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Onabreeder	By : FrigOfFury Category: +A through F > Breeding Season Views: 22702 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: BreedingSeason belongs to the BS team, not me, and I'm not making any money off this. Any resemblance to real people is accidental, and this is 100% original fiction.

Chapter List
- 9
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With an infant on my hands of course it was necessary to send a message summoning Jrusk to return and take up the farm in his timid but adequate hands. I redoubled my efforts to teach Tanir how to manage the farm on her own since I felt like Jrusk would need help, but of course I also spent a lot of time with a little baby who definitely not the product of an unknown Artannian farm hand or the offspring of a brute animal, but the daughter of a woman I had come to love very much.
The snow slowed all movement in the countryside, of course, so I didn't expect Jrusk to arrive before several days had passed. The farm hands also struggled to come as they had, so I offered to house them in one of the spare rooms. Tanir and I still made our rounds, though, and setting aside product to send down the river after the thaw.
I was resting from having delivered the farm's second futaket when I heard wagons pull up outside, and if Tanir had been free I would have gotten her to take me outside. She was busy with the other hostrusi, though, and I didn't want to confuse her with mixed signals. Besides, I was very tired and downright mooing with the relief of being milked out after spending much of the day away from the milker.
“Here's the hostrusi,” one Pilvish voice with an odd accent called from the barn door. I couldn't make out the reply, but the same speaker went on, saying, “Oh, the farmer's in here, too, milking the others. Ah, Riannon? We're from the Duke Marvayne. His Grace wants to hire you and all your hostrusi for the rest of the winter through to spring equinox, which he thought you might be amenable to do since you can't ship product this time of year. The rate is ten bars for you and the milking device there, plus one per calf you bear, and one bar for each hostrusi. He keeps all offspring and produce. We already checked at the guild offices to make sure you had someone to run the place while you're gone, and we went so far as to put down the payment for his wages if you agree to come.”
I couldn't really answer, of course, but I figured he'd get the point when her realized Tanir wasn't answering and that the actual farmer had her eyes closed and continued being milked. My answer would obviously be negative, and whether I turned the offer down now or a little later was immaterial.
“You can see it's all in order, and His Grace is of course everything respectable,” I heard the Pilf continuing his pitch.
“Can we start loading up? It's cold, and it's going to snow again soon,” another Pilf asked from a distance.
“Not yet!” the first called back, then apologized, “Sorry, they're impatient. We really do want to be on our way. As you can see, though, we have a bar and seven stars of gold with us and His Grace's personal seal, to prove that we are quite serious. So if you would just sign here to accept this very, very generous offer, we could all get to work and perhaps be over the pass before it begins to slow again.”
I just sat there with my eyes closed, trying to ignore him so he'd get the hint.
“Ah, you can use this,” the Pilf said, somewhat mysteriously, then, “Uh, is that your mark? Okay, thank you! Anderus! Let's go!”
My eyes snapped open to see the Pilf taking back a quill from a confused-looking Tanir's hand. And blowing softly on an erratic, meaningless line where the signature should be. Why had he accepted that strange mark from an onabeast named Tanir when my collar was the one inscribed with 'Bonbon'? Was he such an idiot that he just assumed that whoever was wearing clothes was the farmer?
I couldn't ask any of these questions, though, and no one gave me my own writing implement so that I could ask anything. I was simply bundled up into the wagons along with all the Riannon hostrusi and taken away.
It was to be a long trip through Pilvia lasting several days during which I had no chance to inform them that I was not an exotic hostrus but rather Riannon herself. and because of the fingerless coverings they put over all the hostrus' hands and feet to keep us warm, I couldn't even signal to Tanir. Left to her own devices, she did what she knew, which was to see that we were all milked regularly, and that I in particular got mounted as often as possible. The duke's Pilvans regarded her as a brilliantly efficient farmer and the best of good mates, it seemed.
Thus I arrived at the Duchy of Marvayne heavily pregnant either from one of the stallions pulling the wagons or Tanir herself, and still no one had noticed that a mistake had been made. Even after we arrived, we went straight into a large and densely-packed hostrus barn where all of us except Tanir were secured in a line where we were bent over and all but immobilized by a combination of a pillory and our ankles being spread apart and chained to the floor. Several overseers came to visit, but they merely examined our bodies and the tags in our ears before giving directions as to our feed and with which animals we should be bred next before moving on.
From the best time of my life, then, I had jumped directly to one of the worst, being bored in every way possible while trapped in a fetid factory of flesh and blood. Because we were put in pillory for breeding and milking and the rest of the time we were on very short tethers, I was bored to the point of delusion. My only relief was occasionally being mounted by one or more onabeasts, though I usually couldn't see what was mounting me because of my head being in the pillory. Tanir came to visit me sometimes, though with the pillory the way it was, pretty much all that happened was that she presented herself for fellatio. Still, it was something to do, so I obliged.
Then Tanir disappeared, and for several days I expected to be freed at any time, until I overheard talk amongst hands that Lady Apowyl had angrily demanded the farmer be returned immediately, so they were trying to find a way to send her back despite the snows. I didn't hear how successful they were, but I knew that I was stuck next two my hostrusi sisters, delivering offspring I never so much as saw, stuck in my pillory, until one day two very alarmed farm-hands came to release me.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my, Lady Bonbon, His Grace sends his personal apologies for not sending agents who could read your language. We're all mortified to have kept you here like an animal, but you see, it was all an honest mistake. Please believe we meant no harm at all.”
They were trying to usher me away, but I didn't want to leave the other hostrusi stuck in this dungeon of a barn. “No!”
Everyone stopped in shock at my shout, including me. “I... Release them.” The words felt strange in my mouth.
“Pardon, my lady?”
I had a moment of uncertainty about what language I'd spoken, but carried on, “Release my hostrusi.”
“But, what would we do with them then, my lady?” the leader of the hands asked, wringing his hands.
“They come with me.” I tried to add, “Now,” but my long-disused speaking voice gave out on me, and it came out as more of a little moo. Nevertheless, they followed my instructions, and soon we were all filing out past row after row of miserably bored, unhealthy-looking animals.
From there we were led to a small building where I was given clothes “from His Grace's own concubines,” which I was meant to consider a high honor, but I had developed a very low opinion of His Grace based on how poorly he treated his onabeasts.
The outfit itself was something of a wonder, though, constructed of some stretchy, shining material that covered most of my skin but resting so tightly to the skin the every curve and line showed as if I were wearing nothing at all. If Lady Apowyl was there to see me I might have been happy to wear it, but instead I felt apprehensive.
“Why didn't you notice my name is Bonbon?” I asked the leader, tapping my collar.
He ducked his head apologetically for what must have been the hundredth time. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but none of us read foreign.”
“I also bear Lady Apowyl's brand, where Tanir does not.”
“One of the other hostrusi has a brand, too, my lady, and Tanir was wearing clothes,” he explained.
“I'm not a hostrusi,” I told him.
“If you say so, my lady,” he agreed obsequiously.
“Look, I have no horns,” I said, irritated.
“Not all hostrusi got horns, my lady,” he pointed out, which was true; I'd seen several without in the barn.
“Where is Tanir?”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but she's in your quarters. We were going to send her to the barn, but I take it you don't prefer it.”
“No, she stays with me. I thought you were trying to send her home.”
“We did, but the snows closed the pass, my lady, then Lady Apowyl's agents sent her back to us, seeing as she wasn't you after all.”
“Lady Apowyl knows we're here?”
“I understand she intends to come here at her earliest convenience, my lady.”
I sighed with satisfaction and let my voice rest again. Lady Apowyl's 'earliest convenience' would be right away, I was very sure.
My reunion with Tanir was emotional and a little messy, though I redirected most of her amorous intentions toward another of the hostrusi because I wasn't pregnant and didn't want to be when I saw Lady Apowyl. I wasn't sure why everyone was calling me 'Lady Bonbon,' but I felt sure it had something to do with having provided the marchioness with a child. Maybe even an heir in some sense.
They left us alone for a little while until a servant came to tell me that His Grace hoped to have me at dinner. I accepted because I didn't want to embarrass Lady Apowyl by being rude, but I did insist on bringing Tanir, and warning the servant that both tanir and I had tremendous appetites.
The dinner turned out smaller and more intimate than I'd assumed despite being set at a very large table heaping with fresh fruits and vegetables that shouldn't have been available in the midst of winter, along with baked goods and soft, spreadable cheeses. After the horrid mash I'd been subsisting on for many weeks, I was dying to eat. Tanir, of course, didn't understand waiting, so she immediately began feeding on everything within reach. I smiled weakly at His Grace, who was flanked on either side by beautiful, exotic-looking Pilvan women with bodies to rival Lady Apowyl's, and significantly more ostentatious jewelry. Though I still thought the marchioness had the edge over them both, riches or not.
“Welcome, dear Bonbon,” he said, once the servants had pushed me in so my breasts rested on the table. It was more comfortable than leaving them hanging, but it was slightly embarrassing to have my chin resting on the top of one mound when I turned my face toward His Grace. Tanir, being much taller than I was, had no such difficulty.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I'm impressed with your harvest,” I said, trying to figure out how I could get any of it into my mouth gracefully.
“Igrana, please help Lady Bonbon,” he instructed a servant behind me, who rushed to fetch morsels for me and place them on a little plate out of the way of my bosom. “I am even more impressed with your harvest, Bonbon. Lady Apowyl made a most excellent acquisition.”
I didn't know what to say to that, so I chewed slowly to give myself an excuse not to say anything.
“Do you miss your Artannian sisters?” he asked, and I almost choked on my biscuit. “I understand that you are attempting to support several half siblings in Artannia, and I would like to help you do that, and maybe even find a way for you to reunite.”
“Why?” I asked, finally.
“Because I would like to make you happy, Bonbon. And I am a powerful man, you know. Far more powerful than Lady Apowyl.”
“Why do you want to make me happy, Your Grace?” I asked anxiously.
“Because, Bonbon, I would like to purchase you for my own.”
“I don't think Lady Apowyl would sell me if I didn't want to be sold,” I said.
“The Dehiliard clan has always been a little strange with its scruples, but she has been trying very hard to sway support for her brother's little Artannian status bill. She might not care much for money, but she's very serious about that bill. A concubine, by her own law, may sign herself over to me at any time. And if you're still technically brute livestock, selling you to me wouldn't break any of her precious principles. But let's not speak of that unpleasantness. I think you don't understand what you stand to gain. First, by becoming my concubine, you accede to the second highest rank of slave in all Pilvia in a single jump. Second, you secure ducal support for your half-siblings, which is no small thing, as I am one of the negotiators with Artannia on behalf of Pilvia. Third, you may even become mother to the next duke, which is the highest rank a non-Pilf can reach. Fourth, of course, you'll never have to work another day in a long life.”
“No thank you, Your Grace. You must take it up with Lady Apowyl,” was all I could say.
He just smiled a little smugly and let the subject drop, instead explaining how his gardeners used special glass houses and mirrors to grow a small crop of warm-weather plants in the winter. It was fascinating, and slowly I relaxed. I tensed again when he had one of his concubines give me a massage while we awaited dessert, but she was very good and tension drained away again.
At least, it drained away until her fingers went lower and lower, and my loins started to remind me that I hadn't had a really good fucking in days. By the time I was constrained to stand again at the end of the meal, I had moisture dribbling down the inside of my thighs and both of the concubines were smirking at my obvious randiness.
“You know, I could provide a second dessert,” the duke told me with a leer, standing to reveal a large erection creating a ridge down one leg of his tights. Large, but not nearly as large as Lady Apowyl's, I noted smugly.
“With Lady Apowyl I'm accustomed to an entire second meal, Your Grace, but I don't think I have the stomach for it tonight. Good night,” I told him, and motioned for Tanir to lead me away so I need not look at any of their faces.
When I got back to the room I really struggled to manage Tanir's will to relieve my sexual frustration. Anal plus hand-milking did help me to a small orgasm while also satisfying Tanir's desire to mount me, but it wasn't the same as a good hard fucking by a giant cock that I kept trying to push out of my mind.
In the morning the batteries for the milker were dead and I knew I was never going to milk out if Tanir couldn't mount me for real. I almost decided to try dipping a cotton swatch in vinegar like prostitutes did in Noldon so I could let her do her thing, but I was afraid it wouldn't work. I endured a long boring morning of being milked manually and eating the buckets of food and drink delivered by the staff 'for the animals'. It was no doubt intended as a punishment for turning down His Grace's offer, but it was still far better than what we'd gotten out in the barn, so I was quite content with it.
I was again requested for dinner, and again I went, but His Grace did not renew his offer as I feared, merely remaining polite and witty. The only part that really repeated itself was the massage at the end, leaving me so horny I might have accepted His Grace's offer, if he'd repeated it. Fortunately he did not, and I got enough control of myself before I got back to the room that I could again convince Tanir to restrict herself to my bum only. It was frustrating to have been freed from the horrible ducal barn but still be essentially imprisoned in the suite of rooms he had given me both because I worried about His Grace's plans for me and because manual milking seemed like an almost never-ending task. I was becoming increasingly desperate for Lady Apowyl's arrival. I knew winter weather would likely make travel slow, but I trusted that she would find a way soon.
At the third dinner I embarrassed myself when a concubine's expert massage made me come right there at the dinner table, ripping a loud moo from me along with enough milk to make small puddles of cream on the table. No one said anything, but it was clear they enjoyed my discomfiture, and because the dessert wasn't yet finished protocol required me to continue sitting at the table as if nothing had happened. That night I fashioned myself a kind of loin cloth as a crude chastity belt because I didn't feel like there was any other way I was going to last much longer, and Lady Apowyl would surely be there any moment.
For the four dinner at His Grace's table there was a new servant present, a towering, equine-looking onabeast woman with bulging muscles who served me plates of food gripped by strong-looking hands. Every time her forearm came within my view it riveted my attention, as is was decorated and soft-looking like a concubine's, yet the toned muscles beneath her skin declared it was as powerful as any farm hand's. After the dessert was served, she provided the massage instead of a concubine, and I was lost to reason.
My memory isn't clear, but at some point I began to moo as reflexively as if I'd never regained my speaking voice, and I felt nothing but relief as she removed my clothing while the duke and his concubines looked on. I also recall being laid out on my back next to the plate of pastries and positioned so that I could see the onabeast's horse cock emerging from its sheath like a small tree trunk. I still understood it was a threat to me in some way, but my desperation to feel that overstuffed feeling again overruled any more rational thought as she rubbed the flared head over my vulva. I don't know if I asked her to fuck me, or if I just mooed, but I know I was making noises of desire, and I also know that at a critical moment she stopped gratifying that desire until I put my hand-print on a piece of paper consigning me to the ducal household.
Then it started in earnest. The horse-woman grabbed my nipples in each hand and proceeded to pound me. She didn't have Lady Apowyl's artistry or subtlety, but I didn't want subtlety at that moment; I wanted my legs forced wide apart by a dick as big around as my waist, then moved in and out rapidly enough that I felt the woman's coconut-sized bollocks slap into my butt. I got exactly what I wanted. I also think I surprised her with my ability to take her all the way to the hilt, because she came even faster than I did the first time.
I'm not sure how long it lasted, but I know I tired the onabeast out before the end because she slumped over me so far I was able to suckle at her own much-smaller nipples. I also remember discovering that my voice had left me again while being helped off the dinner table by several servants standing in a large sticky pool of horse-woman cum.
Instead of my room, they took me to the concubine's quarters, where I was given a bed clearly designed just for me, as it had two large impressions to accommodate my breasts while sleeping on my belly. Now that I had, I gathered, agreed to the duke's terms, he somehow found a way to charge the batteries of the milker, allowing me to be hooked in while I lay in bed. The mattress also had several segments, one of which was the portion that normally supported my legs but could be removed to leg them down and allow easy rear access. His Grace sometimes came to watch the horse-woman fuck me with that segment removed while he did the same to one of his other concubines. He might also have been attached to one of the other cocks that made use of me, but simple penetration by equipment not even big enough to bump my sternum didn't interest me very much so it didn't stick in my memory.
Even though I was apparently now an official concubine of some kind, His Grace still seemed to have some farm-related intentions toward me. For one thing, he was excited to see if the horse-woman's oversized anatomy would breed true in any colt. He also took great interest in rectal infusions I was given that made my milk come out like thick cream, and sometimes visibly frothy. It also seemed to dramatically increase the volume of my output without increasing the weight. My breasts also became slightly more voluminous while feeling less heavy than before. That made it easier to move around, but not as much as one might assume because my breasts also became noticeably firmer and more spherical so they didn't smoosh quite as easily through the apertures made in the furniture to accommodate them. Sometimes I wondered what Lady Apowyl would think of my less pendulous breasts, but it was a depressing thought if I considered the possibility that she wouldn't recover me.
I was also the focus of the other concubine's attention, as they wanted to play with my monumental teats, drink my milk, explore the flexibility of my various orifices, and competitively see who could make me moo the loudest. Talking to them was useless; if they understood what I was saying they ignored my words, and they spoke to each-other in a language that sounded Pilvish but otherwise incomprehensible. Though I didn't like the way His Grace spoke to me, it was at least a sort of comfort not to be worried about whether I was losing language entirely again. Not that I thought I'd ever really lost it, but I was so frankly appalled by my situation that I was not entirely rational.
Because I was so downtrodden and desolated, my previous conviction that Lady Apowyl would save me inverted into a rotation of different nightmares. Either she would never come, or she would see me and be disgusted at my lack of self-control, or she would find me in the act and join His Grace in discussing me as if I was a mere entertaining novelty, or, worst of all, she would prostrate herself before the duke and I would have to watch as he brought her to orgasm while the horse-woman continued to breed me.
If she had waited longer, I think despair might have driven me out of my mind, but I was still a day away from foaling when my lady arrived at the head of what seemed like a small army. His Grace was at least as surprised as I was, and the horse-woman was probably the only person in the whole harem who didn't stop to watch the confrontation. She was fucking me up the ass, which was always her favorite part, so I guess she didn't notice. Regardless of whether she was preoccupied or just didn't care, with everyone else frozen, the only sound was the sound in the room was of my moo-like wheezes as the horse-woman's thrusts rhythmically forced the air out of my lungs.
The relentless fucking tore a mooing orgasm from me, and Lady Apowyl exclaimed “Bonbon!” in an outraged tone. I felt ashamed despite there not being anything I could do.
“Your Grace?” a handsome military Pilf spoke up as if intervening before things got out of hand, “I'm afraid there is a matter of possession of stolen livestock and improper... improper...” The horse woman had just shot her final and biggest load into me, and the cataract of semen gushing from between my legs when she pulled out seemed to make him forget what he was going to say.
“I have her agreement!” the duke interjected then.
“That doesn't matter for livestock, Lord Marvayne,” Lady Apowyl shot back.
“Lady Fertis cannot be declared a legitimate Delhiliard if you got her off of livestock, and you know better than anyone that it is no longer legal to demote concubines or slaves to livestock, Lady Apowyl. Therefore, either you have committed a worse crime than I have, or what I've done is no crime,” His Grace said firmly.
“You forget, Lord Marvayne, that there is another way to have right to a surname despite bastardy. Both of Lady Fertis' grand sires were of the Dehiliard line. Therefore, she is a Dehiliard regardless of her mother's status.”
“Who are you claiming for her grandsire on the distaff side?” the duke responded contemptuously.
“Me, of course, Lord Marvayne. Lady Bonbon is my daughter by what may be a previously unknown species of onabeasts that has taken on Artannian traits. Whether that is correct or not, Bonbon is demonstrably mine. Therefore, Lady Fertis is my granddaughter as well as my daughter, and has the same claim to Apowyl I do.”
“How is she 'demonstrably' yours?”
“Any modern breeder knows of 'hiding traits', Lord Marvayne, where both parents must have instances of the trait in their lineage for their offspring to inherit it. The Dehiliard endowment is one of those.” Lady Apowyl touched her crotch, where there was currently no sign of its sometimes-giant protrusion. “Lady Fertis has the Dehiliard endowment and it would be preposterous to suggest Lady Bonbon's maternal clan would have it, therefore her sire must have had it. I was the only Dehiliard in the territory at that time, and,” there was an almost undetectable pause before she continued, “I took Riannon as a lover, so the case is quite well proven.”
“I think it surprises no one that a Dehiliard would lay with an Artannian, Lady Apowyl,” the duke sneered, “But I do not think you would want to bring that matter before the court.”
“Would I need to? The matter at issue now is whether you have taken possession of my livestock without my agreement. All evidence I need to prove that she is indeed my livestock is at hand, in the form of ear tags and the Dehiliard brand. You assumed that you were seducing my concubine rather than stealing livestock because of Lady Fertis' existence, but that is not my mistake. The best that you could do is lodge impediment to prevent Lady Fertis from becoming Lady Apowyl someday. I'm sure I won't mind if you embarrass yourself again, Lord Marvayne.”
The military Pilf cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Your Grace, I'm afraid Lady Apowy is substantially correct. Bonbon is registered with the Pilvian Ministry of Husbandry as a hostrus-class feral.”
I mooed a little indignantly. I should at least have been upgraded to house stock, like intelligent Pilvan-bred barn stock. Being considered hostrus-class was also embarrassing, though hard to argue against.
“My sincere apologies, Bonbon. I promise I will explain later,” Lady Apowyl said with surprising tenderness, after the coldness of her voice when sparring with the duke.
“You have such vulgar concert for the feelings of beasts. I should known anything of yours would be debased from the start. Take your creature and get out.”
“And all her offspring since arriving, Lord Marvayne.”
“All her... Fine, whatever. Just begone.”
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