arose from the fractured continent of Old Europa in the wake of the Resource Wars. Her long life had been extended by frequent and generous use of Hundehersteller Industries products, and she was one of the few women living in the Barbarian States who’d been alive before the rise of the Empire.
She had certainly aged gracefully, but thanks to the advanced medical engineering of the Empire and her own medical training,Rose still looked as she had when she was twenty seven years old. Black hair, bronzed skin, and a slender waist perfectly complimented her full curves. She stood only 5'8" by the old reckoning, but she was nevertheless described as “statuesque” by those who’d made her acquaintance.
Not too shabby for nearly three centuries on the crazy globe that Hundehersteller now all but ruled.
And Rose intended to aid in that effort. She’d always lived her life by the idea that humanity could be split into two groups: those who lead, and those who obey. The passing decades, then centuries, had taught her that those who were clever and lucky ruled over the stupid and lazy. The ones who craved subjugation would find willing overlords in those born to dominate.
It went without saying that Rose considered herself part of the ruling elite. She was blessed with beauty, yes, but her most powerful weapon was her mind. She’d been top of her class at both Uni and medical school; she’d first taken, then taught, courses in advanced strategy and pacification at the Imperial Embassy in Fin De Siecle, capital of the Franco-Prussian Alliance.
Her service in the Imperial Military had not put her in a good air with her contemporaries during her youth, but as time passed and the Empire’s influence grew, Rose found her own star rising. She’d risen to the rank of Field Admiral for the Troupes d'Marine, and had taken part in several critical skirmishes during the Imperial Annexation of the CeltAnglo Archipelago.
Her prowess as a field commander had long ago convinced Rose to stay put in the Barbarian States, where she could leverage her skills and influence to the greatest benefit to the Empire. Helping those who could not help themselves, so to speak.
Then a year ago, she’d come across an Imperial News segment detailing the humiliating fall of New Detroit’s governor. Rose shook her head and looked at a picture of her old unit mate with a smile “Hmm,“ she sighed. “I always knew that one was trouble. A traitor in the making, even in boot camp. And imagine, Captain Daniel poking his nose in as well. I’d no idea that old raconteur was even still alive.”
Her relationship with Captain Daniel was a complex one. She’d served alongside him in a rescue and recovery operation in the Pyrenees, and they’d become friends as well as colleagues. She even helped him establish the clothing line he’d developed to appeal to Registered Mistresses.
She’d found herself wondering if it was worth the bother to look him up for a lunch or a weekend visit when the entire hospital rocked on its foundations.
A militant cell of the terrorist group, armed with weapons smuggled in from less civilized corners of the fractured continent, had stormed the hospital looking for Imperials. The three women demanded anyone affiliated with the Empire be placed in their their custody, all nanite enhancement or repair therapies stopped, and, naturally, that the hated Imperial officer known as Madame Rose be given to them for execution.
Standing on the balcony of her shielded office, Rose didn’t bother to dignify their demands with a response. She simply glared and made a small motion with one gloved hand. The breathy hiss of three suppressed shots reached her ear, and her glare turned into a smile. The She-Wolf agents grabbed at their necks, already tumbling to the ground.
“This hospital is a place of safety and healing,” Rose said quietly as she descended the stairs toward the writhing women. “It accepts all, and rejects none, regardless of birth or circumstance. And yet you dare come into this place, this sanctuary I’ve created for the benefit of all, and brandish your little guns? You have the temerity to harm my patients and threaten my staff, here in one of the few hospitals on this gods-blighted continent with modern technology?” She shook her head sadly. “You ignorant, foolish beasts forget yourselves. You fight and fight and for what? In the end, you harm not only yourselves, but those who seek to free you from your madness.” Rose came to a stop in front of the ringleader, a Ginger Cauc with pretty grey eyes clouded with pain. “And now, you will end this nonsense once and for all, and embrace a cause worthy of your passion and dedication. Now, you will fight for me.”
The fallen She-Wolf operatives moaned weakly. Rose had instructed her guards to shoot not just to incapacitate, but to stimulate the nerves. A little pain could be…instructive.
The sound of a whimper drew Rose back to the present, and her luxurious seat on the transoceanic cruiser now docking at New Detroit’s travelport. Rose ignored the whimper and tapped her NeuroConn to read the invitation she’d received once more.
The communique that had brought her to the Empire proper had been brief. The Imperial Authorities were understandably grateful to Rose for her assistance in terminating a dangerous terrorist cell, and had not only granted her an audience with a Vice-President by the name of Gutierrez, but a job offer. The position of governor for New Detroit remained unfilled, and a year with a series of interim appointees had left the city-state restless and in search of a steady hand at the helm.
The whimper came again. Rose sighed and looked over at the kennels on the far wall of the craft. All three of the once-proud She-Wolf agents had been leashed, modified, and enhanced into perfectly pleasing puppysluts. The Strawberry Brazillian she’d been all too happy to use as both a fuckmutt and a HandyHelper™. She’d let herself go far too long without a secretary, and Siren made a damned good one. Well, when it wasn’t on all fours begging for treats, anyway.
The Raven Cauc had been re-christened Chesty, after a dog famous in the old United States as a military mascot. It more than lived up to its name now, and was an excellent morale booster to the volunteers as the hospital was being rebuilt and repaired. It licked its chops and wagged its pale blue Living Latex™ tail when its Mistress’ glance fell on its dull, eager-to-please face.
The third bitch was the source of the whimpering. Rose had left it in Beta, and denied it any sexual stimulation as punishment for leading the She-Wolf cell. After a year, the busty cuntlapper was bursting with horny desperation, from the end of its freckled nose to the tip of its dark grey Living Latex tail. The other dogsluts licked its face, neck, and tits, trying to comfort it, but its pleasure center was locked up tight by Madame Rose’s nanite override.
Maybe in another year, she’d relent. Maybe.
In the meantime, there was Customs to get through, and an appointment with this mysterious Ms. Gutierrez to keep. Madame Rose tapped her NeuroConn and said, “Thomas? Have the dogs sent ahead for scanning and quarantine. Familiarize yourself with the city while we’re here; I plan on staying a week or so, but the arrangement may become something more…permanent.”
She closed the connection and rose from her chair. Behind her, her personal pets raised a chorus of eager whines, whimpers, and barks.
“Patience, my pets. Patience. We’ll be home soon.“
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2087