Competition for a Crown.

Sierra Monroe reclined in her magnificently appointed top-floor office and looked from the report pulled up on her tablet to the small white paper cup in her hand. Her trim pussy quivered at the smell coming off the sticky pearly substance within but she did not allow a hint of her excitement to show on her perfectly schooled face. She was in control.

"The addition of D-aspartic acid to the feed has been producing promising results, no?"

"Yes Ma'am. Dr Kline has been pleased with the increase in volume and potency."

Standing at the far end of the massive office was Tamara Wight, a towering brunette of a Mammazon and Sierra's strong right hand. Dressed in combat boots laced up to her shins, tight thigh and ass hugging camo pants a black sports bra that strained to contain great bulging mounds of womanly goodness she was the very picture of barely suppressed strength and brutal efficiency.

...and Sierra owned her.

That knowledge thrilled the gorgeous young CEO nearly as much as the contents of the sample cup now resting on the edge of the massive mahogany desk with silver in-lay and green tinted leather. Her pussy was all but vibrating as she stared at the woman who could break her in half with one hand and knew that she was in control, Sierra controlled her.

She would have to put her PA Anna back to work under the desk again soon. Poor, stupid Anna...

Getting up from her over-sized office chair - a monstrous affair upholstered in the leather of some near extinct animal species - she crossed the plush, hand woven oriental rugs that each cost more than her company payroll dished out in a year, cup in hand.

Her red soled, black skyscraper heels clicked on priceless Corinthian marble as she stood before the massive woman and offered her the sample with a negligent gesture as though dismissive of the precious ambrosia held within.

She wanted it, oh how badly she wanted it but more importantly she needed a display of power over this mighty woman. Her sweet little pussy ached for it!

"Drink." The simple word came out flat and hard, a command.

"Yes Ma'am, thank you Ma'am."

Sierra knew the effect she had on those around her, she was gorgeous. No, not just gorgeous, simple Skanks and Bimbo strains were gorgeous. Hell even Tamara would have been called gorgeous by pre-virus standards but Sierra far surpassed all of them. She was ethereal... and she knew it.

Hers was the angelic beauty that would have had Hollywood's top modeling agencies on their knees begging and weeping to recruit her for their most exclusive clientele, offering multi-million dollar contracts for a single snap-shot of her beauty. An actual glamour shot of her would have quickly blown up then crashed Instagram entirely in the days back before the pandemic. She had supernova bright sex appeal that could stop air flight traffic. So radiant was she that all that looked upon her could only stop and stare, their own wants forgotten, supplanted by her own will and desires - as it should be.

She was ageless and divine, an unholy combination of the freshest bloom of youth and the ripest fruit of maturity making her age impossible to place. To call her hair platinum blonde would be a grave understatement, Sierra's hair so long, full and wavy was purest, spun starlight cascading down her gracefully curving back all the way to the contours of her glorious Georgia peach of an ass.

Her skin and complexion wasn't just flawless, it was the new definition of perfection. Rubber smooth and velvet soft her pores were non-existent and the only body hair she possessed was on her head and face. All of it softly radiating warmth and life and most of all sex from her porcelain perfect epidermis.

Her face classically beautiful face was more than stunning - it was a goddamn weapon. The slightest pout of her perpetually moist, plush lips could make the strongest men and women swoon, the hint of a sneer - the far more common expression on Sierra - could bring them blubbering to their knees. Her nose was small, inhumanly symmetrical and perfect, her cheekbones so high and sharp you could cut diamonds with them, her eyes sparkling like twin shards of chilly, palest blue quartz. Poets could write a thousand sonnets praising the elegant line of her jaw or graceful swan-like sweep of her slender neck and never pay them true homage

Her beauty was nigh supernatural, she knew it and wielded it as such. It was what got her here, got her this company - stormed and seized weeks ago by her tamed Mammazons - got her this office and her position, taken from the trembling hands of it previous CEO Rex Albion as he wept and fawned under the ten thousand kilowatt glare of her beauty, his pants stained wet with his cum as she had ground him under her boot heel. The ink on the corporate transfer documents hadn't even been dry before she had sent him below.

It had all been for power, the one thing she craved as much as other XXX-infected a mans seed, power and control.

That was what got her moist, no it was what got her gushing! She had spent hours sitting behind that priceless behemoth of a desk with pretty little Anna leashed below it licking and teasing her twitching twat to blissful shuddering climax after climax as she studied video feeds of her ever increasing acquisitions, read progress reports of her growing successes and monitored the results of her vital experiments.

All to amass more power and control... Sierra suppressed another wanton shudder of delight as she watched her Mammazon commander greedily slurp down the latest of her 'new product line'.

Tamara Wright was very strong and strictly disciplined but even her eyes rolled and expression sagged as she took in the potent concoction. Sierra gifted herself a soft smile of satisfaction as she watched the brunettes thickly muscled thighs clench and spasm as her pelvis twitched minutely in tiny thrusts.

Potent indeed, Sierra would have to congratulate Dr Kline on the success of her latest batch, maybe she would allow the smart little bimbo slut to kiss her boots or lick the six inch heels of her least favorite pair of Louboutin ankle boots.

It wasn't like she would ever wear them again afterwards anyway.

Her wardrobe was the stuff of dreams, or nightmares depending on your perspective. A collection of decadently expensive, uber exclusive designer outfits and accessories that pushed past six figures in price. Teensy tiny Valentino dresses, Balenciaga thigh high knife boots, hip hugging Saint Laurent midi skirts, tight, barely-there silk blouses, plaid Gucci mini-skirts that showed of her impossibly long legs to great effect, and endless racks lingerie in the softest satin, the most delicate lace, and the sheerest chiffon.

...and she only ever wore a single, precious article once before discarding it like worthless trash. Another display of her wealth and power, another example of her control.

Even now she wore a brief mockery of a business suit with a form fitting jacket revealing and enhancing the deep valley of her cleavage, the hints of a dark Guia La Bruna lace cami peeking sinfully out from within. The whole ensemble was a deep blood red, molded to her heavenly figure and contrasted marvelously with the smoky dark stockings and garters that made love to her achingly long, supple calves and thighs.

It was a artfully crafted arrangement to accentuate her body and with a body like hers - tall, leggy, gloriously busty, eminently thin, and effortlessly fit with her tight abdomen and toned, flat belly - she deserved a new outfit everyday. She knew it and she made sure everybody else knew it too.

Catching an errant dribble of the precious, shining goo that had escaped the corner of Tamara's quivering lips Sierra spread it down the length of a slender, perfect forearm watching as her skin absorbed the miraculous liquid leaving it slightly healthier and more vibrant than before. It was like magic and the implications of it shot another bolt of heat into her steamy nethers.

Once she had it in sufficient supply and quantity Sierra promised herself she would bath in the stuff, just as Cleopatra had once bathed in milk, enhancing her beauty to impossible, dizzying new heights until she stood above all others like the queen she knew herself to be.

This was the latest source of her power, her newest means of control and it was inspired - even if she did say so herself.

It was a simple matter of looking at new market opportunities and even as society burned to the ground around mankind a clever XXX-infected of Sierra's particular strain could still make a profit sweeping up the pyre.

Supply and demand, it was fundamental and so obvious if one just stopped thinking with their pussy for more than five minutes straight. It was men, or in point of fact, their seed, sperm, semen, spunk - whatever you wanted to call it. There was an ever-dwindling supply of it as the demand for it continued to grow exponentially.

What was a keen, if ruthless business woman to do but seize the means of production?

Down below, deep underneath Albion Aromatics Pty Ltd rested the great prize of all her scheming and machinations. The culmination of her Machiavellian planning and the hard work of her underlings. The key to her future...

Her "Pig Pens".

Oh sure, she had heard a few of the others in her employ call them 'The Stables' or 'Milking Rooms' but who knew better than her what they really were? It was where she kept her livestock. Her chattel... her pigs.

They came in the form of twenty seven men locked up tight in a repurposed and refitted animal testing laboratory, secure under lock and key and bound into custom built milking machines.

Well, she called them "milking machines" but really...

"How is the latest batch?" She asked Tamara offhandedly. Her heels clicking as she crossed the room back to her desk to check on her investments.

Thinking of her "acquisitions" always made her so fucking wet, she would need that ginger slut Anna working her sweet little mouth under the desk for the next hour at the very least. It was a wonder that she wasn't leaving a wet trail across the floor behind her...

"P-potent Ma'am. Very g-g-good. Thank you M-ma'am."

"Very well, I shall see to it that you and your girls get your due share of the bounty once the processing is completed."

Sliding back into the massive, dark leather chair and leaving a long glistening smear of her honey across the seat Sierra brought up a camera feed of her testing lab on one of the five large, crystal flat screens arrayed out before her.

"Any uptake in our acquisitions Ms Wight?" she asked clicking through the different displays until she found the one that she wanted, ah yes there he was...

Former CEO Rex Albion was strapped to his milking machine, a reinforced steel frame that locked him down on all fours, stripped naked and prone like the wallowing pig he was. He might have been considered handsome once but right now with so many snaking, chemical laden IV lines and stick-on medical monitoring pads peppering his flesh he looked more like a gently writhing coma patient bent over Hell's own pommel horse.

A prehensile nozzled suction hose was fitted to his groin, secured by crude leather harness with belts criss-crossing his hips and ass to affix it in place. A feed bag - an actual fucking feed bag! - covered his mouth and chin as a set of VR googles covered his eyes and ears. Sierra knew that all he was seeing was her... her face and her voice were being piped directly into his psyche demanding one thing and one thing alone.

Cum for me...

Cum for me...

I am beautiful...

I am your Mistress...

I am your Goddess...

Obey me...

Cum for me!

It was a silly, little, looping video that she had spent all of sixty seconds filming on her phone but it more than did the job. With muffled grunts and tightening muscles the pathetic man was filling his cum-line with more precious product for her scientists to process and refine. Seeing this self-important man brought so low made Sierra want to squirm and giggle in her over-sized chair, her slick pussy leaving a big, wet kiss on the exotic leather but she didn't - she was in control.

"Things are... slow on the acquisitions front. Sorry Miss Monroe but we are hearing some interesting rumors coming from a school district in the southern suburban catchment area. I will dispatch a team to investigate."

The downturn in the number of males captured troubled Sierra, they were both the key to, and the bottleneck in, her supply line. She needed more healthy livestock if she wanted to increase production, that or pursue more aggressive means of draining those she had but that was problematic... she had lost three of her little piggies to catastrophic heart failure already. Ah well, eggs and omelettes and all of that.

"Interesting?" Sierra pondered arching a perfectly manicured silver brow at herself in the lighted mirror she kept propped up on the side of the desk for just this purpose... she really was just too beautiful. She blew herself a small kiss before turning back to regard her chief Mammazon.

"Facts are still unclear Ma'am, something about a rampaging male speciman and maybe a new strain of the infection."

Well that did sound interesting. Any fresh meat for her pig pens was always welcome provided they could be caught before contracting the virus and keeping abreast of any new viral mutations was just good business practice for her. She knew this better than anyone - she was one after all...

A Queen Bitch XXX-infected and so far completely unique as far as she knew.

She had been very careful not to infect any others with her strain, she didn't want or need any competition. Not yet at least. She had gone so far as to swear off sex with men, not that it had been too much of a stretch for her.

For what man was deserving of basking in her radiance? How could she let some sweating, rutting pig penetrate her glorious body with their foul, meaty pricks? Flood her pristine depths with their raw, filthy swine seed? She was all but certain that the virus had not only reshaped her into something nearly celestial in form but virginal too. She certainly felt tight enough down there, tight and hot and wet right now as her eyes fell back upon the screen filled with tortured, spasming, groaning men...

No, she was content to feed her infection with a carefully controlled intake of the fruits of her own labor.

"Very well, bring me back something of substance and I will increase your allotment of product this week."

That was how she did it, that was how she maintained her control over her staff and soldiers. Doling out a refined and distilled solution of man-seed to keep them eager and coming back for more. Like a **** kingpin or opium warlord, Sierra found that she rather liked the comparison. Those were the kind of people who knew how to get stuff done.

Tamara set down the empty sample cup on a side table with a final wistful look at it. "Yes Ma'am Thank you Ma'am. I'll head the team personally. We'll not disappoint you."

"See that you don't, you are dismissed. Send in Anna on your way out."

Reclining in her lavish seat she let her brief, ass hugging pencil skirt ride up her shiny, silken thighs as she slowly, trailed her perfectly manicured fingertips across the top of her swelling cleavage.

"You called for me Mistress?" A meek little voice asked from the massive doubled door entrance to her executive suite.

It was Alan- no, it was Anna. Alan had been her one time schlub of a husband; a fat, boorish ginger haired 'Paddy' of a man. Anna, in stark contrast, was a stunning red-head with cute Irish features, milky white skin and a willowy build dressed only in strappy, sky-blue lingerie with sparkly thigh high stockings to match. She clicked her way into the room in snow-white platform pumps, the heels of which were only four inches high - she wasn't as poised or graceful as Sierra after-all.

But the thing Sierra loved most about her little pet's outfit - something she picked out for her personally each morning out of the pile of rejected offerings to her own extravagantly exclusive wardrobe - was her collar. It was a matching sky blue of her lacy lingerie and littered with rhinestones that spelled out single word: "Plaything".

Because that was all she was now; Sierra's little pet Plaything, not her stupid husband and certainly not her equal - never that. Right now her pets cute button nose was twitching like a bunnies and her sparkling green eyes were straying to the discarded sample cup on the side table only an arms reach away.

There was probably a smear or two of the latest batch left in it but she did enjoy starving her little Anna of her special product. It was one of the games she liked to play; watching her toy slowly start to come apart before piecing her back together again with the most tiny, meager taste of what she most desperately craved. Keeping the lissome red-head teetering on the knifes edge of sanity.

Reaching under the desk she fished about for the leash she had bolted to the underside of the desktop.

"Leave it Pet," Her tone was all warning and brooked no argument, "Come here and maybe if you please your Mistress, I will allow you to lick that cup clean..."

Anna nodded demurely then dropped to hands and knees to make the long, languorous crawl across the sprawling office, her face down, her long feiry mane of hair brushing the marble, her lovely, panty clad ass swaying in the air behind her. Crawling just like Sierra always demanded she do, nothing turned her Mistress on like a good grovel.

Bouncing the end of the lead in one hand she let her other trail down the V-line of her cleavage, brush over the sheer silk of her designer cami and begin an achingly slow, deliberate journey towards the burning molten heat between her gently spreading thighs.

"...but first I have something else for you to lick clean. You want to lick it clean don't you Pet?"

"Y-yes Mistress. Thank you Mistress."

The reply came out small, a little scared and very girlish, Sierra could feel her pussy honey starting to puddle on the seat between her spreading thighs. That was good, she would have Anna lick that up too. Because if there was one thing Anna did far better than Alan ever did - it was cleaning her Mistresses tight, horney, pink pussy...