Rochelle waited patiently in her office. 
The large, pudgy lynx woman filed her claws down idly, her blouse partially unbuttoned and her skirt too short to hide her laced black panties. Anyone who came into her office would immediately be flashed by her crotch due to her having her feet propped up on her maple desk. 
Normally such poor appearance was frowned upon, but the lynx held a special role. She was a Matriarch, one of the highest ranking of the party whose namesake inspired her title. 
Rochelle stopped filing her claws, and observed her work. Satisfied, she tossed the file lazily behind her shoulder. One of the menial boys would pick it up later. 
“You’re getting boring.” She sighed, and at first it appeared she spoke to nobody in particular. 
However, when she planted her feet back down on the carpeted floor of her office and stood, it was apparent she had meant the limb-nullified husk of a five year old cub who had been pinned under her ass for hours. “Fuck, you really are just useless meat, aren’t you sweetie?” She asked, the threat in her voice masked by a motherly coo. 
The boy, who was ball-gagged and unable to reply, squirmed and wriggled. He was a torso, his limbs removed and even his cock had been bound in a cage. It amused Rochelle to watch her toys struggle to get hard within their cages, leaking precum for her while she tortured them. 
Before the lynx could further berate the boy, the small communications device on her desk beeped and emitted a small green light. Rochelle’s lips immediately went to a grin as she anticipated what would be said.
She pressed the button with a barely audible click.

“Matriarch, the nursery reports that the newborns are finished processing.” Said the female on the other end. 
Smiling, Rochelle offered no reply and simply shut off the device. She turned, her ass wobbling as she did so, and stepped towards the doors to her office. 

The Onyx District was a vast and encompassing mega-city, and one of twenty districts in what used to be South America. Her location was in the country of Brazil, though all territories under the new government were simply referred to by their district number or name. Rochelle’s place of living and work was within the largest skyscraper within the city, a towering reminder of the Matriarchy’s power. 

Passing by the view she’d grown bored of as she walked down the hall, Rochelle stepped into a private elevator she had to swipe her keycard to activate. It took her down to the sublevels of the spire, where it transitioned from a place of business operations to a playroom for her twisted needs. Only those with high clearance were allowed here. It was nicknamed “The Nursery”, as here was where Rochelle kept her stock of kiddie meat. Fresh boys born from vats or from condemned women forced to become brood mothers. All of them were prey species. She had a particular liking for mice. 

As the doors slid open again, Rochelle walked with a confident strut into her playroom. All around her were machinery and lab equipment and scurrying workers who did not dare meet her eye. Boys were taken from the vats or their mothers the second they were born, and then tested for any genetic defects. Those who showed even the slightest malignant trait or undesirable aspect were immediately disposed of. 
Rochelle would not accept some sickly, spindly thing as her toy. 

The lynx said nothing to the workers as she waltzed into another room, one more stylized as a grand bedroom. Luxurious furnishing combined with exotic choices of woods to accentuate them gave a sharp contrast to the laboratory outside the doors. 

Licking her lips, Rochelle looked to the bed for her requested “guest”. A older boy, aged twelve, who was bound spread-eagle to the bed. He was a mouse, with crÃ¨me fur and shaggy blonde hair. On either side of the bed were two cribs, and each one was filled with squirming pinkies. 
She swayed her hips as she let her skirt fall, and then her panties were next. She let the last three buttons of her blouse pop, exposing her fat and milky tits to the warm air of the room.
The boy was not blinded nor gagged, and so his soft sobs were heard by her as she crept onto the bed. She eyed him, like a dog with an injured rabbit. She met his blue eyes with her purple ones, and her cruel grin spread wider. 
The boy in question had been tasked to handle the transport of a valuable jewel, a gift to Rochelle from a Matriarch of the African districts. He had dropped it, however, and then lied about it. 
Rochelle hated liars. 
“Shh.” She cooed, moving to straddle his face. She rubbed her soaked pussy with her fingers, coaxing her bulging clit out of the hood so that she could bump it against his nose as she let her weight settle down on his crying face. Smothering him in her scent and femcum, she began to grind. Purposefully smearing his nose with her fluids, wanting him to choke and sputter. “I want you to know I am not mad at you, baby boy.” She said, reaching to the crib and snatching a baby mouse by the tail. “I understand accidents happen. Just like how, in my moment of hunger, I am going to accidentally eat your brothers here.”
The lynx opened her maw and dropped the squirming infant on her tongue. She played with it for a second, letting it press to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, and then she swallowed. She purred, feeling the weakling go down her gullet and into her belly where if it was lucky the stomach acid would kill it quickly.
The cub beneath her pussy let out a shrill whine in protest, and it sent a tingle of pleasure up Rochelle’s spine. She snatched another infant, and repeated the process. Grinding her shaved pussy against his face, until his snout was inside her cunt. His eyes burning and stinging as her fluids entered them, his lungs begging for air but finding only her perfumed musk. 
“They’re so yummy!” She giggled. 
Rochelle took another, then another. Swallowing baby after baby, in some cases toying with them on her tongue, in other cases swallowing them quickly. The further into her twisted passion she fell, the more assertive she became. She didn’t even notice when the cub’s jaw dislocated from her bouncing on his face too hard. 
Pleasure and euphoria spiked in her, and she let out a low shuddering groan as she came just as the final infant went down her gullet. Her stomach bulging, twitching as they squirmed within. 
By the time Rochelle had finished, she’d only then realized that the boy under her was dead. Still, her thighs felt weak from her orgasm, and her head buzzed with happy chemicals. She stood then, collected her clothes off the floor, and left the room.
Someone else would have to do the cleanup.