The Pregnancy Barracks

Their next destination turned out to be the largest Dominar ship nearby, which had been parked directly on top of what used to the the Capitol Building, squashing the structure underneath the huge vessel. Considerately, they had gotten the hundreds of newly transformed bimbos inside out of the building first. The Dominars didn’t laugh that much, but the former President had seen them smile at the sight. This meant they thought the ship’s choice of parking spot was hilarious.

She had only been inside one of the Dominar ships once before, when she had initially been processed. This time, she waddled up the entrance ramp behind the Fleet Commander, head down. She still didn’t understand what was going on. Why were they taking her to the ship? Why was the Commander treating her with something approaching respect? Obviously she was just a slutty fuckdoll. Treating her with respect made no sense.

Not far inside the entrance, the two of them entered what seemed to be a small room, with all white floors and walls, like most of the ship. The entrance disappeared behind them, leaving the two of them alone. His pheromones were making her pussy leak again. She relaxed, letting her mind go blank except for the mantras. It was when she felt happiest these days. Except when she had an alien cock in one or more of her holes, of course.

“I AM JUST A DUMB LITTLE CUMRAG. I WAS BORN TO BE A DUMB LITTLE CUMRAG. I WILL ALWAYS BE INFERIOR TO THE DOMINARS. IT’S SO FUN TO BE A DUMB LITTLE CUMRAG FOR THE DOMINARS.”

The Commander waved his hand, bringing up an interface floating in the air in front of him. He tapped it twice, then closed the interface.

She never felt or heard the chamber they were in move, but when it opened its doors again approximately ten seconds later, they were somewhere else.

Stretching off into the distance, until it was eventually obscured by the curve of the ship, was a line of sleek, high-tech machines, each supporting a maze of tubes and wires. Out of each poked the head of a bimbo, eyes pointed up at the ceiling. Some had their eyes closed, others just seemed to be waiting, staring up at the screens hanging in the air above them.

“We have already seen the the past of your species… now I present the future. This is the Pregnancy Barracks,” the Commander explained. “Bimbos serving as vessels for our children are cared for here, if they have not been claimed as a personal fuckslave by a Dominar. All of their needs are provided for. They are nourished, they are cleaned, they are caused to orgasm frequently. Every requirement of your species. Their children will be delivered, and then they will be fucked and impregnated again, as is their purpose.”

The girls all appeared extremely content. She felt jealous that she could not simply wait and orgasm until her child was delivered.

As the two of them walked past the line of bimbo after bimbo, happily cumming their brains out, the Commander continued, “Of course, this is all temporary. Soon large tracts of your planet will be devoted to warehouses of these machines, where much of your species will spend their lives.”

Shit, that thought got her so wet. She wouldn’t have been able to say why, exactly. It might have been the mantras thinking away in her head. It was almost as if they reacted and adjusted to the environment around them to keep her horny and docile (they did).

“HUMANS EXIST TO BE BRED BY DOMINARS. TO JUST BE A WOMB WITH LEGS WOULD MAKE ME SO HAPPY. CARRYING DOMINAR CHILDREN IS WHY I WAS CREATED. ALL HUMANS SHOULD BE PREGNANT FUCKDOLLS."

“I confess, there are handful of bimbos here who I have deliberately had kept out of the database, so that they could be here with us today,” the Commander said. “They are… well, were, to be honest, the elite of your species. In any event, they have been allowed to keep some of their memories, like you. So that you could consult with them honestly today.”

The former President did not understand what was happening. His words made little sense. What she knew was that his cock was very big and she wanted it back inside her now.

The Commander stopped at one of the machines, which held a blonde, her designation tattooed on her forehead with a placid, content expression on her face. Somewhere, deep inside, a part of the former President twinged in recognition at the girl’s face.

He read off of the interface screen above the bimbo’s face. “This is Blue Argon 91. She was once was the most popular musician on your planet. She sang… you called them ‘pop songs’, for some reason.” The Dominar leaned his tall form down toward the occupant of the machine, who gasped as he did.

“W-will you fuck me, my Master?” the girl asked, in a high pitched squeal that did not suggest the voice of a singer. “I-I’ve been so good…”

“Perhaps soon,” the Commander told her. “Tell me, do you recall your prior life? From before you changed?”

The blonde head sticking out of the machine nodded. “Yes, Master. I sang songs. I think I wrote them, too, though I can’t remember how I did. It seems like I would have had to be smart for that. I would sing for so many people, and dance, too. It was so silly, I would wear these little dresses, like I was teasing them with my body without fucking any of them. Why didn't I just go naked? Anyway, I remember when the pink fog came, I was singing and teasing a whole stadium of people. We all became bimbos together.” She licked her lips. “It was so fucking hot, Master.”

It did sound hot. The former President couldn’t quite help running a hand down over her fat belly, reaching for the wetness between her legs.

“Would you go back to that life, if you could?” asked the Commander.

“I don’t understand, Master,” the blonde said.

“Answer the question.” The Commander’s tone had changed, very slightly, but it was enough to nearly make the former President collapse into a puddle of need. When a Dominar gave a direct order, something deep inside a their bimbo slaves couldn’t help but instantly obey, and the blonde in the machine was no exception.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed instantly. “I had so many things to worry about, now I all I have to do is come and have Dominar babies. I’m so happy.” A tear fell from one of the former pop star’s eyes, running sideways because of the position of her head. “Thank you, Master,” she barely managed.

“You are welcome, my little #%^<>#,” said the Commander, using a series of sounds in the Dominar language that the former President understood to be the closest the aliens came to a term of endearment. Her usual Master had once told her that he thought it meant something like “wet, needy cunt.” “All of those songs must take up so much room in that tiny brain of yours. Do you want me to get rid of them?”

“Oh, that would be so nice,” the girl said with a wistful smile.

“We have likely processed most of your followers by now,” the Commander pointed out, using an almost gentle tone that the former President could not recall hearing before. “Your music might be gone forever if I erase it from your head.”

“Why should I care?” the blonde said dreamily. “None of my songs were about worshiping cocks or being a good fuckslave. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Very well,” said the Commander. He smiled, a disconcerting expression on a Dominar face, and ran a large finger through the former singer’s hair. The girl shuddered at his touch. “Forget about your old life. You have never been anything but a docile, wet little slavecunt, Blue Argon 91.”

A huge, relieved smile spread over the blonde bimbo’s face. The former President was so jealous. She wished she could forget her former life and just be a happy dumb little set of holes.

Then the Commander said, “Good girl,” and the girl in the machine let out a low, completely satisfied moan, her eyes closing, and her breathing went ragged for several seconds.

“Oh, thank you, Master,” she eventually managed.

The Commander turned back to the former President. “Now, Red Nitrogen 79, please follow me, we have a few more stops to make.”