Nat Temple needed to be put in her place. For Alleah Masterson, it was the law of every Tag Hunt, her only decree as self-imposed queen. Alleah did one final check of her rifle. This Hunt would be no different.

Hunts were two-day MilSim excursions not unlike the ancient game of airsoft, except those ancient games didn’t have Tagging tech. It was a modern miracle, developed by Tact Corp. to help liberated mech pilots reintegrate with society. When hit with one, players dropped into willing but conditional submission for use by the enemy team. The state was similar enough to the mental conditioning those pilots had undergone as to be useful.

By the time Tag Hunting had become a national past-time, though, the magnanimous and altruistic motives had been supplanted by those who enjoyed the control - or lack thereof - it offered. That’s why Alleah did it, anyway. Who gave a fuck about some poor, fucked up, traumatized vet from The War? She was here to make people submit to her.

There was no greater power trip than seeing the change. Alleah'd watched even the most hardened of her opponents become submissive and pliable when Tagged. It fed a part of her that most people would find barbaric. People like that just didn’t get it, though.

And it’s not like she was as bad as the Sonnellan Empire’s brainwashers back during The War. She couldn’t be. There were limits, enforced by Contract. It was a consent checklist, embedded into each player’s Dominion Control chip. Everything in the Contract – the terms one could use, how far they could push things – was reciprocal. That was part of the allure to most players: you had to risk turnabout. Unless, of course, you were Alleah.

And then? Well, then there was no risk.

She was the best markswoman to ever play the game. Even before joining Tact Corp. as SVP of War Gaming Enterprises, Alleah's dominance was well-known: seven years, hundreds of Hunts, never Tagged. She was an undisputed apex predator. A legend. Queen. Nobody could stop her.

In fact, Alleah often went out of her way to ensure that that bitch Nat Temple got Tagged before anyone else precisely because of it. Nat was a symbol of Alleah’s excellence - a walking example of what Alleah had done to so many others. Alleah thought she’d find others who were that good, but there was something so…unique about the way Nat fell for her. It was so natural…

…as if she’d had been made for it. Alleah didn’t dwell on it. Some people - Nat - were just like that. And some people - namely Alleah - would take every opportunity to exploit that.

Speaking of exploits, Alleah could’ve done this next part at any time. She could’ve done it when Nat first arrived at the staging area an hour ago. Or after Nat had checked in and gone through pre-game prep. Alleah chose to wait. She circled on her periphery, stalking, waiting until just the right moment. The opening to her and Nat’s macabre and predatory waltz.

Her opening to exploit Nat came mere minutes before the shuttles were due for take-off. She had stopped alongside her team’s shuttle, maybe a meter from the entry ramp in the rear, before she’d slung her rifle off her shoulder. She fiddled with it, quickly becoming engrossed in a last-minute examination.

Alleah needed this part of their dance, too.

Nat yelped as Alleah slammed a palm against the hull of the shuttle. Then Alleah leaned in, relishing that Nat stood nearly a foot shorter than her. “Hey, Temple. Check this out.” Her grin was predatory as the holocuff projector on her free hand hummed to life, projecting her Contract into the space between them.

Nat glanced away and stepped back, her wavy brown hair pressed against the cold metal of the shuttle. Even now, tucked beneath her face-mask and helmet, her mane of hair exploded into a wild mass brown hues that only made her look more feral. Less human. A thing to be conquered. “Go on,” Alleah coaxed, “I want you to see it.” Nat looked at the Contract and then her cold blue eyes met Alleah's.

“I'm marking everything, Temple. Because it doesn't matter. Just like every time, your ass is mine.” She raked her gaze possessively over Nat’s short, curvy frame. Alleah’d been audience to the way her body had taken to the Curve Nanites four years ago. Seeing how she'd filled out, week over week, month over month, as she was dominated and used time and again made Nat Temple a drug. One that Alleah couldn't resist.

“P-please, I-” Nat mumbled, cowering at the brazen overture.

Alleah scoffed. “Really? Talking back to me?”

Nat stilled, and even through the visor of her mask Alleah could see her skin turn crimson. This ritual of teasing her was almost as good as when she'd hunt and inevitably Tag Nat. Almost. Nat glance downward and then back up. Alleah caught the movement. She knew what Nat saw. Her grin went toothy, canines flashing. “I'm surprised you're not just dropping to your knees already to service it.”

She grabbed at her crotch. Nat's eyes rested once more on the outline of the strap-on that Alleah wore under her camo fatigues. It was all the invitation Alleah needed. She stalked forward, eliminating the space between them as her hips pinned Nat to the hull of the shuttle. Alleah leaned close, elbows rested on either side of Nat's head. “I'm gonna fuck your mouth with this while you drool for me, Nat.” It wasn't even a threat or a promise.

It was a statement of fact. It was natural.

The loading alarm sounded. Alleah retreated a half step, pulling up her Contract. She made a show of tapping the “Confirm” button, eyes locked on Nat. “See you soon, Temple,” she said, backing up for a moment before she turned to jog off. She didn’t need to turn around to know Nat was shivering and pent up.

Fuck. This was gonna be an amazing Hunt.

* * *

Alleah strapped in next to the ten members of her team within the drop shuttle. It'd take them out into the remote parts of their battlefield for today's Hunt. “You could just leave the girl alone,” Blake Pierson said, chuckling.

“Fuck you, Blake,” Alleah shot back, grinning. “You know it's good luck for me to bully her. Plus, I just love the fear.”

“Get off on it, is more like.”

“Pfft. Like you’re so innocent?”

Blake matched her grin. “No.”

The engines of the shuttle – twin ionic-plasma turbines - roared to life as they hit T-60 seconds to dust off. Alleah looked down the row, surveying the others sitting in their jumpseats. This latest Hunt pitted Alleah's team – The Corporate Raiders – against three others, including Nat's. The Raiders were sponsored by Tact Corp. and had the best gear in the business.

They were as much a reflection of the Corp's hegemony as they were an extension of Alleah's reach. This game would be no different. Maybe Court or Blake would get Tagged – it'd been known to happen – but even down two team members, the Raiders would win. 8 others, Blake included, sat alongside her. The last of their team wasn't in the shuttle yet. Alleah glanced out and saw her standing a few meters away. Typical.

Mel McCallan was always cutting it close. Even now, she paced back and forth just outside the bay of the shuttle, rolling the final calls she could manage related to Alleah's schedule. Mel had proven herself capable as both Alleah's assistant and as a member of the Raiders. Her fatigues and safety gear hide it well, but Alleah knew every inch of that lithe and athletic body. Mel turned and her eyes met Alleah's. Mel nodded, cut the power to her telecoms implant, and boarded the shuttle just as it took off.

“Everything good?” Alleah yelled over the din. Mel gave her a thumbs up. Alleah watched Mel's ass she swayed past, not bothering to hide it. She didn't just dominate on the battlefields of the Hunt, after all. It was only right that Mel was so, so willing and wet for her whenever she needed it. Being Alleah's assistant was a privilege and honor. And Mel repaid that by being exceptional. Skilled with her tongue. Willing to work long hours. Dedicated to the cause of Alleah's...ascension. If she saw Mel as peer, she'd have thought that Mel would make a good friend. They had similar worldviews and proclivities. There were even times when Mel – as Alleah's confidant – had surprised Alleah with her own ruthlessness.

Mel wasn't a friend, though. She was subordinate. Below. Just like the rest of the world as the shuttle left terra firma. They skimmed low over the trees for a good fifteen minutes. Inside, Alleah felt the tension mount. It wasn't fear. Fear was for mortals. This was anticipation. She was a lioness, body curling back and ready to pounce. She would find her most wonderful prey. That prey would be hers. It made her hot just thinking about it.

The lights in the cabin turned from red to green. The dip in Alleah's stomach told her that the shuttle was descending. All eyes in the room were on her. Speech time.

“Alright, cunts. You know the goddamn deal. We are the Corporate Raiders. Lone wolves. First one to get out buys me – and the rest of you poor bitches – the first round. Stay dangerous. Fuck shit up. Do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir!” Blake affirmed. The rest of the women did the same.

Everyone inside lurched as the shuttle touched down. Alleah snapped free of her harness. The rear door fell open. The Hunt was on.

* * *

Alleah didn't bother to look back as she bounded down the ramp. Her team would do as they must. They were predators. All would fall before them. Besides, they had to set up their camp. That was their responsibility. It was Alleah's responsibility to ensure that this Hunt would get off to the right start. To find her prey. To find and Tag Nat Temple before anyone but her could do as they might. It was an affront to even consider it.

Somewhere deep within the dense foliage, she heard a yell. It was a voice of distress she knew all too well. Prey. She tore through the forest. The teams were always dropped in close proximity to one another. It meant for a spectacular start to the two-day affair. Plenty Tagged to be used at their owners camps that first evening. Plenty to be used as bait for teams looking to free them come the morning of the second day.

Alleah would not wait. She felt the way the plastic cock of her strap-on pressed against her clit as her body thundered through the underbrush. The small hit of pleasure from each stride fed into her desires. Yes. Yes, she needed this. The sound of gunfire grew louder, along with a number of people shouting. As she approached, she knew she had to slow down. A predator and a fiend she may be, but she was not one to risk unnecessarily.

Her footfalls changed. They came lighter, focused on concealing her approach even as she continued to move with haste. 100 meters out. Two competitors fired upon a third who taking cover behind a large tree stump. There. That explosion of untamed, frizzy hair. Nat was the one behind the tree. Alleah reveled in it. She would be savior and then delicious, unyielding doom. It would require impeccable timing and good planning, though. She switched her rifle to subsonic action. It'd limit her range to 25 meters, but would make it easier for her to subdue the first of them without being heard.

The other two competitors stopped firing as the Tags embedded themselves uselessly in the bark of the stump. 80 meters. One of them gestured to the other. Alleah recognized it, the meaning unmistakable: “flank her”. That wouldn't do. Nat was her prey. Hers to do with as she pleased. Rage – jealous, dark, and possessive – threatened to override her senses. Her trigger finger twitched. It wanted to claim these two would-be usurpers now.

She was still outside optimal range for her rifle. Patience was the only course of action. She pushed closer, being careful where she stepped. 50 meters away now. Light breeze. She was close enough now that she could make out that both the other competitors were women. She made note to have both of them service Nat. One of them – the one who ordered the other to flank – had short dreadlocks decorated with small jewels. The other had a cartoon skull patch on the left arm of her fatigues. Skull had swung out wide from Jewels. It was the correct move, but Alleah saw the flaw in it: the remnants of a Hulkstrider's robotic leg, long since become a bed for moss and other flora. During The War, Hulkstriders were horrifying bipedal behemoths of cutting edge death standing stories high piloted by the broken and the damned. Alleah had seen one up close as a child, during a day she could not forget if she tried.

She pushed away the memories. Staying present was how she'd survived then and it would be how she survived now. Feelings and emotions would not stop her from her prize. And she took some small measure of comfort in knowing that this reminder of her past could be twisted to her advantage. 35 meters. Any moment, Skull would move out of sight for Jewels. 32 meters. She quickened her step. 27 meters. Skull slipped behind the Hulkstrider's leg.

With a final burst of speed, Alleah pushed herself to within 10 meters. Jewels didn't hear her until a twig snapped, but by the it was too late. Alleah descended, a lioness. Jewel’s eyes went wide, prey. Two short pops. Jaws clamped, wrenching its quarry to stillness. Jewels was Tagged. Was hers.

Jewels turned to her, beginning to remove her clothes. Eager, Alleah noted. It was a good attribute. Alleah held up her hand and formed it into a fist as she shook her head. Jewels complied. Obedient, too. Alleah almost wanted it to be nightfall. The things she wanted to do to this woman. But she was a lesser treasure. And her window was closing. Alleah gestured for Jewels to drop prone. Jewels complied.

Alleah pushed forwards, swinging around to keep line of sight on Skull. She hit the switch on the grip of her gun. It was time to go loud. She sprinted forward, raised her rifle, and let loose a torrent of gunfire. Some of them scattered off the Hulkstrider's endoskeleton, but Skull was caught too unaware to put up any defense. Before the woman knew what happened, the Tag had asserted Alleah's dominance over her.

Unlike her compatriot, Skull tried to assert herself. Her trigger finger moved to fire, but stopped short. Rage burnt in Skull’s eyes. Alleah loved it when they didn’t go quiet. She must be new here.

Alleah didn't get a chance to appraise her new conquest. She heard movement to her left. Someone running. Alleah glanced toward the tree stump. She saw a mane of frizzy hair retreating deeper into the woods. Not someone. Some thing. Alleah whirled back to Skull. “Raiders camp. Take your friend,” Alleah growled. Skull nodded, complying even as she glared. Then Alleah sprinted away, in pursuit of her real prize.

* * *

Goddamn Temple. Fucking nerdy ass Nat. She thought she could run? A toothy grin, obscured by her face mask, spread wide across Alleah's face. Yes. That was fine. She would take out every bit of it on Nat when she was caught. She'd pin that woman to the ground, then take her up against a tree. She'd ride her face until Nat gasped for air. First she had to catch her, though.

It proved to be difficult. Nat had a head start on her. Despite the appearance of her curvy, plump physique, she was fast. Not as fast as Alleah, but fast enough to make closing distance require every bit of exertion Alleah could muster. It wouldn’t be enough. Nat would lose. They’d done this lethal dance enough to both know the ending.

Alleah leapt over a fallen tree, form perfect as Nat tried to break off to one side. She halted and snap-fired a burst of Tags. They went wide, but it didn’t matter. Nat veered back, ducking beneath a low branch. Alleah rejoined the pursuit. The attempt had let Alleah gain some much needed ground.

Alleah closed more as they continued to run. The crush of adrenaline and the proximity to her quarry had pushed her senses into overdrive. She was so close she could catch wafts of citrus-y cologne that Nat wore, along with the fresh scent of water. She'd been a lioness earlier, but now she felt like she was transcending that. She was becoming something more feral.

Alleah's heart thundered as she tracked Nat down an incline and into a small creek. As she pursued, the banks of the creek grew steeper. Her predatory instincts knew this was bad. Limited means of egress meant that one wrong move could be fatal. Alleah had to end this. She let out a burst of automatic gunfire.

They embedded into the rock wall, mere centimeters from where Nat had just been. She had height and speed on the other woman, but Nat knew how to evade. It was what made her such a compelling conquest when they'd first begun these Hunts: Alleah couldn't land a shot on her. It took the better part of a year. Even then, it was a ricochet.

“You got lucky.” Nat said it under her breath that first time. It drove a splinter into Alleah's psyche. The challenge of it made Alleah take extra pleasure in breaking in Nat. When she learned that Nat worked at TC with her, it was all the better. She loved seeing Nat after a Hunt. The way she'd blush and avoid eye contact. It was all so...right. Alleah needed to see her submit. She charged forward. Close. So close. She needed it.

Unlike earlier, she didn't watch her footing. Alleah's boot landed on a slick rock. It tipped her off-balance and she slammed into a craggy outcropping. Her head felt warm, and based on how that warmth trickled down her face she knew she was bleeding. The pain helped sharpen her, though. No more games. It was time for their dance to conclude.

She refocused, following Nat around a bend and came up short. The creek ended in a small lake, surrounded on all sides by tall, sheer hills. Alleah had seen plenty of these to know exactly what it was: nature re-purposing an impact crater. Yes. Nature. It was on her side.

Because this was natural. A divine and real purpose. And given the Hulkstrider nearby, she could see how it played out. Some pilot firing munitions the size of Alleah's body had missed, the round blasting away earth. They received shocks for missing, Alleah had once read. Shocks to tame Hounds. And that failure, decades later, had delivered Nat Temple to Alleah Masterson. Another simpering creature to be tamed.

Divine. Simply divine.

“You're mine, bitch. And, here of all places. How fitting.” Nat spun around. Alleah could see the fear in those cold blue eyes, even as Nat raised her rifle to fire. Ballsy. She'd have to be shown the error of her ways for that. Alleah was faster, though. She'd had her sights trained on Nat even as Nat began to move. Alleah pulled the trigger.

And it clicked. Uselessly. Jammed from the impact on the rocks.

Alleah's blood ran cold, eyes wide.

Luck. That fickle bitch.

* * *

The Tag slammed into Alleah, claiming her. Alleah had lost. No. No, no, no. She scrambled backward, unsteady on her feet. Maybe she didn't need to be on her feet. The traitorous thought burned through her mind, courtesy of the next-gen Dominion Influence chip that enforced every player's Contract. Fuck. The Contract. No. No, this would not be. Alleah was too strong, too proud, she was Alleah Masterson and she would not be cowed by some-

“Strip.” Alleah's hands tore at her clothes with such a fury she knew that anyone who saw her afterward would understand the nature of what had happened to her. She refused to acknowledge how her body reacted to that idea as she peeled off her top. Her small, pert breasts and well-toned body were on display for Nat. Her owner. She told herself the chilly bite of the air was why her nipples were so hard. She told herself this even as she yanked down her pants and noticed that her boyshorts gleamed with wetness. The same wetness between her thighs. Sweat. Had to be. Thankfully she still had the strap-on to at least somewhat conceal anything. And as she thought it, her hands began to undo the harness.

“No.” Alleah's hands stilled. Nat's eyes were on the strap. Her face was impassive, unreadable to Alleah. When Nat brought her gaze to meet Alleah's gaze, there was a wild and cruel glint in Nat's eyes. Alleah knew it all too well. It promised depravity. She knew what was going to happen before it did.

Nat stepped forward, eyes still on Alleah's. It was so commanding. Who was this woman? “Alleah Masterson...” Nat's voice wasn't timid anymore. Something about it – the simmering fury, the huskiness of it - sliced at Alleah's resolve. It was like a piece of her will to resist had just been…lopped off. She had to do everything that Nat would command, but she didn't have to let it into her psyche. There were dampeners built into the Dominion Influence spec. She could activate it with a thought and be free. It was a concession. She could make this stop.

Only weaklings did that. Alleah wasn't a weakling. As if sensing her line of thought, Nat ran a finger along the length of the toy in Alleah's strap. “What did you say to me, Alleah? Just before you boarded your shuttle?” God. Her voice. Every word was unhurried, savoring each moment as it broke away parts of Alleah. It made it so much worse. How could she ever look at Nat Temple the same way again? Fucking Nat fucking Temple, lowly IT worker at Tact Corp., had Alleah Masterson in the palm of her hand.

Unbidden, Alleah thought of herself in Nat's place. Not able to hold eye contact. Feeling flushed. Remembering all the things that Nat had done to her. Would be doing to her any moment. Oh god. Shame and guilt made her blood run cold at it, even as something that she would not name - that held no sway - warmed her cunt and made her gush.

Nat's eyes returned to the toy. Alleah felt something that she refused to name as disappointment as Nat broke the stare. A moment passed as Nat continued to stroke the toy in silence. It sent a shiver through Alleah that was fear. Fear and nothing else she refused to name as wanton anticipation. If she did not name it, it was not and could not be.

“I am waiting.” Hells. That voice. It was low and dismissive and felt so right. So commanding, like she was being…Handled. Fuck. Who the fuck was Nat? How did she know how to carve away at Alleah’s willpower with just a few words?

“I-I-” Alleah fumbled, trying to remember. And then it came back to her. She let herself be the Alleah of an hour ago: arrogant, boastful, unaware of what would happen. “I'm surprised you're not just dropping to your knees already to service it.” Nat's gaze snapped to hers, challenging. Triumphant. Laden with such insinuation that Alleah didn't even have to be commanded. She felt herself dropping. She whimpered as she did.

It should've been wrong. Some distant part of herself screamed and raged at the violation of her will, even as she knew that she had chosen this. Every time she'd fucked Nat, she'd avoided her cock. She just thought she was uninterested in it. Alleah liked women and to her women had been something particular. Now, though, as her hands grasped Nat's cock, coaxing it to fullness, she realized the truth. It was something she'd never allowed herself to admit: she was jealous of it. Of the way it could help a woman claim others. That Nat got to have this glorious thing between her legs. That Nat fucked others with it and not her.

The thought made her feel empty. Others got to feel Nat inside her. She didn't. She'd made the dumb choice to be Dominant. To never really understand what it would be like. Being in charge had felt so natural, but now? Now as Nat's precum smeared across her fingers, Alleah was confused. How could she have been so arrogant. So reckless. So unwilling to submit?

But that was going to change. Alleah's could feel Nat's cock pulsing beneath her ministrations. She knew every vein, the slight curve, the flare in the center. She thought back to the first time she'd come up with her plan to make a toy of Nat's cock. It'd been after one particularly brutal rutting session a few months ago. She'd noticed that Nat's cock was hard, so hard as Alleah pounded her. It'd normally been soft but seeing it that way? Seeing Nat get hard for her like that? It made the inversion so much more perverse.

It was perfect. The way Alleah had pumped into her the first time after she'd gotten it, asking if Nat loved how her own cock felt. Nat came undone as Alleah’d said it. And afterwards, Nat was so pliable.

Even just thinking about it now made her resistance surge. She felt herself pause as some semblance of control returned. Yes. That was it. This was the way out. She focused on that image. She could break free. She wanted to break free of this. It was difficult, but she was doing it.

She was so singularly focused that she didn't realize that Nat had removed her helmet. And then she felt Nat press forward, any thoughts of resisting facefucked away as Alleah's tongue swirled and danced over the length of Nat's cock. It was bigger than she'd remembered from the one night she'd gotten drunk – too drunk – and tried the toy on herself. Except a toy couldn't mark her. Even with the best tech on the market, the feeling of this woman's cock as it tensed was so beyond anything Alleah could've imbued into a toy.

And despite herself, or maybe in concert with her, Alleah knew she wanted it. She wanted this. This was what she was missing out on. Being the hunter was fine, but the surrender was doing things to her she didn't know she could want. No. Wait. This was a trick. A trick born of the DI chip. This had gone too far. Too far and she knew it was twisting her thoughts. She knew…she knew only the weak would yield.

She wouldn’t. Alleah would persist against this intrusion. Yes, she had to keep going. Her mind and will were her own. She could stop. She would will herself away. Any second. Any second now, her resistance would stop. Wait-

And then one of her hands went to Nat's hips, betraying her. It helped Nat to facefuck away any stupid thoughts of resistance more effectively. Alleah’s other hand went to her dripping wet pussy. She slipped in two fingers and began to work within herself, rewiring her own mind. Neural pathways splintered and broke, changed to seek this. To reinforce the idea that Alleah Masterson wanted this cock. She would break her mind for it. For it and everything that it promised to remake her into.

Her mind reeled as Nat came hard. It was a betrayal of everything Alleah had been. And that? That drove Alleah over the edge of her own orgasm. New cravings and drives etched themselves into her mind even everything she was screamed in protest. It wasn’t too late. She needed to engage the dampeners. She needed…

Weakness. Yes.

How could she have been so blind? She was weak. So weak to this that it felt obvious to her now, only in retrospect, how scared she’d been. She fought so hard because she knew, somewhere within, what she wanted. And she wanted…no. No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t want it because it was wrong. And yet she’d chosen Nat. Chosen her time and time again. Was enamored with her, even now. Month after month, year after year, she nurtured the corrupt soil within her. Tilled it. Made it fertile.

It was a traitorous thing to feel Nat’s seed slide down her throat. Blissful. Demeaning. Righteous. Evil. Transcendent.

She felt the warmth as it slipped within her stomach…and then something bloomed in her. No. No, no, no. She would not name it as submission and obedience and acquiescence and-

No.

Her mind was a fortress. She would not name this wonderful thing happening to her. She would give it no power to subjugate her in the way she craved. Her mind was a fortress made of cold, resolute, impregnable stone.

Stone that roots burrowed into and through. Roots that broke down her resolve. Nature re-purposes things. She knelt in a Dog Lake, proof of something re-purposed. She was another such thing. It was Divine. Simply divine.

Transcendent.

No! Her mind was hers. Was hers. Was hers.

…Was…hers…

Was hers.

…was…Hers. Oh.

Her! Yes. Alleah’s mind was Hers! Was Nat’s! Was Hers to play with and control. To tell her how to act. She’d been a fool to consider anything else.

She wanted Nat to bend her over and breed her. She only need ask, but useless things like her didn't ask. They pleaded and begged as was their place. If she were still capable of thinking, she'd have thought that the chip's influence was making her think the way. But she didn't think. Mistress Temple would think for her.

Mistress Temple was Transcendent. She was Divine.

When Mistress Temple thought it was good idea for Alleah to follow her back to Mistress' camp, Alleah knew it was brilliant. Yes, yes she should parade herself in front of Mistress’ teammates. When Mistress Temple told Alleah that she'd repay, in kind, each of the women that Alleah had dommed, Alleah was happy to comply. Yes. She needed correcting. Mistress was so right. And when Alleah discovered that a few of these women also had cocks that could breed her just like Mistress Temple's did?

She was in heaven. She knew this would happen. Maybe she'd even wanted it. Had her gun actually misfired? They were suited to their user's psychological profile, after all. Did it know? Had it seen the wonderful traitor inside Alleah's mind and become a collaborator in her dismantling? Alleah hoped so. She was glad she fucked up. It'd been hours now. Her team would've had ample opportunity to rescue her from this.

Maybe they'd seen her. Seen how gone she was, seen how willing an accomplice she was to her own destruction. There was no saving her. But even then, she imagined Mel – devious, cunning Mel – joining the fray.

“We're gonna have to change the org chart, y'know?” Mel would say, laughing as she shoved Alleah's face between her thighs. “After all, you can't be an SVP when you're busy eating me out all day.” Alleah would happily comply with that, too. She'd give up her career and let Mel boss her around. It was only right.

She'd thought she was a lioness. Proud. Violent. She wasn't. Her mind went to the broken leg of that Hulkstrider. In an age long gone, they used to be piloted by women. No, not women. Something less. Something broken and made to heel.

Hounds.

The word felt so natural as it slid into her mind, wedging into the sliver Nat had made in it all those years ago. Hound. Rivers cut through hardened rock to make canyons. They eroded away everything in their path. They made crater lakes that trapped dogs like her into her rightful place. It was in her nature. She would submit.

She heard a sound, faintly, somewhere. It was high and broke off into a pant. A voice of distress. For a moment she believed it was someone else's...until she realized it was the sound of her own, wonderfully defeated moans as Mistress claimed her womb while a second woman shot warm, wonderful seed down her throat.

Silly her. Thinking again. Thank goodness she had someone to fuck those pesky things away. A Hound doesn't think. A Hound obeys.

She was a good Hound.

* * *