The Breeding 2:
Now the Broodmare
By Tang
The slave knelt on the silk cushion, her
hands resting as they habitually did now, on the round form of her belly. She loved the feel of the skin so stretched
by what was growing within her, what her master had gifted, entrusted to
her. He had provided her with a range of
clothes that best showed off her condition.
Not for her were shapeless maternity dresses. Instead she now typically wore shiny lycra
leggings and tops. Master picked out
those that had the wettest look but were forgiving and eased them on to her
changing body as she stood passively accepting his latest gift. Her patent ankle boots were flat heeled now
but still complemented the rest of her outfit.
In these clothes her distended nipples and belly button were prominent
in the shiny black; no-one could be under any illusion that she was not heavily
pregnant. From her wrist hung a small
jet carving modelled on those Stone Age ones showing the big breasted, big
hipped fertility goddesses people had then worshipped; the slave felt she had
become one of them. Yet, there was a
difference: she was not the one who was worshipped; she was the one who was
commanded and she was the one who had been compelled to become like this,
ordered to open herself to her master’s cum and to allow herself to be bred.
The slave thought about what she had
become. She thought of herself now as less
than a slave: she was a broodmare, to be serviced by master, to be altered by
what he did to her, to become the vessel for the life he created. She dreamt of being used that way again and
again; not knowing when master would choose to breed her once more, but ready
to fulfil that role whenever he required.
The mare knew that she was sexy to master because she served him this
way.
Despite her pregnancy, their sex had not
stopped and she enjoyed still drinking his jism from his cock or having it
jetted inside her. She knew from history
that whilst in labour women would have their man couple with them so as to ease
the release of the child. Master knew
those who accepted that method even today and so she would be bringing her
child forth with master servicing her much the way he had done when he had
first impregnated her. The mare quivered
at that thought, feeling that it further confirmed that her master and herself
stood outside the normal expectations of society. They lived in that society, but were apart
from it, the way they existed; the way they behaved, ensured that.
The door opened, it was her master, she
knew. She kept her eyes down to the
floor and, as often, studied his boots first.
He reached down and attached her leash to the ring of her collar, a new
one with more leeway but still locked to her, signalling that she was owned.
“Stand.”
The mare’s master commanded and she, of course, obeyed.
Bar her bracelet and her collar, the
mare was naked, the extent of her body shaped by her master’s gift in full
view. She reached to brush a strand of
her long brunette hair away from her face and back over her shoulder. Master ensured that even in these days she
had her hair well kept; her finger and toenails manicured and painted her
favourite red shade. The mare could not
resist but caress her nipples. Their
sensitivity came both from her condition and the fact that to be being bred
this way excited her so much day after day, that it was impossible to douse her
arousal. Master glanced back at her and
nodded for her to continue, apparently pleased that she was still so enjoying
her role as his broodmare.
Her master pulled not harshly on her
leash and the mare followed where he led.
She was unable to stop herself running her fingers over her rounded
body, reshaped and made so appealing by what her master had done to her. She loved the fact that this shape, this very
form of her had been given to her by him, just as previously her attitudes, her
assumptions, her whole outlook had been crafted for her by his will.
They stepped from the corridor into a
room larger than the one they had left.
Its floors, however, were also of dark wood. Around the room, lit only by amber uplights,
were others like her and her master. The
men reclined on chairs whilst their slaves sat at their heels. The mare knew many of the half-dozen here
well from events similar to this. It
delighted her to be paraded in front of them like this, clearly bred by her
master. She hoped that her example would
influence others. Through the shadows
left by the lighting, she made out the young woman she knew had recently joined
the group and envisaged her being encouraged by what she saw tonight to also
become bred from.
Now, her master led the mare into the
centre of the room and stood to one side.
She lowered her gaze once more.
“I have the pleasure to introduce my
slave, now fully serviced by me, carrying that which I sired. She has proven to be the most perfect
broodmare and I know she will be an excellent dam.”
With this declaration the masters
clapped. The mare felt thrilled by that
recognition, the fact that she was on show to those who completely understood
what she truly represented, nothing more than a bred slave. As her master guided her, the mare turned
around, her breasts and her belly shifting gently as she did, reminding both
her and the audience of just how reshaped they were. Then master stepped away and gestured to the
audience. Each stood and came over to
the mare, running their hands gently but in a searching manner over her belly,
her thighs, around her breasts and their nipples and down between her
legs. This handling aroused the mare
even further and she worried she would orgasm as she stood there. Satisfied, the masters retreated back to
their chairs but let their slaves out on their leashes. More gently, in a far more feminine way,
these women, like herself owned and most likely to be some day bred as she had
been, stroked and kissed her flesh. They
licked her nipples and gently took turns to run their fingers along her pussy
lips and to catch her aroused clitoris until the mare could no longer hold back
a moan of pleasure. That elicited
another round of applause.
Finally the slaves retreated and the
broodmare stood shuddering with the wonderful mental and physical impact of all
that had happened to her. Her master
came round to the front of her and pressing on her belly lifted her chin and then
pressed a kiss deeply on her; she chased his tongue with her own though aware
that she was hovering on the edge of climax.
Her master’s chest pressed on her nipples just took this further.
Without another word, the mare’s master
stepped back and led her from the room through a different door. It went into another room where a large
leather-sheeted bed stood. Her master
turned the slave and pushed her back on to the bed. He held firm to her leash but spread her
legs. Then his cock was clear and she
felt it butting against the slick lips of her pussy. It slipped inside so easily and went so
deeply. The mare needed no more than
this, but she bent upwards to stare across her large breasts parted as she was
laid prone, over the mound of her belly, that signalled what she had become, to
see her master, his rising pleasure clear on his face as he thrust into
her. The grunt he emitted and the
closing of his eyes showed that he too had been excited by this evening’s
show. As the orgasm crashed over the
mare, and she twisted and turned, shrieked and yelped as it ran into every
fibre, she felt more of his jism running into her. Again it was all asserted on to her: she knew
what she had been, what she had been made and what she was now. She had been bred by her master and nothing
could ever alter that.
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