What are you doing here?

The hamster way.

Redraw. Dunno if I like this one better, but needed it cleaned/abridged for printing. It would be criminal not to include fan favorite, Unhinged Hamster Woman.

I'm selling a physical compilation of Mouseworld comics at Anthrocon 2026! If you can't make it, digital PDFs are now available!

TWs: Rape play, drug usage, medical play, a bit of breeding kink mixed in as well— it’s a short one folks.

“You’re so right doc, I can’t feel a thing!”

The medication was perfect— she’d been so worried about having to get her first exam done, now, she didn’t even have to think about it.

“Very good, very good— I’m almost done, don’t you worry.”

Behind the curtain, the doctor stood behind the stirrups, his cock buried deep in the warm cunt of his patient. She took the drugs without question, only knowing she would be numb from the waist down for an hour. Thankfully for the doctor, it also made her brain a little woozy, so she couldn’t feel the slight jolts of her body as he fucked into her.

Leaning forward, he buries himself inside her, releasing a second load into the condom he wore.

“That… feels so deep doc, I can kinda feel something—“

“Shhh it’s okay,” he chuckled lightly, “just…. Checking your cervix. That’s all—“

His calmly delivered line was cut off when he felt the condom burst as he rut forward.

Having only meant to nudge at it— instead, two fat loads of cum were delivered at once.

Pulling himself back from over the curtain so she couldn’t see, he felt his cock throb. “Oh, shoot.” He chuckled again, sighing, “looks like I forgot the swab. This may take a little bit… longer…”

Just another excuse to push another pill towards her. Pulling his cock out, he watches as cum begins to drool from her, peeling the broken condom off, he discards it and finds himself rocking his tip between her folds, pushing in with the quietest groan he could let out.

The fertility treatments make you feel fuzzy and warm. It’s hard to concentrate on anything too long. The first time you were led to a trough to eat mealy goop on your hands and knees, you hesitated. A firm spank on your bare ass made you reluctantly bend your head and start munching. The girl (wait, cow) next to you smacked loudly. It felt gross and embarrassing.

Now with hormones flooding your system, the feed tastes so good. You eagerly shove your face into it and basically hoover it into your system. The farmer watching you chuckles. “That’s it, cow bitch. Get nice and plump.” Your face burns with shame but you keep swallowing mouthfuls of the dense protein goop.

Within two weeks, your thighs and ass are noticeably rounder. Your tits—udders—sway more as you crawl around the large barn and the pasture you’re allowed to explore twice a day. Everything feels so hazy, so perfect.

It’s during one of your pasture crawls that you start feeling warmth between your legs. The heat comes on suddenly. Within minutes, you can think of nothing except trying to relieve the ache. Only your training keeps you from reaching a hand down to rub yourself.

The ache grows throughout the day until you’re trembling with need. A farmer comes to round the cows up for their evening meal. He’s the tall broad one with thick hands. He smacks each cow lightly on the bottom as they file past him into the barn. When it’s your turn, the slap on your rump elicits an involuntary moan. It sounds hoarse and lusty even to your ears.

The farmer pauses, looks you over, then shouts to someone in the barn. “Mark Sweetie Pie down for tomorrow, she’s in heat.” Your face burns bright red. You know exactly what’s in store for you, having watched it happen to other cows several times every day.

You can barely sleep that night. The pulsing between your legs is unbearable. Curled on your side in your hay bed, you try to rub your legs together a little. It’s no good, too little friction. Your hands and feet are tied to fence posts on opposite sides of your stall—loosely, so you can move around and sleep comfortably, but unable to touch yourself to relieve your burning need. The farmers don’t rely on a cow’s training sticking when she’s in heat.

When the farmers come to fetch you in the morning, they find you sprawled out, legs wide, moaning. It’s so embarrassing but you can’t stop. You see the tall broad one look directly at the wetness coating your thighs and you shudder with shame. It feels so good, though. Before you can stop yourself, you let out a long, low moo.

He laughs. “Don’t worry, Sweetie Pie. We’re gonna take care of that right quick for you.” You thrust your mound in the air as if begging him to take care of it right then. He laughs again. “Oh no, you horny cow bitch. We need to do it properly so we can make sure the seed takes.”

He leads you to the breeding floor. You can feel your slick juices trickling down your legs. You know everyone else can see it too. The other cows watch passively. Most of them have gone through this already. You look at the bred ones and their faces look blank and dumb. What’s about to happen to you will make you look like them. Just a placid breeding cow.

Your legs tremble as you crawl up on the mounting station. You lay face down on the mounting board and someone brusquely lifts your feet into the stirrups and then cranks them wide so your bare crotch is well exposed. Someone else fist pumps over your udders. You won’t have milk yet but getting milked and seeded at the same time is said to increase fertility. Your hands are bound down by your sides. This isn’t strictly necessary but you know the farmers like the aesthetic of a girl bound and spread, udders hanging off one end and cunt off the other. A slab of fuckmeat.

You’re left in this position for a good ten minutes. They want you to savor your first breeding. Shame pulses through your body. Your entire existence comes down to this. You’re an animal, a breeding cow, a bitch. This is what it means to be female.

When a rough hand finally lands on your rump, you gasp. Remembering yourself, you turn it into a meek moo. Your farmer, as you now think of the broad one, chuckles. “I love a cow’s first breeding,” he tells you. “You’re not really a cow until you’re properly knocked up.” You moo in agreement, face burning. One of the cows watching you clenches her legs together. Your shame is making her drip.

You hear a zipper, then—your farmer’s cock is at your entrance. Your entire body twitches, causing him to chuckle again. He takes his time, drawing his erection slowly around the glistening lips of your cow cunt. Your cow cunt! You moo in shame, this time louder. The humiliation of this is making your entire body ache with need. You’re a fuckcow!

Just as this shameful acceptance of your fate flits across your mind, your farmer impales you on his cock. Fuck, it feels so good! You groan loudly, earning a slap across your rump. You have to moo. So you do, over and over again. Each time he thrusts inside your cow cunt, you moo so loud that it echos from the rafters.

“That’s it, bitch!” the farmer grunts, pumping your hole harder. “Show me how a cow milks seed!” You obey, mooing and gripping his cock with your cow cunt. The pumps work your udders hard. Hormonal lust courses through your body.

You meet the eyes of a cow watching you. Her eyes and mouth are rounded in awe. She looks like a dumb cow. Just like you. “Moooooooo!” you bellow as your cow cunt spasms hard. You cum on the cock breeding you.

Not every person can feel the physical act of having someone ejaculate inside them, as much as we might want to believe that.

Some are very sensitive to it and can feel every warm spurt coat all the surfaces inside them, painting their hole with potent sperm.

Others only just feel the warm sensation of being filled up--the temperature difference of hot cum being released.

Some people feel nothing at all, but can only know you're about to release through your actions, gestures, sounds, and words.

This is why it's so important to communicate that you're about to give it to them deeply. Tell the person you're fucking that you're about to cum, and shove in as much as you can when you do. Let them feel the weight of you pressing in between their legs. Grind your pelvis against theirs. Let yourself be heard: don't suppress any grunts or vocalizations as you feel your load rising and rushing out of your scrotum and into your partner. Don't. Cum. Quietly.

Tell them it's happening. Make them feel used, or special, or slutty. Give them feedback that you're emptying your seed inside.

It’s easy to keep women in line if you remember our basic operating instructions. Stimulation of the cunt will induce obedience, sexual excitement, and craving for humiliation.

To maximize the potential of the female mating response, it would make sense to implement public fuck stations. Basically these would be phallic objects for women to casually impale themselves on during the day.

Imagine going to a restaurant and the server asks how many are in your party. The next question is how many cunts are with you. When you get a table, the place settings for the bitches are chairs with fat dildos securely fastened on them. Your wife, daughters, and any free use sluts you picked up can lift their skirts and sink down to impale themselves for the meal.

Buses, subways, and commuter trains all have lines of plastic cocks for women to bend over and secure themselves on. Men can experience the entertainment of watching bitches struggle to balance on a rocking train solely by clenching their cunts on the stabilizing pricks.

Movie theaters and sports stadiums have bitch seats for any females accompanying a man. Even grocery carts are modified to have an extended arm with a fake cock so women can shop while filled, waddling down the aisles with their staked cunts on display.

It will become second nature for females to plan their day around cock. To walk into a board room filled with men and complacently take the bitch seat in the corner to take notes. To use the fuck stations next to vending machines hoping to catch a man’s eye while he’s on his lunch break.

Living as a bitch in this society requires constant attention for the cumsleeve. The natural female addiction to being impaled is encouraged rather than suppressed, to the point where women have difficulty thinking about anything else.

Every bitch wears skirts that barely cover their crotch, which is of course instantly exposed by any movement at all. Pussies are expected to be bare and well-maintained so men can appreciate watching them get stuffed.

Every morning, I walk to the bus stop. Today I recognize the man already waiting there; he was my younger brother’s best friend growing up. I was bossy to both of them, something they’ve each made me regret many times.

He eyes me as I approach. “Hi, bitch.” Casual, barely interested.

I nod to him as I approach the stop’s fuck stations. I hate to do this in front of him, but my cunt is already aching from being empty. I turn around, bend over slightly, and sink my pussy down on one of the dildos protruding from the bus stop wall.

He chuckles. “I love watching you get bitched,” he smirks. My cheeks burn as my eyes drift to his pants, wondering if he’ll decide to replace the plastic in my hole with his cock. I shudder in anticipation even as my face flushes in shame.

He sees where I’m looking. “Don’t get excited, cunt. I already had a bitch this morning.” But he reaches out to squeeze one of my tits anyways. I groan loudly, as I’ve been taught, making him chuckle again. My cunt squeezes harder on its fuckpole.

He casually degrades me until the bus finally comes. The one at this hour is very full. There’s only one fuck station left, and I groan as I realize it’s covered in semen. But I have no choice. I sink down on it, feeling the still warm cum coat the walls of my pussy. It’s not unheard of for a bitch to get pregnant this way—not even getting the benefit of a fuck.

The idea of getting seeded by a stranger’s leftover cum activates my bitch hole even more. Some females are simply slumped on their stations, passively impaled with an occasional bounce as the bus hits a dip. My cumsleeve is too needy for that today, though.

I start pumping myself back on the fuck station eagerly. I squeal when the bus hits a big bump and the dildo thrusts hard inside me, almost knocking me down. A few men turn to watch my display. I meet their eyes as I thrust back on my station, my feet barely touching the ground so the bulk of my weight is suspended by my pussy.

It’s times like this that I feel the reality of being a woman. The way my flesh crawls with shame at displaying myself like a prize breeding pig. How good the shame makes my bitch pussy feel. The overwhelming drive to earn a real cock in my jizz drain.

I keep eye contact with the men watching for the entire ride. Any of them could decide to stop the show to fuck me, but it seems today they’ve decided my humiliation is better. I nearly sob as my stop approaches, since I know it’s forbidden for a bitch to cum unless impaled on a flesh cock. It’s for the greater good, so women never forget that a real fuck is a privilege and not a right.