[Episode 107310] [Episode 107310]Long, long ago, about 300 years or so from the present day, Earth had entered an era we now refer to as the peak of Human civilisation. For nearly a century, most of the more developed nations of the world had been working towards a form of gender equality, though the balance was struck differently in different lands, and most well educated people of the time recognised it as an unstable and shifting balance at best. Human relations has always been a study of vagaries and broad generalisations, with more exceptions than rules. Women might be oppressed and dominated in a certain way in a certain place, while men were simultaneously being dominated and oppressed in a different way, even in the exact same place.
That was how it had been before. It is quite different now, as anyone must admit.
But before we speak of the modern era, we should go back to the events that shaped it, which begin then, at Humanity's Peak.
In the distant western continent, there had been, in that age, a country known as the United States of America; a very powerful and highly developed nation of the time period, though they had as many problems as they had achievements. That isn't what we'll be talking about today, of course, as it's hardly relevant, and hasn’t been since that old nation collapsed entirely about 290 years ago. At any rate, in this developed country was a female scientist whose accomplishments were great enough that she'd been able to purchase a large, rolling estate in the countryside to serve both as her home and her working laboratory. There she could work on her own, unsupervised, with no deadlines or superiors to interrupt her for reports or to curb her creative genius for their own ambitious reasons. Her financial backers had such respect for her that they were content to continue funding her independent research and development without bothering her for updates or badgering her for results. She was a genius, they knew, and experience had taught them it was best to let her work at her own pace, by herself, and every two or three years, she'd present them with some new fantastic advance in one scientific field or another.
This had been what she wanted; to be left alone to work on whatever captured her interest without pressure to perform to someone else's standards and schedules. What she had not anticipated, however, was that working by oneself, day in, day out, year round, did not take long to become very lonely. She had an enormous property; a testament to her earlier successes, but other than the workers of the gardening and housekeeping services she had on retainer (and who were not in residence, coming to do their work and leaving as soon as they finished) she was the only living person in all the vast space her wealth had purchased.
This loneliness, it is believed, is what sparked a new direction in the lady scientist's research. She had a solid grounding in all scientific disciplines, and many of the advances she'd released to her patrons were of the technological, electronic, chemistry, medical, astrophysics, and biology natures. This was actually the biggest key to her wealth, she had different patrons for each field she'd released a new discovery for, and all of them were anxious for her next marvel. As she turned her interest towards the biological and medical aspects of new innovations, she did not, for the time being, expect that what she created would be something she could or would release to her backers. Some say it was selfishness, other's say she simply considered her new creations unmarketable, or even that her higher ethics balked at the notion of allowing that which she created every be bought and sold like some common commodity.
For what she created was... companions.
Of course, cloning was not a completely unknown science at the time (though it was a fairly new area of research, limited to growing eyes on a fly's leg and duplicating the occasional farm animal) and she could not claim such as her own discovery at any rate, so she had to create something decidedly new and different.
What inspired her will never be known, but as said before, she was thought to be a very lonely woman. Had she any friends, they might have recommended to her that she get a pet, or better yet, a man in her life.
Since it is believed she did not have such, no one is completely certain just why she decided to take these two reasonable options and combine them.
This, as said before, was not a discovery that the woman had intended to release to her backers, much less the public. It was, however, taken quite out of her hands when an enterprising tabloid reporter broke into her home with his camera to see if he couldn't find a big, career-advancing scoop in the domain of the secretive scientist.
He got his wish.
We have, in our oldest records, one or two of the many photographs he apparently took. What the female scientist created during those quiet years where she announced no new innovations was apparently a crude gene-splice between a human man and a dog; in other words, the very first Pokeboy.
The reporter was frankly rather disgusted with what he saw, namely a droopy, rather pitiful looking mutant slowly and clumsily sweeping the front walkway of the main house, to far from the main road and the properties large security gate (which he had already bypassed) to be seen by anyone outside. The gene-splice wore only a simple loincloth of canvas, loosely tied about his furry waist in a manner that the reporter described in his articles as the rainment of slavery. He would go on to describe the mutant's sullen, hang-dog expression (and he did not apologise for the pun either) and the numerous bald patches of swollen, bruised flesh that spoke of many and repeated beatings. He expounded at great length how the woman, obviously a violently extreme feminazi who hated all men, likely used this disgusting monster as a vent for all her repressed, disgusting, perverted S&M urges.
Many years later, the notes of the female scientist (now known only by the nickname "Baita", meaning "whore", a Japanese translation of the label used by the sensationalist American reporter. Though more of the true events of that period are being discovered, the demeaning name has unfortunately stuck) were uncovered, and the condition of the gene-splice was better explained. "Bobby" as she'd named him, was one of her earlier experiments in gene-splicing, and something less than a resounding success. Bobby was slightly more intelligent than the less evolved of his two genetic donors, though not by any great degree, having never mentally or emotionally advanced far beyond the level of a four-year-old human child. He understood most simple speech, though his attempts to articulate English words himself were usually unintelligible. Given his rate of ageing, she estimated he would only live about 25 years, if that. Bobby had been an important milestone in research into the possibilities of dual-species-genetic-combination, and she claimed to have learned more from him than from all her later creations combined. Considering all of that, it would be the height of ingratitude to terminate him simply because she'd learned all she could from him. More than that, Bobby was something very near to a child in her heart, and even without a professional ethos to guide her, she could never bring herself to harm him any more than a mother in her right mind would be able to strangle her newborn infant. So she continued to keep and care for him, giving him simple tasks to do (such as sweeping) that he was capable of grasping so that he could have a sense of pride and purpose. Like most small children, Bobby loved his "mother" and was eager to help her out in any way he could manage, as a way of returning the parental love she gave him.
The loincloth he wore was something of a compromise between the two of them. Bobby was extremely harry, and tended to both sweat and pant as a way of cooling down his body, neither of which was quite as effective for him as it would have been to a dog or human, respectively. Because he was basically a prototype, subtle details like his physiological systems had not been created to work as efficiently as if he were a product of natural evolution. Wearing clothes just made him even hotter than normally, but his "mother" insisted he have at least something below the waist to provide some decency. Since underwear she could buy at a store would accommodate his tail, she had been forced to make him something by hand... and sewing was not one of her many talents. The shabby loincloth that looked like it would better serve as a rage in some mechanic's garage was the sad result, but at least it covered his privates.
As for the discolourations and bald patches in his fur, bobby was prone to developing severe rashes as a result of several unusual allergies. He was not, admittedly, all that well made, but every little thing that went wrong with his body was something she could fix for her later creations. It was very sad for her that she could not correct Bobby's genetic flaws without killing him and remaking him from scratch, only treat the results. The places where the rash had gotten sufficiently nasty to cause his fur to fall out in clumps were the "welts and bruises of numerous beatings" that the reporter saw.
The culture of the USA in that time period was known for many things, remaining calm, rational and reasonable unfortunately not among them. The reporter's overblown story stirred up a mass panic among the public, which led to lots of picketing, riots, demands that the authorities do something about this "Sick, twisted, man-hating Dr. Frankenstein wanna-be" and before to long, a mob at her gate.
In her incomplete memoirs, "Baita" expressed grief that she had not been home at the time, even though she admitted in the same passage that she might well not have been able to calm the over-excited mob down with simple words and honest explanations. Quite likely they would have torn her to pieces without every pausing to hear the truth. There is little point in speculating what might have happened otherwise. What did happen was that the mob used a pick-up truck to smash through her sturdy iron security gate and destroyed her home.
Bobby would be found by her later, beaten to death as a freak and a monster, lying on her front steps as though he'd tried to defend their home from the bad people, with the simple courage of the child he was inside. Finding him that way broke her heart, and snapped her mind.
Bobby was not the only gene-splice Baita had running around her lab and home. There had been several others, each by turns a more successful and stable form of life, though none of them had yet reached their full adult size as Bobby had. They had been children in every sense of the word, save for their animalistic aspects. They had been babies, toddlers, unborn infants floating in large glass chemical "wombs" in her lab.
All dead. Every one of them murdered.
Her children... her babies...
The mob had set fires wherever they could, and her house was a complete loss. The lab buildings were slightly less flammable and still standing, but all her paper files and notes were gone. Every computer was smashed to pieces.
However, they had not found where she stored her back ups. All of her research to date, in every scientific discipline, including gene-splicing (up to last months work, at least) were all there for her. She had lost her home, her family, and the respect of her country... but she had her life's work.
And she had a purpose.
What happened after is part of the lost records of the era. We don’t know where Baita went, how she reacquired the needed materials to rebuild her lab in some hidden location. She disappeared from both the public and the private eye.
Now the reporter who'd stirred up this entire catastrophe had indeed advanced his career by leaps and bounds at the expense of Baita's children. He now had a very nice house in California, and lived well, enjoying his wealth. Five years after the destruction of Baita's home and lab, this reporter was found dead in his nice, luxurious home, appearing to have been torn to pieces by wild animals, though the forensics were unable to properly identify what species' fangs and claws had done the grisly dead. Even more disturbing was that the reporter's home, which boosted a fairly high-end, yet apparently insufficient security system, was sealed. Every door was bolted, every window locked, and all from the inside. A very careful and cautious search revealed that no one (or no thing) was still hiding anywhere in the house. There was no sign of either the culprits entry or leave-taking.
The reporter apparently got to be on television one last time, upon a television program called "Unsolved Mysteries".
Five years after this incident, the town nearest to where Baita's former estate (and presumably where the majority of that lynch mob lived) came under assault by a "pack" of over 100 terrifying "Monsters", though in hindsight we now know them to be the first generation of the modern, Pokeboys. Judging from the descriptions in later reports which have not been lost to time, they consisted entirely of what we now consider to be the most common Pokeboy types: Tomcats, Wolfmen, BearBobs, SlitherSteves, Jackhounds, Featherboys, and the like. The more powerful and varied types would appear in stages over the course of the next 50 years of the growing conflict.
The various battles and turning points of the First Pokeboy War can be gone into later. Though we should touch upon one major discovery which allowed humanity to turn the tide. The Pokeboy Army (if such a term is not too organised to apply to the rampaging horde they were at the beginning, before the more intelligent types appeared and began employing strategy) were mostly savage, bestial, and initially presumed totally immoral. They would butcher men on sight, but many, especially the more animalistic types preferred to rape the women brutally until sated, whereupon another of them would usually kill the brutalised woman as the rapist rested.
There was however, at one point, a slight change in the routine. A young woman, barely 17, had managed to run far enough that the one Jackhound chasing her had become totally separated from his pack. Finally, too exhausted to run any farther, the girl collapsed, panting for breath and shaking in terror. The Jackhound had stopped, seemingly disappointed that the entertaining chase was over, then sighed and began moving toward her.
Filled with fatalistic resignation to her fate, the panting girl rolled onto her back, pulled down her jeans and panties, and spread her legs. "Go ahead and get it over with. I've heard the stories; I know what you guys do. I just want it all to end so I don't have to be afraid anymore. Go on. I'm ready."
Likely she had meant that as "ready to face the afterlife" more than "I'm ready for mating" but either way the Jackhound was still somewhat baffled by this strange new approach. He'd been in a few battles so far, conquered his share of females before another Pokeboy, angry that there were no more women left for him, would spitefully come along and kill the female before the Jackhound lucky enough to have found some play could recover for another round. It always seemed to end up that way. The females run, the Pokeboys catch them, and release all the building frustrations within them threatening to drive them rabid (or "feral" to use modern terms). Then some poor sports who hadn't gotten any would ruin it for those who had.
Now this here was different. No female the Jackhound had yet encountered had ever offered to mate, or expressed an interest in mating with him. It kind of left his aggressive instincts confused and wondering who changed the script.
Pokeboys, as the girl would be the first to discover, have other instincts other than violence or savagely forcing a mating. With a willing partner, they feel less need to rush, and tend to be far gentler on average. Different endorphins releasing into their brains prompt different behaviour and different attitudes towards a female who demonstrates a willingness and a desire to mate with them. Rather than a quick and savage release of their tensions, in these sort of circumstances... Pokeboys attempt to form a more long-term bond.
The girl was surprised at how slowly and gently the Jackhound was with her. He seemed to be watching her carefully, observing her every reaction to his touch, nuzzles licks, and eventually the thrusting of his hips. He seemed to be expending a good deal of effort not to hurt her, and even more than that, to please her and help her enjoy the act. While she admittedly would not have chosen to have sex with this dog-man creature of her own volition, the girl had to admit... for a dog-boy, he wasn't that bad. Definitely a longer tongue than her last boyfriend, which had proven quite the asset at one point.
After the surprisingly gentle sex act was complete to the satisfaction of both (another surprise that; she had not expected to have an orgasm during her "rape", let alone two) the girl discovered something odd. The Pokeboy was snuggling, curling his slightly more flexible body around her like a big furry pillow. He did not make any attempt to kill her, nor harm her, nor even frighten her. While the girl was trying to puzzle out why this "savage monster" was behaving so oddly... affectionate, another Pokeboy, a Wolfman, came upon the pair from the direction of the distant carnage, likely tracking them here by scent. He snarled at the girl, who cowered back, when just then... the Jackhound began to growl.
He growled so powerfully, with such hostility... but rather than at her, he was growling at the Wolfman. More than that, he'd shifted to a blocking position, clearly defending her. What was going on?
Such thoughts were apparently in the Wolfman's head as well, for he took several steps back, confused. Why was his comrade defending the female? In his attitude and growls was a clear statement that if the Wolfman came to close to the girl, the Jackhound intended to hurt him severely, and never you mind which of the two species was the more powerful. The Jackhound would fight to the death to defend his new mate/master.
The baffled Wolfman left, though admittedly more puzzled than genuinely afraid.
Over the next several days, the Jackhound never left the girl's side, and never made the slightest threatening move or gesture towards her. Rather he acted very protective, and even hunted up food for her. She didn't quite know what to make of all this at first, but very soon discovered that, not only did he understand most English, but he was also quite amiable to doing whatever she asked him. At least until two days later, when his biological needs began reasserting themselves, causing him to start pulling and tugging at her clothes in gentle, if insistent attempt to get them off of her. After only a little hesitation, the girl (still thinking of herself somewhat as a prisoner of the beast) conceded and removed her clothes before he could rip them. She gave him her body once more (and was reluctantly forced to admit she quite enjoyed the experience as well) and after he was satisfied, they each cleaned themselves up and it was back to the previous routine for another couple days.
After a couple weeks of wandering through wilderness and the smoking ruins of smaller towns, the girl (who had been leading, the Jackhound content to "heel" most of the time) found an outpost of remaining humans. Though the Jackhound whined in concern, she fearlessly walked up and called to be let in.
Unsurprisingly, the first response she got was the report of the rifle that buried a large calibre round between the Jackhound's eyes. Someone had "saved" her from the "monster", and yet as she watched him collapse, blood gushing out of his face as his eyes slowly glazed over, the girl was struck with a sudden feeling of loss, as though somewhat she cared deeply for had just died. That, the rational part of her mind assured her, was absurd. She didn't love this monster! He was some savage mutant freak of science who had raped her... very gently and considerately, ensuring that she enjoyed herself at least as much as he did... and who had provided for her and protected her all the way here to the outpost... who had jumped to obey her desires and taken great joy in the slightest smile she'd occasionally offer him...
The humans who ushered her inside to safety assumed the tears running down her cheeks to be tears of relief that her ordeal was finally over. Actually it had more to do with the feeling of an empty hole in her chest where something precious to her had been only a few minutes ago, something now gone forever.
Through many conversations and a good deal of therapy, the human learned more about what the Pokeboys were and how they operated. It would be many years later before the strange feelings of deep loss the girl described could be properly identified as a Pokeboy Bond being violently broken, as opposed to the first diagnosis, which had been Stockholm syndrome. Given that they were at a war for their very survival, the humans were more interested in the fact that she had managed to get a Pokeboy not only to spare her life, but to obey her commands and apparently switch his loyalties over to her, even against his own kind. They made plans on how they might recreate the same scenario, and use such tactics to boost their forces and perhaps finally gain the upper hand in this conflict.
War makes people do many desperate things to survive that they never would have dreamed otherwise. There is hardly a need to say outright what was done, only that with their own Pokeboys fighting in defence of their mates/masters to act as a frontline to the normal human rifles and other more ranged weaponry, the tide of the conflict eventually turned. After 50 years of a war that grew to involve the whole world, devastating the populations of most nations, and in particularly the male of the species (armies having a tendency to consist mostly of men, if not exclusively so, as in many countries) there was finally an uneasy peace. Pokeboys were all either partners to human female masters, scattered from their packs to try their luck at wilderness survival, or slain.
Of the surviving Humans, five out of ever six were women, and that number spoke more of the utter devastation of the male population rather than any great number of women surviving. The lost of life had been immense. Rebuilding and reorganising were the primary concerns from then on, though remaining prepared to defend themselves against the scattered Pokeboys was always a serious concern. The bulwark of their defence at this point was, actually, the loyal Pokeboys, who would defend their mate/masters against their own kind with every ounce of ferocity they might have previously shown their human victims.
They were largely feared by most, trusted by fewer, and liked on a personal level by none perhaps save their bonded mates. They were, on the other hand, remarkably useful to have around when you're trying to rebuild a civilisation. Many of them proved quite adept at learning building related skills, and considering that some of them (such as the Bearbobs) were powerful enough to lift a steel girder without the benefit of a crane, no one could deny that they were proving handy... at least as long as their nominal owners kept them satisfied. They were known to become quite irritable if forced to go too long without, even quite violent in some cases.
Climbing back to something resembling a civilisation was not easy, and even to this day we are no where close to the population or prosperity our ancestors enjoyed at the Peak of the Human Era. There are less than a billion people worldwide, about 1.5 if you want to include owned and domesticated Pokeboys (though most don't bother). No one knows just how many there are in the wild, Feral and savage. To find them and bring them under control, or destroy them if the former is not possible, is the duty of Tamers.
Tamers are those who dedicate their lives, sacrificing their virginity and celibacy to catch and maintain control over Pokeboys, encouraging them with the pleasures of the flesh to be helpful rather than harmful. Their duty is to go out into the world and find feral Pokeboys, seduce them into following, and employ their strength and special abilities to help and serve Womankind (or "humanity" if you prefer, not that there's much of a distinction these days) wherever the opportunity is provided.
There, that is a brief History of Pokeboys and how they came to be. So, are you ready to start your taming Journey, Miss...
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(Posted Thu, 05 Oct 2006 00:09)
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