It was three months into the global pandemic when the gimps emerged, dazed and blinking, from their dungeon-bunkers. Protected from the deadly virus by head-to-toe latex, air filtered through plastic ball gags, they stared at the derelict tower blocks stabbing the grey sky like scalpels as litter skated down the empty streets, forming drifts under abandoned cars. Contaminated rain drizzled from the overcast sky, flowing in rivulets over their rubber sheaths.
Unaware of the global apocalypse until their Mistress had disappeared and stopped feeding them, the Dom gimps had for a while survived by feeding on the Sub gimps, who eagerly proffered bodyparts to them to consume, engorged genitals straining against their shiny gussets, as the Doms took razor blades to their excited, quivering flesh. But as the weeks had passed, even the Doms could see that the increasingly emaciated and diminishing Subs were not a long-term solution, so they took the decision to investigate the viral wasteland above.
There was precious little food at first – the deserted supermarkets having been ransacked by the normie survivors during the initial outbreak. Indeed, for a while it seemed as if the gimps would also starve away, fading into the past leaving nothing but leather and PVC-clad skeletons as a memorial to their passing. Occasionally, they fended off starvation by discovering small groups of adult-babies, unattended and abandoned within their playpens, and feeding on their milky meat. But once their nurseries were exposed to the contaminated outside air, the adult-babies were quickly infected and their meat spoiled.
But then, when all seemed hopeless and lost, they discovered a group of Furries, like themselves protected from contagion by their multi-coloured pelts and grinning-animal masks. It was a simple matter to corral the Furries and within weeks, the gimps had established Furry farms where the Furries would frolic and mate all day before being lead to slaughterhouses for humane destruction and processing.
With the need for shelter and food now satisfied, gimp society seamlessly organised itself into an efficient, functioning culture far superior to any previously imagined. The Doms gave orders, with an energy that mere competence or inclination could never match, while the Subs acted on those orders, with a sexual eagerness that far surpassed that of anyone who begrudgingly worked for mere wages or status. Gimp civilisation, well fed and efficient, prospered and soon their numbers swelled. But here again, there were inevitable advantages to their culture. Costly education was no longer necessary as all the child-gimps needed to know, sat in their classrooms, row after row of PVC hoods listening to their teacher, was that Doms said what to do and Subs simply obeyed. Similarly crime was non-existent, as Subs did what they were told with a feverish sexual excitement, and if one of them did not do so, then they were clearly a Dom and so a new role was allocated to them.
And so the gimp-settlements prospered and flourished until such point as they grew so much that their borders started to encroach on the boundaries of other surviving gimp groups. The Doms of both sides, accustomed as they were to barking commands that were instantly obeyed, were appallingly ill-suited to dealing with others who did not share their desires and who were similarly ill-equipped for diplomacy. Thus, it was almost inevitable that these disagreements, with opposing sets of Doms futilely screaming commands at each other, rapidly escalated into all-out war.
So it was that the various mighty gimp-factions met in an abandoned and overgrown sports stadium to finally settle their differences. Yet as the various armies clashed, it soon became apparent that while the various Subs were fearless (indeed, they obeyed all orders without hesitation and rushed eagerly towards the enemy not only unafraid of harm but actively seeking it), they were uniquely ill-suited to combat. As the various groups met on the battlefield, waving oversized dildos and oiled paddle boards at each other, it soon became apparent that far from smiting the opposing forces, they would instead offer themselves to the enemy, salivating under their masks as they awaited pain and punishment from their foes. Ultimately all sides simply ended up proffering their buttocks to the other, occasionally nudging into them in vain attempts to spur them into action, eventually rolling around on top of each other in attempts to get inadvertently beaten or accidentally penetrated by an oversized rubber phallus.
After a few farcical battles of such embarrassing scope, the various Doms decided that it would all be in their best interests if they simply ignored each other, so treaties were drawn up and new borders established, the boundaries to their respective territories guarded by a specialist force of gimps who would patrol the edges of their territory on Brony-back, their muscular steeds carrying them across their lands on magenta and lilac glittered hooves.
And so, as the years passed, gimp society prospered until one day during the reign of Mistress Natasha Paine II, a Brony patrol came across a group of emaciated normies, recently emerged from their concrete bunkers, the withered, aging remains of a ruling caste from a past age. As was their way, the gimps left them to their own devices, but they watched them from afar as they tried to survive in this new world. They saw how some gave commands but were plagued by self-doubt and insecurities while others sought power over others who in turn chafed under such authority and plotted against them. They saw how factions would form and weak leaders would be killed or tyrannical leaders deposed only to be replaced by others who promised a new way of life which other groups found unacceptable, groups who would then revolt before setting up their own short-lived regimes. Within months the group of survivors had exterminated themselves in a whirlwind of individualism and self-interest, while their own gimp-culture continued to prosper and grow.
And so it was the gimps surveyed the death of the last normie through featureless masks and returned to their own affairs, looking proudly on the world they had built.
And they smiled with zippered mouths as the Geeks had truly inherited the Earth.