“This is a catastrophe!”

President Amberley Woodlove slammed her tiny paws down on the polished desk, whiskers twitching. As the first rabbit leader of the TNA (Territorial Nation of Animalia), she’d campaigned hard on three core issues. Closing all borders, supporting family values, and solving the low birth rate crisis. As it turned out, shutting down the influx of new families, and illegalising “Corrupt, Adult industries” had not, in fact, led to more people staying at home and making babies.

“Elections are next year, I need a solution, people. Now!”

Her advisors shuffled their paws, clutching reports, looking anywhere but at the bite sized bunny with her lion sized temper. They’d tried, everything, to complete her last campaign pledge, anything to earn them a quantifiable win.

Public community seminars on the subject had led to epidemics of mass embarrassment when it became clear that everyone was expected to attend.

The Sexual Advice Hotline had drained huge amounts of funds before it transpired most of the callers were young men looking for free erotic audio.

The “Bums are fun, but don’t waste your cum” posters had not only been a PR nightmare, but had all vanished a few hours after being put up, as did the anatomically correct pamphlets explaining proper breeding practices.

And their attempts to work with churches up and down the country had resulted in a religious schism over whether or not “Missionary position” was blasphemous, and if not, how to do it correctly.

Tentatively, the science advisor stepped forward, fear in her feline eyes.

“Um, madam president… there’s always… him.”

Gasps and protests filled the room, angry faces rounding on the oft-picked on, and least favourite member of their circle. Shouts such as “He’s still on the run,” and “Crimes against fur-kind,” filled the oblong office until they were silenced when they noticed the expression on the presidents face.

“Get me a phone.”

***

“And you’re sure this will work?” For the umpteenth time, at the eleventh hour, President Woodlove asked the question that no-one believed the answer to. All about the war room, serious faces watched the green blip moving across the giant monitor, talking about diverted flight plans, radio blackouts and other clandestine terms as they conducted an operation that would, never, be spoken of outside those doors.

T-Minus 10 minutes.

“Of course it will work, Madam President,” the bespectacled rat assured, failing to convince anyone with his stained lab-coat, snapped whiskers, and the general air of insanity that pervaded every space he lingered in. “So long as the V.A.G bomb is deployed at the correct altitude, and our meteorological predictions are accurate, the payload will be safely delivered over South Riding, and every target within a twenty mile radius will be successfully inseminated.”

T-Minus 8 minutes.

Professor Alexander Barnabas Clifford Darwin, fidgeted in his nervous excitement, a feeling close to ecstasy filling him as he watched his life’s work finally being put to use. The long months on the lam were nothing but a minor setback, as he’d known they would be, and now he could barely contain himself as he watched the satellite feed of the bomber jet flying over the barely waking countryside.

5 minutes.

They’d selected a quiet, rural state, with only one major city to trial the V.A.Gs on. South Riding was mostly isolated, and the majority of the citizens were below the poverty line, which would make it easier to control the story. But if this test was a success, then the small community of South Rider’s was about to get a whole lot bigger.

1 minute.

With bated breath, everyone followed the live feed from the pilots, the green dot barely moving now as it completed the final adjustments.

10 seconds.

9.

“Opening bay doors now,” the static crackle of the pilot’s voice filled the hushed room.

5.

“Dropping payload.”

4.

“It’s away, climbing to safe altitude”

3.

2.

1.

“Deployment confirmed, repeat, Deployment confirmed. Looks kinda pretty from up here.”

Cheers, congratulations, handshakes, while on the screens an opalescent mist began to filter through the thick, stormy looking clouds, above the unsuspecting people of South Riding.

***

Stephanie spluttered a string of curse words between ragged gasps. Out of breath, every pant was punctured by a small cry of “Fuck,” or “Shit,”, as the golden streak of cheetah sprinted into the shelter of the bus stop. Fat, heavy drops of rain were splattering the road, the freak shower catching early morning commuters completely unaware.

“Should have listened to mum,” she grumbled, wringing out her skirt as she watched the heavens unload. “Shitty WeatherApp is never right.”

She did a quick inventory of her bag, and breathed a sigh of relief at finding her text books weren’t soaked, even if the satchel was dripping all over the place. Last thing she needed was to have to buy new ones. Wet and miserable, the teen sat and started fiddling with her phone, waiting for the bus and knowing it would be late, while outside her little plastic shelter the rain seemed to grow even heavier. Every drop landing with a weighty ‘Splat’, kicking up a misty spray that made it hard to see much further than to the next junction.

She’d just finished watching something online, when a flurry of movement caught her eyes. Looking up, she watched the odd display of a doberman, tearing and slapping at her clothes, half running, half flailing down the street. The woman looked to be trying to tear off her top, or as if she was covered in ants. She’d managed to free her arms from her sweater, before falling forward onto all paws. Stephanie stood up, about to stick her head out to ask if she was alright, but stopped as she saw motion she couldn’t explain. It was like the puddle, the thick steaming rain, surged forward, around the dog’s legs, a subtle tide that made the water climb up her thighs, even as she kicked her feet and crawled forward, a mad look of panic in her eyes.

Stunned, disbelieving, Stephanie’s phone pointing at the scene on automatic, the cheetah watched as clearly visible rivulets, tendrils of off-white water, starting moving up the lady’s legs, converging on her crotch. The victim moaned and shook visibly, as she gave a view up her skirt, at the soaked panties that pressed inwards around her spade, and then, split. All at once the bitch across the way spasmed and her moans rose to a feverish pitch, as the upward flowing stream rushed into her visibly parted sex. The undulating tide rocked her with its intensity, and soon her face fell forward, as her arms buckled, leaving her prostrate and panting while whatever was in the rain, ravished her.

Unable to look away, but filled with panic, Stephanie stopped recording and called the first person she could think of, blind to the slow trickle, making its way towards her.

“Mum! There’s something wrong with the rain!”

***

“Come on dear, it’s just a little shower,” Lydia assured her daughter over the line, finishing washing up from breakfast while Fred, her husband, was in the shower, cleaning up after their morning fun.

“Mum I’m serious. I sent you a video, did you see it yet?!”

She had seen it, or enough of it anyway. “Yes I did, and I think it was in really poor taste, I know you think it’s a joke sending dirty videos to your mum, but imagine if we’d had someone over. Or if you accidentally sent it to your teachers. When you get back we’re going to have to have a serious talk about how you-”

A sharp squeaking chirp came down the line, which Lydia recognised as the sound of a surprised cheetah in distress, followed by a sudden clatter.

“Stephie? What’s happening, don’t you play games with me young lady, you’re not too old to be grounded you hear?”

Muffled scrabbling came from the speaker, and then a panicked cry of “It’s got me!”

***

“Madam President, you’re going to want to see this.”

Scowling, Amberley took the phone from her aide’s paws and looked at the bleary footage on the screen, about to give a piece of her mind about interrupting her while she was having a “Casual Chat” with one of her key donators. But what she saw killed the rebuke in a heart beat.

“I’ll have to call you back, Daniel,” unceremoniously ending the call. She rounded on the man at her side. “What am I looking at here?”

Gulping, he looked her straight in the eye, “the live feed from the observation team in Little South Riding City.”

***

Something wet, and warm, was crawling up her leg. At first Stephanie hadn’t noticed, her socks were soaking anyway, and her fur too, but when it started to wriggle, then she realised it wasn’t just rain on her thighs.

Just like the doberman, she tried batting it off herself, but it just smashed the thin streamers further into her spotty pelt, where they quickly reformed and continued their march. The drops on her fingers did the same, swiftly running down her arm and heading for her top.

“Mum, help! I can’t get it off!” Wide eyed she back-stepped, but the puddle followed, staying under her, more pouring in under the walls of the bus shelter, catching about her feet and starting to climb. The air about her grew thick and musky, steamy, as she struggled to hold onto her phone, and use one of the books from her bag to scrape off the persistent, gooey liquid.

“Stephie?! Baby what’s happening!?” Her mum’s panicked voice rang in her ears, just as she felt the first, firm, press, of pressure, right between her thighs.

She gave another surprised chirp, as, just like the lady across the road, a mass of warm liquid began to push on her underwear, driving them inwards, rubbing her little kitty, and grinding flimsy fabric over her clit. It was warm, like rain shouldn’t be outside the tropics, and it seemed to vibrate as it kept amassing.

“Oh shit, oh shit oh shit,” she moaned, praying desperately that the cheap pants held a little longer, trying not to feel what was happening about her mound but unable to block out the ticklish feel as some trickles managed to make their way around the sides, climbing her lips, reaching her skin, digging…

She gasped, the panties snapped, and the tide rolled in.

***

“Fred! Get down here! Something’s wrong!”

Momma cheetah dropped the phone, just after she heard her girl do the same, turning to run up the stairs and grab her husband from his overly long shower. But as she stepped away from the sink, she had a stupid moment of thinking she was wearing gloves. Rubbery white envelopes encased her forepaws, all the way to the elbow as she withdrew them from the soapy, opaque, water. That’s when she realised, they were moving.

Running off her fingers, down and around her elbows, the two sleeves of off-white liquid flowed quickly into her shirt, causing a squeak as they ran hot trails down her breasts, rushing south as quick as gravity could take them.

“Freddie! Freddie help!”

“I-I’m a-AH! A li-ttle busy up here!”

Upstairs in the shower, Fredrick Scoot was far worse off than his wife of many years. Doused head to foot, and naked, he was encased, in writhing, white.

***

“Explain yourself professor!”

Hand-cuffed, Professor Darwin huffed in disgruntlement while the supposed leader of the Fur World, glared at him across a table.

“What’s to explain? It looks like the Vitally Augmented Gametes are proceeding as planned.” In fact they were doing quite well, he thought, seeing emergent swarm behaviour that he’d only theorised might be possible. The footage being streamed in live from the ground team filled him with pride, as he watched the modified, artificial spermatozoids wriggle their way to their intended targets.

“As planned? As planned!?” Indignantly, the first rabbit president slapped her tiny paws over and over on the table. “They’re raping those people, this isn’t what I asked for! You promised-”

“That they’d all be inseminated, yes. Madam President, you do know how babies are made, don’t you?”

A polite cough and a blush went up around the interrogation room.

“Well… yes, of course, but… I just, you didn’t say…”

Sighing, the rat used his tail to push up his spectacles, and tried yet again to explain his genius.

“How else are they going to reach their targets? Wriggle through their belly buttons?” He scoffed, “Just like wild salmon in mating season, each V.A.G is possessed of a strong drive to migrate to its target destination, those being between the legs of any bi-pedal animal. Once there, they are drawn by scent excretions into the vaginal and anal cavities, where normal Spermatozoa behaviour can reassert itself.”

“Anal? But won’t that include-”

“Males, yes. Didn’t you read my briefing? It was a side-effect initially, but a very useful one, as the chromosomes in each of them act as gene therapy for men, boosting their own productivity and virility by quite a factor, let me tell you.” He was very chuffed about that part, not just because of a little hands on, self testing, but because there was nothing more beautiful in science, then serendipity.

***

“Ooooh gods,” Stephanie moaned as she felt a warm, rolling tide, move and undulate between her walls. It pressed into every part of her, between every fold of her pristine pussy. It navigated around her hymen, leaving it unbroken, but taut as a drum, and vibrating as yet one more sensation in the overwhelming experience.

After she’d dropped her phone, she’d just managed to catch herself before falling over, hands pressed against the wall, bent at a right angle. Her tail had shot up the moment the second tendril had started pressing into her pucker, making her present to anyone walking by. Not that anyone was walking by, all having fallen prey to the rapacious rain.

“Oh fuuuck~” She half sighed, half sobbed, unable to cope with the feeling of every millimetre of her sensitive flesh being heated, and pressed, and rolled over by billions upon billions of individual organisms. They squeezed through everything, adding a ticklish feel across her whole body as lost drops worked under her bra, her armpits, down her sides, before converging on her sex. “Oh gods, why, does it feel, good?”

On the other end of the abandoned phone, left untouched by the unnatural fluid, she could hear similar such noises coming from her mother. Gasps and pants, cries of “Oh fuck,” damaging her image of the elder cat, as she heard her cursing and purring as she was likewise invaded.

She was purring too, her tight teen body shivering from top to bottom as a full length vibration took over her muscles, her eyes crossed, mouth hanging open. A few trickles entered her maw and tasted salty, as her tongue sub-consciously flicked out to lap them off her muzzle. A heady feeling built up, better than when she’d been snuck a drink by a friend, a breathless tension what had her cleft tighten and spasm, and her voice devolve into a keening cry, before the explosion struck.

“Oh fuck… yes!”

***

“Oh fuck, yes,” Lydia lay on her back, a thick river of white coming down from the sink to puddle under her, leaving her like a lewd island in a rippling sea. The mother cheetah was not a stranger to sex, and when the inevitable had become pleasurable, she’d swiftly lost her dress.

Why fight it? After all, her husband could be heard upstairs, moaning his way through a climax of his own. She could hear her daughter on the phone, and she seemed to be having fun now too. If whatever this was just wanted to give her a good time, well, she wasn’t against the idea.

“H-how are you, doing up there, Freddy?”

“Nghhh~”

She chuckled, he always was weak to a little pegging. Not that she was much better. Embracing the situation, she’d been rubbing pawfuls of the goop all over her naked fur, marvelling at how it wriggled over her nipples, leaving her nearly dry as it went, but always moved ‘South’ with unerring precision.

Tasting it, it had the familiar bitter salty tang of cum, something she new well as a happily married woman. But was more intense, leant more on the umami, and didn’t cling or cloy when it moved on.

“Mmph, h-here comes, a big one, Freddy,” she crooned happily for her husband’s enjoyment, knowing he loved to hear her climax, sensing the pressure build in her belly again. It came easily, an electric current that puffed up her pelt in a rippling wave, just as the pool drove all the harder and deeper into her guts and womb. She shouted it outloud, not holding back a single syllable of her pleasure, and was echoed by the man upstairs emptying his own lungs with one more overflowing orgasm.

“I… hope this never… ends.”

***

“When will it end?”

The interrogation room was full of cigarette smoke and vape fog, worried faces looking between each other, each already working out who to pin the blame on.

Chewing the paper rim of a coffee cup, Professor Darwin thought for a moment, tail propping up his chin.

“Hmmm, well, sperm cells typically only survive a few minutes outside of optimum conditions.” His words garnered a few relieved sighs from his audience, “and can survive to up to a week inside a compatible mucous layer such as a found in women.”

“A week, alright, we can manage a we-”

“However!” The nibbled cup pinged off the interrupting officials snout, “My V.A.Gs can survive in any sufficiently moist environment for up to seven-hundred and sixty-nine hours, or thirty-two days if you prefer.”

“A-a-a month! Gods, is there anything we can do to stop them? An off switch or something”

The rodent wrinkled his brow, “Off-switch? These aren’t robots we’re talking about here, they’re entirely individual organisms, once released they will do all they can to deliver their chromosomal package into a host, it’s their biological imperative.”

Faces looked back and forth, but all landed on the rabbit at the centre of the room.

Amberley had been uncharacteristically quiet, thinking over her options, what could she do. But all that was left was the extreme.

“Blockade South Riding, complete blackout,” her words met with gasps and mutters, but she pressed on, ears flat about her head, “we picked the place because we could contain anything that went wrong. Until the super sperm-”

“V.A.Gs!”

“Super, sperm, have dried up, we have to keep word from getting out. We’ll need all paws on this one, people, not a word of this gets, ou-”

“Madam president!” The nicotine smog cloud escaped, as the door burst open, a pain faced air-force officer gasping as he came in, “meteorology just got in touch. We’ve got a freak weather formation coming in, it’s going to pass straight through South Riding.”

Cold chills went down everyone’s tails.

“How bad, is it?” First bunny president Woodlove gulped, knowing just how bad it was going to be.

“The seeded clouds will be dissipated, over the entire nation.”

***

Unknown orgasms later, a bloated cheetah crawled her way up the drive to her home. Her belly was bulging, as if she’d swallowed a watermelon, her clothes were mostly intact, but completely translucent with wet, clinging tight and failing to hide anything.

The force in the rain, whatever it was, had had her on her knees for an hour, panting and mewling her way through an endless string of climaxes, till her brain had switched off.

When she’d regained consciousness, it hadn’t stopped, but she’d reached such a saturation point that she was able to stumble back, passing men and women, in much the same position she was in. Every house she passed she heard sighs of exhausted pleasure, the whole of Little South Riding City was stuck in a loop of Orgasm and afterglow.

“I-I’m home,” she mumbled, falling through the door with a very loud ‘Splat’, and a gush of squished out fluid (which at once pummelled itself back into her, angry at its expulsion).

“Sweetie… is… is that you?” She heard her mum call from the kitchen, her voice strained as she tried to sound like she wasn’t in the midst of her own soft summit of pleasure.

Stephanie didn’t really care anymore, just dragged herself onto the linoleum floor, and up to the naked lady with her own swollen stomach. The pair curled up and sighed, letting the experience take them. Little aware that the swelling was only beginning.

***

The following year, President Hevea became the first panda to take office. Born to third generation migrants, she ran on a platform of free contraceptives for schools, sexual tolerance among consenting adults, and open boarders to solve the over-population crisis.