Contemporary UK Story: The Breeding

'Breeding' as a fetish was not something I had been into but I was prompted to produce this story by a woman I got into correspondence online and it led to this story and its sequel.

The Breeding

By Tang

The slave knelt, trying to remain still and patient.  Her head was bowed demurely.  Her mind was alive with excitement as she knew the moment she had been working towards for so long should soon arrive.  Then he, the one who was her master, entered the room.  The sound of his footsteps and the scent of his body, hot beneath the leather he wore, both reassured the slave but further excited her too.  Her master stood in front of her, but in her servile position looking over the rich, luscious breasts, she could see no more than his boots and the bottoms of his tight trousers.

“Undress.”  The master said simply.

The slave had no ability not to obey.  She shrugged off the long black crochet top which when standing stretched to her calves.  In a slow, measured way she raised her hands from her lap; they were clad in fingerless gloves, with their immaculate bright red nails emerging.  She began to unclip the exquisite leather corset she wore.  It was black but patterned with entwined flowers.  It restrained her but that thrilled her as she felt it represented the delicious constraints her master had brought to her life.  It also presented her breasts in such an enthralling way, their cream flesh full above the leather, and now as she released them they hung free, the rosy nipples already excited.  The slave yearned to catch them between her fingers and play with them, let alone have her master’s lips close around them, but she knew that she had to carry out his instructions and hope for such reward for good obedience, later.

Now the corset was free of her body and moved from kneeling to sitting and reached to unzip the left knee-high boot.  It was patent black, with a wedge heel.  The slave, like her master, liked the shine and the way these made her move.  The sauntering of her full hips, she knew, was something her master enjoyed.  In moments the boot and then its companion were off.  Soon the black fence-net stockings were also gone.  Now, the slave stood, though keeping her eyes lowered.  The long leather skirt that hugged her hips and showed the sweeping lines of her thighs, but now it had to be removed.  The slave knew, though, that these gifts of her master would what she would be putting on, once he had given her an even greater gift, the one she had dreamt of for so long.  She unbuttoned the long leather skirt at the front and unzipped it at the rear, letting it fall to the floor.

Her silk thong remained and it was already sodden with how moist how pussy was from her anticipation.  She slid it down and stepped one leg then the other out.  Finally she stripped off her gloves and set them down carefully on the piles of clothes.  All that she wore now was her collar, still kept on her by the tiny silver lock that her master had secured it with.  The slave thought of the times when she was led by the leash attached to the collar’s ring, whether naked or dressed.

Ready, the slave now looked up boldly into the eyes of her master.  His gaze was as firm as always, but with deep within, were those elements that told her that he valued her beyond measure precisely for what she was.  He did not give an expression of disapproval and the slave was pleased that she had read the situation so well.

“What do you need?”

It was rare for her master to ask directly.  It usually provided greater pleasure for him to read this for himself and then delight in her body revealing that he had been right.  She guessed that, in fact, that would be the case this time too.  However, the uniqueness of this evening’s encounter, she recognised, meant it had these ritual elements.  Perhaps, too, even though she was entirely his slave, her master wanted to be sure that she truly wanted what he was going to do to her.

“Master, I beg you to breed me.  Fill me with your seed.  Make me full and rounded with what you create.  Service me; cover me; use me as your breeding mare.”

“Good.  To the harness.”  Master gestured.

The slave felt joy run through her as she knew her master had accepted her plea and she was to receive what she had dreamt of.  They had used the swinging harness before, but now it was to turn her into a broodmare, to become the dam to Master’s offspring.  She walked to the upright ‘x’ of the harness and walked into it, spreading her arms and legs to match its shape.  The shape of this one was particular with a broader section level with her chest into which her large spheres of breasts fitted.  She pushed them into place.  The she felt master behind her, closing the leather straps around first her ankles, then her wrists and finally the belt running above her broad, soon to be child-bearing hips, so locking her to the form.  Then her master began to operate it, tilting her to the horizontal.  Her brunette tresses tumbled around her face as she was moved into position.  Her breasts hung pendulously and that seemed appropriate for the results of the action that was about to be done to her.

The slave heard the sound of her master unzipping and moments later felt him between her strong thighs, his leather running across her smooth skin.  He ran his gloved hand down her slick pussy which was now aching to be filled with his unsheathed cock.  He reached over her to grasp the ample fruit of her breasts and she shuddered in pleasure at his touch.  Then his hard cock slid deep inside her, with no hesitation, no uncertainty.  The slave grunted her satisfaction knowing the breeding of her was beginning.  Her mind spiralled through all the thoughts she had had leading up to this moment.  It continued running into the future, seeing her belly rounded and heavy, its skin so taut and shiny; her breasts filled with milk, all gifts of her master.

With each thrust, the slave found she could not help but match her grunts with those of her master.  She battled to cope with the sensations, her arousal and her dreams of what was to come.  Her body as rich as cream, as womanly as the fertility goddesses of old quivered as if stretched tight.  She wanted it to cease, feeling unable to cope with all that was crashing into her, but she needed it to continue, to rise to the climax and deliver her what she utterly yearned for.

Then it came.  He came.  His hot jism fired into her.  She could tell by the jerks of his body but also something more: her body recognising it had received just what it needed.  Orgasm seemed to explode from where his juices flowed, rippling out in ever heavier thrusts from her core.  She shuddered against her binds and let rip with a howl, a long moan of ecstasy not simply from the physical impact, but the recognition that she had achieved her aim: from the master who filled her world she had been bred.  She had now been transformed and the new phase of her life was just beginning.

Contemporary UK Story: The Breeding 2: Now the Broodmare

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.