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The Love Hotel is the perfect microcosm for experimentation. This is why an alien race of scientists has set up shop here before taking on the rest of the worlds. What are they doing? It's hard to say whether they're trying to create to perfect, suggestible being or compliant cattle, but one thing's for certain: they're breeding people. Through drugs and serums, (mostly) females will be the mares and (mostly) males the studs of this new race, producing offspring and other much-needed resources such as milk and semen. And how are they getting their test subjects...? |
It seems like only a few seconds ago that you were going about your business, whatever that is. You blacked out somehow, though, and now things are different. A few things are different, actually. The first thing you might notice is the condition of your person. You're sore all over, like you've been poked and prodded and injected with the world's worst flu shot. Your throat is sore, too. Also of importance is your clothing; or, rather, your lack thereof. You're naked, completely, and this allows you to see your new accessories. Somewhere on your body, perhaps on your arm, your stomach, or your chest, is a brand. It's fresh, the skin still raised and tender to the touch. The symbol is a strange character of an unknown language, encircled by a thick curve. Not far from the brand is a tattoo, also new. The black ink forms a barcode, with similar alien characters beneath it. Finally, you're now sporting...an earring? No, not an earring. It's some kind of tag. The second thing you might notice is your new surroundings. If you're familiar at all with stables or dairy farms or the like, you'll know right off it's a stall. It's not very big, though perhaps a bit bigger than the standard. The floor is covered with hay. The walls, on the other hand, are steel and tall, making the space much higher than it is wide. At the very top, there are bars (not very good for peering through, however) and a light fixture of some sort. Really, everything doesn't look too remarkable, but it is in one respect: you can't get out. There is absolutely no way to escape, no matter what you do. There doesn't appear to be a door, and the walls are seamless. That's alien technology for you. The bars up top aren't really bars, as they're covered in plexiglass all around. That shouldn't matter, you say. You have the power to get out, anyway! Sorry, but not quite. No matter if you're Joe Blow off the street or a powerful cosmic deity, there's something that keeps you from busting out. A force field? Maybe. Who knows? Despite this, though, you have bigger fish to fry. And that's in the form of the third thing you will probably notice. You're not alone. Someone else is in the stall with you, and they're in a similar state. Naked, branded, tagged. They can't get out, either, even if they're a super spy or a mercenary with years of training. Both of you are here, in this same boat. But why? Really, it's not that hard to figure out. Just look at the scenario. All signs point to one thing: you're intended to have sex. Of course, you probably won't want to. You won't be persuaded or tempted, either, because you have an iron will. That's fine. But you'll break. Remember that soreness? Well, that's because of the experimentation and the drugs. You see, you've been injected, drip fed, and otherwise filled with serums and cocktails by the people who brought you here during your little blackout. The aphrodisiacs at the Hotel? They're gateway drugs, child's play compared to these. The stuff is seeping through your veins right now, embracing every cell and sliding into your brain. Soon enough, very soon, you'll need sex like breathing. The more you resist, the more glassy-eyed you become, until you've lost everything that could be considered humanity or decency or decorum and you just have to fuck. The two of you will be rutting like animals, no matter who the other is. You'll want to claim them, want to fill them or be filled by them and fulfill the basic drive of life: procreate. That's not all, either. The drugs are doing all kinds of amazing things to you that you can't even feel or sense. Not only are they making you so fertile that almost any sex will result in certain pregnancy, but also making you physically addicted to sex. You have to breed or be bred now. The serums are also changing your brain chemistry to make you better at this. You're becoming more docile, more susceptible to instructions from your "masters," and much more accepting of your fate. Why would you want to leave here? To help with this, the drugs create a loyalty to your partner- no, your mate, as well. In fact, the drugs have many effects on different test subjects. The scientists have been talking about it recently. Not that you'd know, but there's been a memo sent discussing just that. To: ███But maybe, just maybe, you weren't kidnapped. Maybe you're not here because you were kidnapped. Perhaps you're here to work. After all, there's a lot to do! Milking needs to be done, discipline problems broken in, and brainwashing- I mean, re-education- is in important process. There are plenty of job opportunities for go-getters who don't mind getting their hands dirty. No matter what the reason, you're here at The Love Hotel Breeding Stables, so you might as well smile and accept it. After all, a happy stable makes happy cattle. |