Music pounded through the floor, or at least the bass portion did. The students from the floor below were blasting Lords of Acid for the hall party they were throwing, making it abundantly clear what kind of party they were intending to throw. Although since it was a party at Pocket Monster University, the sex and intoxicants probably would have been implied anyway. It was the last weekend before class, and that meant that nearly all the students had arrived, and the parents had gone home, and no one had any homework yet. There was a party going on in every single dorm. In the Elm Dorm that Damian lived in, that party was graciously being hosted by the occupants of the hall just downstairs from the room he shared with Adelaide.
Adelaide hadn't wanted to go down until the party was well under way. This was paradoxically because she was shy. She worried that if she was in a party with few people that was just starting, that she'd be put on the spot and forced to perform socially for strangers. Once there were a large number of revelers, she could hide in the crowd and watch the socially adventurous do their mating dances. This had been her strategy at school dances and such before she became a trainer. She would hide in the crowds and peripheries while watching Willow and her friends be glamorous and popular. This time she was going with Willow as her
property
rather than as her unobtainable object of longing, but she still had no intention of putting herself forward in a raucous social setting.
Having no particular goals as far as the party went, Damian was happy enough to delay his arrival so that they could go downstairs in a group. He would have been just as happy to spend the last nights before classes started in bed with Beatrice. The days had been spent exploring parts of PMU's vast campus, and it would have been fine with him if he and Adelaide had simply bent their Pokegirls over the furniture for some nighttime training sessions. But as the sheer loudness of the evening would preclude any reasonable aftercare for any playtime, any prospect of a night in was simply out the window. As such, going down and meeting some of the other students in their dorm seemed like as good a plan as they were going to have.
All the doors were held open in the hall, allowing the party to extend into any and all of the dorm rooms. Some tables had been dragged into the actual hall and there were drinks and snack bowls on them. Freshman parties in other parts of the country would presumably try to be a bit more discreet with the alcohol, but since a trainer ID could be used to buy liquor regardless of when the holder's twenty-first birthday appeared in the calendar, at PMU the vodka was simply in plain view. A quick and casual stroll down the hallway taught Damian two things: that many of the party-goers were visitors from other dorms, and that the party atmosphere was really different in the different rooms. Apparently people with like minded ideas of how the partying should go had already managed to find each other well before Damian and Adelaide had come down with Beatrice and Willow in tow.
They weren't the only people who had brought their Pokegirls out of their Pokeballs, not by a long shot. Almost half the people at the party were pocket monsters, meaning that almost everyone had brought out their plus one.
In one of the rooms, the attendees had made a circle around a large breasted cow girl, and they were tormenting her. She was blond and had little cow horns sticking through her short curls. The cow girl wore a tight white tank top that clung tightly to her massive udders and displayed her extremely erect nipples. Around her neck was a thick black collar, from which hung a brass bell. Her skin was pale to almost to the point of being paper-white, but had brown splotches in no particular pattern. Her green skirt barely extended below the round curves of her rump, leaving little to the imagination as her thick thighs came together just above the hem. Behind her was a woman with short black hair and long black nails, Damian assumed she was the cow girl's trainer. An audience of eight other young women and one man watched with evident excitement. Damian and Beatrice entering the room increased the number of men by one hundred percent, and the number of women by only ten percent.
"You want these tits
milked
, don't you Hilda?" The black-haired woman smiled cruelly, and pinched her fingernails into the Pokegirl's exposed nipples with evident sadism. "Give us a
moo
, Hilda. You're a milk cow now, Hilda, you need to moo. If you moo for these people, we'll
milk
your fat tits." The woman's right hand left the afflicted nipple and disappeared into the waistband of the Pokegirl's green skirt. "We could milk your submissive pussy too, Hilda. Would you like that? Would you like to give us your milk or your cream? Maybe both? All you have to do is moo for us."
The flustered Pokegirl humped her hips into the trainer's invading hand and shook her head. The action made thunk thunk noises from her cowbell and caused her hair to bounce into dishevelment. "No... I don't... I'm not..." Her denials weren't especially convincing, but it was obvious that she wasn't comfortable mooing in public.
That discomfort was like the frosting on a cake for the other women, especially the woman who was most active in dominating the big titted Pokegirl. "You
can
Hilda. You're a cow. If you just moo for us, I'll let you cream on my hand. Once you start mooing, we can milk you into submission. You'd like that, wouldn't you Hilda? You'd like to spray the last of your willpower into a milk pale. Just mooing away as a submissive tit-slave." She turned to the audience. "I think Hilda needs some encouragement. What do you think Hilda needs to say?"
Given permission to join in on the bullying, the other women and the man started a cacophony of heckling.
"Give us a moo!"
"Moooooooo!"
"You should mooove your hips more, cow-slut!"
"Mooo for us!"
"Be a good slave and mooooo!"
Damian wasn't sure who was shouting each cow-call, but it really didn't matter. The effect of the verbal abuse was very obvious on the conflicted Pokegirl, as she shuddered and bounced her groin and chest. "Nooo... I need... I can't..." The insults from the peanut gallery continued, and the trainer leaned in to whisper something into Hilda's ear. Damian probably wouldn't have been able to hear what had been said even if there wasn't a speaker blaring acid house music just outside the room and a disorderly group of hecklers inside it. Whatever the Pokegirl had been told, the effect was obvious as she began crying and let out a sorrowful Moo of defeat.
The crowd cheered, and continued heckling her with moos and related taunts as she began bucking and mooing in earnest. The trainer pulled her skirt up until it was practically a belt, and then pulled the shirt up until it was little more than a necklace. When her jiggling privates were exposed and everyone assembled could see how both vagina and nipples had begun to leak, the trainer barked an order. "All fours, cow-slut!" The tone of voice didn't suggest that there was room for argument, and Hilda complied by falling to her hands and knees. Her juicy ass cheeks flexed, and Damian's heart sense nearly bowled him over with her apparent need for submission to extraction or penetration. She was too close to slavegasm to be overly picky about
how
she was dominated.
"Mooo! Mooo!" Hilda cried and mooed while an empty punch bowl was placed under her swaying tits. A painful-looking yank on her nipples later, and she was spraying white liquid directly into the bowl. "Moo! Moo-hoo-hoo!" Tears streamed down her face as she began to orgasm. A gush of creamy fluid escaped her spasming cunt, but this too had been predicted. A red plastic cup was on hand to catch most of her ejaculate, with only a few drops making their way to the floor. Damian idly wondered how easy the floors were to clean. The brochures had promised that they'd been alchemically treated, but he had no real idea of what that meant in the face of cow girl pocket monster pussy cream.
The black haired woman held up the cup in triumph. As it passed across light sources, it was clearly almost a quarter full. "Hilda the cow-slut has embraced her slave nature and the milking has begun! Any of you other sluts need milking? Just get on all fours next to Hilda and moo for your relief. If you moo, you will be milked like the dairy slut you are!" She waved her hand and drew attention to the fact that more punch bowls and plastic cups were available.
At first, Damian's impulse was to scoff. Surely no one who had seen the humiliation that Hilda had been subjected to would willingly crawl over and moo just for the opportunity of being verbally and physically abused? As soon as the thought had fully formed in his mind, he realized what an error he had made. Of
course
that kind of degradation would find takers! Half the women in the room were Pokegirls, who needed to be sexually dominated as surely as they needed to eat and drink. As two more Pokegirls crawled up in the tits-down, ass-up position for milking, the only thing that really surprised him from his heart sense was how close some of the trainers were to getting into the same position. It wouldn't take a lot of bullying to convince some of the non-Pokegirl audience members to get down on hands and knees to join the mooing chorus. The night wasn't nearly over, and he thought it likely that some of the trainers would end up cumming away their dignity while squirting their cream into a drinking cup before the party broke up for dawn.
A small hand next to a large stinger pulled on Damian's shirt sleeve. "Master, do you wish for me to be milked?" Beatrice's expression was always hard to read, but her humming was nervous enough that he could tell that she found the prospect both frightening and exciting.
It was an offer that Damian had to think about before answering. Obviously humiliation and public display were useful training tools, and some submissives craved that kind of treatment and needed it as part of their regular domination. Plus, there was an undeniable narcissistic thrill of being able to show off a slave to an envious audience. Watching a group of horny trainers rubbing their thighs together while they salivated over his slave
would
be a thrill. But it wasn't without its risks. He would actually have very little control over such a scene, and couldn't easily stop or change course if it started to go badly for Beatrice's physical or psychological health.
He thought back to the time he had leashed up Lianne and taken her bare below the neck into the boy's locker room. She had, at his order, told the football team that her pussy was off limits because it was owned by her master. That had caused such a ruckus that the star running back Jake had tried to punch Damian in the face, and then Damian had power slammed Jake into the concrete floor. The vice principal had spent an hour trying to convince Lianne to accuse Damian of some crime or another. The whole experience was considered by Lianne to be one of the greatest moments of her life, and he now recognized that his intuition to pull the stunt in the first place had been inspired by her own fantasies that he had been detecting with his heart reader ability. But while the ordeal was enough for Lianne to move to Schlicktenstein, it wasn't a place Damian wanted to be.
Damian shook his head. "Beatrice, if I decide to show you off, I'm gonna make sure I have a lot more control over the scene. I don't want to put you
in
a position of vulnerability that I can't get you
out
of." He kissed her on the mouth. "You're important to me, and I have a responsibility as your owner. We can milk your honey when everyone watching is someone I can trust." His words, or perhaps his kiss, brought a smile to her lips.
