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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.

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I let Gent come back into the house with me since I had a vague idea of using him as the guard diwarg, and besides I wasn't sure I wanted to put him in with the other diwargs. For some reason I felt like they might be mean to him somehow. Nor did he seem like a destructive sort, sniffing at things but not pulling or toppling them. So, he followed me docilely around the house as I checked the larder, the acid in the batteries, and my mother's wardrobe.
The first two were commendably full, but the last was dismayingly empty. It featured a wide-brimmed straw hat, an old corset, and a lavender silk hair bow. Even my father's wardrobe had no more than a pair of badly-worn overalls and a pair of fur-lined leather wrist cuffs with steel hoops in them. I had visions of fashioning a dress from the bedclothes, and then I remembered that the sheets of my parents' bed would be fouled with that portion of Gent's ejaculate that had leaked out of my body.
Fortunately the washtub was in good order and there was plenty of soap, so I was able to wash and hang what laundry I had to hand, then made dinner. A chop for me, a chop for Gent, carrot and zuccini stew for me, another chop for Gent, then a pint of honey mead for me, and another bedtime mounting of his foolish owner for Gent. After a pint of mead and a long day, I can't say I minded it that much. The only frustrating thing about it is that he seemed to finish just when it began to get really quite pleasurable for me.
For the next few days Roxie came by in the mornings to help out and provide advice, and she also shared a couple of far-too-large sets of work clothes to tide me over until I could get clothes of my own. Nevertheless, working with the animals was so messy that I found myself taking Roxie's advice to just work naked until I got a hang of, for example, eliciting diwarg production through a combination of oral and manual stimulation. In the case of Gent I ended up deciding that it was just easier and more pleasant to let him mount me a few times a day.
The standard-breed diwargs were as crafty as I thought they were, after I'd been working the farm for about a week the blue-furred one tricked me into straying within his grasp. It took me hours to escape the stall after that as each diwarg took multiple turns, but at least the experience taught me that the standard breed knots could be escaped quickly if I timed it right. With a little practice, I could do it just as they began to shoot, so that their semen could be easily collected without being stuck or having to scrape globs of it off my thighs. By the end of the next week I had tested letting them take me and hand me around while I collected their product both quickly and relatively cleanly. Roxie, who was still visiting every few days to keep my company and bring me things from town in trade for some of the product I couldn't yet sell down the river, called my technique genius, though she pointed out that it might not work so easily with heavier girls.
It was shortly after the next morning's harvest that Margo finally visited, looking very businesslike in a smart jacket that looked like a morning coat lengthened into a full dress. The contrast was especially powerful as all my clothes were hanging on hooks so that they didn't get muck and fluids all over them. Margo didn't evince even a flicker of surprise or judgement, however, so I tried to bring my reflexive mortification under control. She might look like a respectable clerk from a shop in Noldon, but she was still Roxie's sister and worked with onabreeders throughout Far Grenning and Westfen.
“Hello, Miss Oakenfield?” she asked a little tentatively.
Having no trouble seeing the resemblance between Margo and Roxie despite the fact that Margo's endowments seemed no larger than my own, I responded with my best friendly, “That is me, yes. You must be Miss Margo, Roxie's sister.”
She looked slightly relieved. “Oh good. I wasn't sure if it was you because, well, I thought it would take a gently-bred Noldoner longer to get used to... what it takes to be a good onabreeder. I see that assumption was quite incorrect and you'll do famously. You certainly have the hips for it. Ah, is this a good time?”
“Yes, I just finished the morning harvest.”
“Good, good. You've met my sister, then?”
“Yes, she was taking care of the place when I arrived.”
“Oh, she was the one chosen? I suppose that makes sense. Did you learn from her, or... I had understood that you were from Noldon and wouldn't be familiar with onabreeding.”
“I'm not, or at least, I wasn't. Getting to be familiar in a hurry!” I patted Gent, who had come over to investigate the visitor. I really hoped he didn't try to mount me during my conversation with Margo, who didn't seem quite as blasé about the necessities of working on a farm with onastock. Fortunately he didn't seem overly interested just yet. “Shall we go inside?” I asked, nodding toward the house.
“Yes of course. I think I've gotten things out of order. Firstly, I want to introduce myself as Margo Fulsoma, Assistant Guild Administrator for Artannian Affairs. You can be forgiven for wondering what in the world that means, because it's not a simple matter to explain. According to Artannian Imperial Statute, I am subject to the Far Grenning and Westfen Office of Taxation. Obviously, Far Grenning and Westfen are no longer Artannian possessions, but Artannians whose properties were recorded as part of those districts still have tax records that they need to file if they want to sell their goods in the Artannian Empire as citizens. Do you follow so far?”
“Not quite, but carry on and maybe it'll get clearer,” I said.
“Right, well, the point is, the right to sell onabeast products in Artannia is closely watched for political reasons that a Noldoner like yourself probably understands better than I do. It's a very lucrative trade, however, and most onabreeders don't have one any more, so you definitely want to protect your license. Also, if the tax inspectors declare you're not paying your taxes properly, it can get your citizenship revoked. Artannian citizenship is a nice thing to have in Apowyl, too; we can't be drafted, or impressed, sent to the sponging house, or anything along those lines. It's really the next best thing to being a noble. So you gotta make sure to keep the tax inspector happy, or at least, don't give her an excuse to throw the book at you. Half my job is to help you make sure you're in compliance before the inspector checks.
“The other half of my job is to make sure the Guild is giving you the support you deserve. Well, and to make sure you're paying your dues, but the dues on this property are actually paid out for another five years, so that's not much of a concern. I was dealing with the new inspector in Little Falls when the word came out about your parents so I had to leave things to the local office, and I can't pretend that we necessarily took as good care of the farm as we should have, but from now on you can count on me to keep a closer eye on things. Especially since she seems to really be a hardass.”
“I thought Roxie seemed to do a very good job.”
“Oh yeah, she's good, no one denies that she good at making sure the onastock are taken care of, but we have actual farm managers who are trained to take over farms in emergencies. Because of silly legal wrinkles you can't hire the managers, but we can appoint them on your behalf, and they are paid with a percentage of farm profits. We also have our own inspectors that make sure they're doing their job. Out here I think you'd appreciate that. Just let us know at couple weeks in advance and we can have someone here to look after things while you're gone to Landager Town for business, or even Noldon. I'll warn you that they won't be Artannians, but they're all Guild guaranteed. Very experienced and reliable. Would you happen to speak Pilvish at all?”
“I do, actually, though I may not be in the best practice.”
“Very good. That will be very useful in finding you a good quality overseer on short notice.” Margo marked something down on a little slate she had with her.
I was uneasy. “Do you think I will be needing this very soon for some reason?”
“I hope not. It's simply at the front of my mind because I feel like we didn't do as much for you as we should have when your parents, uh, we should have done more, at any rate. Also, you have solicitors in Landager Town, don't you?”
“I do, but I stopped there on my way here and got my documents in order. Though unfortunately I will need to replace my travel paperwork, as it was destroyed in an accident.”
“Yes, you will want to do that. You're on the local registers under your mother's name, and this was your mother's farm, so there's no worry in terms of local law or the local Guild, but if we get into some kind of legal contest with the Crown you will need your Oakenfield papers ready to hand.”
Gent made a wary noise in his throat and stared at the front door. “Are you expecting anyone?” I asked Margo.
“I wasn't, but it's possible it's Dame Delilah Cromwell, the tax inspector. Though I had hoped it would be much longer before...”
Her words were cut off with a strong pounding on the door, which incited an outright growl from Gent. “Oh by the Gods!” I swore, looking at my borrowed overalls, which would hardly be better than being naked, if the inspector was a starchy sort. “Can you stall her a moment? I need to put on some clothes.”
“Oh my, I guess so. Though I don't think she'll be happy to see me.”
“How do you think she would respond to be receiving her like this?” I asked.
“Go dress,” Margo told me, and smoothed down her front nervously before walking toward the front door.
I would have preferred to wear more ordinary clothes, but they were either hanging where I couldn't reach them without leaving the house, or currently filthy. So I was left with a ball gown I had worn precisely once, and the frogged dress I wore when attempting to present before the Noldon Society of Inventors. Two souvenirs of abject failure and humiliation. I chose the latter, as it would be quicker to don and was more conservatively cut, though it was a bear to get out of by myself. Hopefully Margo would stay longer than Miss Cromwell and help me with it.
I locked Gent in the room and headed down to find a beautiful, white-haired woman of indeterminate age wearing a voluminous costume of Artannian authority that didn't hide the fact that, like nearly every female creature I'd encountered since getting here, she had significantly larger breasts than I did. Thank goodness for Margo, who was on my side both in terms of endowments and in her resolute attempts to remind Miss Cromwell of my rights as a member of the Breeder's Guild. Standing near and behind Miss Cromwell was an imposingly armed and armored man with the seal of her office emblazoned on the gleaming steel over his chest. He spotted me first, though all he moved were his eyes.
Dame Delilah noticed me soon enough, though, and I could see she was surprised to see me dressed so respectably. Her look of open malice toward Margo drained away and was replaced with a sickly sweet smile that was familiar to me from my time in the capitol. She viewed me as an upstart, but nevertheless a member of polite society who could only be treated with a moderate amount of rudeness. I adopted my best unimpressed smile, and we were at stalemate.
“Miss Oakenfield, this is Inspector Dame Delilah Cromwell. Dame, this is Miss...” Margo started the introductions before the inspector waved her off as if Margo was an annoying pest.
“I had heard you were raised in a very respectable boarding house in Noldon, Miss Oakenfield. I'm rather surprised you chose to continue your parents' irregular line of trade.”
“Dame Delilah, I was convinced by the difficulty of selling the land and remaining able to support my siblings.”
“Isn't your sister on the point of making a very favorable match?” she asked silkily, “If you had done the same, you would already have a husband capable of taking care of these things.”
“You are very well informed about my family.”
“But Miss Oakenfield, do not forget I am also from Noldon, and and I am likely to know anyone of note that you know,” she said, her hostility barely masked.
Suddenly I realized that my respectable attire had, instead of giving her a better opinion of me, convinced her I was a threat. I wished it was true. “Well, I am here now, and may be said to have dropped quite out of society, don't you think?”
“I have not,” she said flatly, apparently incapable of noticing that I was not trying to wrongfoot her or doubt her social rank. She must have done something very embarrassing to get sent out here, given her paranoia about it.
“Would you like some tea?” I decided to ask, wanting a break to allow her feathers to settle some.
She made a face as if I'd just offered to poison her. “No, I'm much too busy for that. I need to deliver your tax assessment and arrange for payment.”
“And the license, surely?” Margo interjected.
“Why no, that won't be necessary, as it is recorded and filed in the Landager Revenues Office,” Delilah said sweetly, “It is so much easier to manage these things when they aren't floating about the wilds. It also makes effective oversight so easy. If I determine that a breeder is committing moral crimes, it's very easy to pull the license. Now, here is your breeder license number, and the assessment based on last year's recorded sales, plus the Foreign Morality Waiver Benefit adjustment, resulting in a somewhat higher valuation than I think was formerly assessed.”
At first I thought the increase was from seventy to eighty thousand pounds, which would have increased my taxes by a hefty 50%. However, an extra zero kept swimming before my eyes.
Margo's sight settled faster. “Eight hundred thousand pounds? Why, that's just robbery, you hypocritical twat!”
“Do not raise your voice at me, Assistant Administrator Marguerite!”
“You should arrest her, Officer Ferris,” Margo told the armored man, “Like any common criminal caught in an act of crime.”
“No one questions Dame Delilah's probity,” he said warningly.
“I just did. How can you possibly justify assessing the farm at nearly a million pounds?”
“Simple,” Delilah purred, “The original assessment was only for the working farm area. However it has come to my attention that the farm also includes many times as many acres of fen and forest. This license is not limited in quantity, and Miss Oakenfield has a right to use the entire area, amounting to more than a thousand acres. I could, if I chose, assess it even higher, but I try to balance the interests of the Crown and the individual. But think of how much scope for expansion you have! Just remember not to hire any Artannians, because then I would have to levy a very steep Morality Tax.”
“Morality? As if you would know the first thing about morality, you greedy old hypocrite! You act like breeders are so terrible, but everyone knows you use the products!” Margo accused.
“I use nothing the Queen Herself doesn't use,” Delilah said serenely, “And you have clearly forgotten that I am not only your superior, I am an inquisitor in the Imperial Legion of Vice Control who can issue a warrant for your arrest for accessory to moral debauchery.”
“An empty threat; your warrants have no meaning in Pilvish lands,” Margo shot back.
“Please, please, let me just ask a question. How could I be expected to pay this? Seventy five thousand pounds is impossible.”
“You need only pay the interest, my dear girl. One thousand five hundred pounds quarterly, I believe it comes out to. Because I am merciful, you needn't begin paying until the close of the summer quarter. Or I could see about finding someone to buy this farm from you for a tidy sum. Now, this has certainly been fascinating, but it's time for me to be on my way. Your solicitors in Landager Town will know how to reach me if you're interested in my offer. If not, I think you have a great deal of cavorting with beasts to do. Assistant Administrator Marguerite, come with me.”
“This will not stand, Miss Oakenfield,” Margo promised me, “She can't actually do this. But you better figure out how to get fifteen hundred pounds by the quarter, or she might suspend the license.”
“Assistant Administrator Marguerite!” Delilah demanded, standing near my front door with her metal-clad escort.
“Sorry!” Margo said, and hurried after.
I was glad to be free of Delilah's awful presence, though it meant I'd have to take my own corset off. After eating a light luncheon, I decided.
As it happened, I hardly needed worry about getting out of my clothes, as Gent proved to be an unexpected help, pulling at the straps with his teeth when I struggled to reach. Of course, as soon as I was undressed he mounted me, but honestly I welcomed the chance to relieve some tension. As I rested with Gent atop and inside me, I wondered if the anti-breeders had a point about moral corruption. But then, was this really so terrible?
That afternoon while I was harvesting, a Pilvan 'slave' came by to deliver three more hostrusi, evidently as the fulfillment of a contract with the Marchioness. Unfortunately, I explained, I wasn't in a position to pay the half due on delivery.
“Oh, that's no problem,” the gorgeous Pilvan agent told me cheerfully, “She is very generous, and if you can get a proven breeding pair with that feral of yours, I'll warrant that she'd regard a loan of them as being more than sufficient payment. Especially if you can get him to pair with the wheat-haired hostrus here. She's a rare one.” The hostrus evidently knew he was talking about her, and ruffled his beautiful silky hair. “I'll mark down to send a porter by to pick up any bonded pair you might have in two weeks. If you don't have anything by then, she might accept the sale of the feral, but I'm not sure.”
“What if she doesn't?”
“There's not much she can do to an Artannian, except not do business with you any more. But she pays the best of all the breeders around here, so you wouldn't want to upset her.”
“Would it be offensive if I asked you a question about your... bondage to Lady Apowyl?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “No, not from you. What would you like to know?”
“How did it happen?”
“I signed myself up for civil servitude and got lucky. My family is very proud of me for pleasing such a distinguished line. Besides holding the march of Apowys, the Dehiliards are well connected.”
“Do you serve them for life?”
“No, it's just a term thing, though someone in my position would undoubtedly offer to extend the period of servitude, working under such an inventive and vigorous Lady.”
“Working under... do you, pardon me for asking this, but do you serve in the bedchamber?”
He shook his head sadly. “Alas, no. Only the rarest specimens make it in there. They say she has an interest in Artannians, though. It's too bad the treaty doesn't allow it, or that would be another way for you to pay your debt.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, against my own better judgement.
“She might take you on as a sex servant,” he said, as if this was the obvious reason.
“To serve the Marquis?” I asked, confused.
He looked me up and down. “Hah! Not you,” he said before reverting to a more businesslike tone. “Okay, I have the payment down as 'match-pair quarterly trade, blue-coat feral diwarg with wheat-haired exotic.' If you'll just sign here.”
The paper was in Pilvish, which I could not read, but he seemed trustworthy enough. “What if I can't get them to mate after all?”
“You can work it out with the agent, like you are with me. Might need to go through the stablemaster if you don't have any proven mate for the feral at all, but any proven mate will probably do. If you get the actual mate in the contract here, I bet she'll send you a special thanks.” He gave me an enigmatic little wink that I didn't find reassuring.
“He'll be looking to take the pair mentioned, but he can't take any other pair without authorization. If for any reason you can't be here at the solstice, just leave a note. It's been a pleasure.”
I didn't find any particular reason why the wheat-haired hostrus was so exotic, but my worry that the new hostrusi wouldn't react well to the milker was misplaced. They seemed to enjoy it very much, and the little noises of pleasure they emitted made my own nipples tingle. I watched with fascination for a while, until the wheat-haired 'exotic' gave me a smirk that made me feel both like a voyeur and prey. I wondered, would I ever become accustomed to this strange profession?
Starting the next day, I tried to get Gent and Emmer, as I called the wheat-haired exotic, to mate with one-another. This proved quite difficult, as both seemed more interested in me. One technique I attempted was to suckle on Emmer's nipples, which left her clearly amorous, but something about having that giant, sweet nub in my mouth made me react strongly as well. Faced with two aroused females, Gent chose me. I couldn't be too upset, however, as it was the greatest pleasure I'd yet felt, taking me as close to the brink as I'd ever been. The brink of what, I wasn't sure, but it felt very near.
It was important to keep at it, however, and I not only attempted to mate Gent and Emmer, I also experimented with mating the standard-breed diwargs and the kettin. That was crowned with much quicker success, and soon I had my shocking first experience of a fey pregnancy. I knew that onabeasts birthed their young rapidly, but the growth of the ket's belly overnight was marked, and by the end of the next day she was delivered of a diwarg cub that seemed far too large to have emerged from her body without injury.
By the next morning, the diwarg was a large puppy that reminded me very much of a smaller version of Gent, but the day after he grew again, and this time into a juvenile form of the more upright standard breed diwargs. Foolishly, I failed to remember Roxie's advice, so my battle to collar him the next day took hours and introduced me to the use of my rear exit as a sexual receptacle. Though not nearly as uncomfortable as it should have been, it did result in unusable product, so I endeavored to avoid that in the future, with indifferent success now that knowledge of my hindquarters seemed to have spread amongst the diwargs, who seemed to enjoy my discomfiture. As least the discomfort faded as I got used to it and learned to relax.
Gent, true to his name, remained devoted to my traditional opening, which would have pleased me more if I wasn't trying to get him to transfer his loyalties to Emmer. I was somewhat mollified by the higher price his product fetched when Margo helped me make my first sale downriver, but I was starting to wonder if I shouldn't let him sleep with me any more. I delayed and delayed, both because he whined when I went upstairs without him, and because I got better sleep with him inside and around me. Solstice was rapidly approaching, however, so I redoubled my efforts to get Gent and Emmer to breed, deciding that if I didn't have them bred within three days, I'd stop letting Gent mount me.
In the meantime I met with Jrusk, the Kala farm overseer Margo had found for me. He wasn't able to pin down the exact date that he would arrive, but said that it wouldn't be long into summer – a good thing, as I was planning a trip to Little Falls to visit Salisbury&Groad's contacts there. I showed him around to the various creatures and gave him a precis of both their peccadillos and the manner in which I sold their products down the river. Despite being noticeably less fluent in Pilvish than I was, and his complete ignorance of Artannian, Jrusk seemed far more knowledgeable than I was about onabreeding. He was also a muscular, well-endowed man in front of whom I didn't wish to expose myself as an ignoramus, so I didn't touch on anything too far outside my expertise lest I prove how small it really was. I told him that I intended to send Gent to Lady Apowyl as part of a breeding pair, but didn't get too much into the specifics, such as his expected mate or why, given that I hadn't the faintest understanding of what might be unusual about Emmer, unless it was her craftiness.
I discovered why Emmer was considered exotic on the fourth day, after I'd spent a long, sleepless night listening to Gent howl soulfully. I'd left him posted outside with other side of his tandem chain pulled through the hole between the heavy anvil and the heavy table on which it rested, and even from inside the barn I could hear him pulling on the chain. Emmer seemed somewhat more excited to have me to herself, and I was using a technique I'd learned from the kettin of stimulating her vulva with my tongue, then gently sucking on her clitoris. Based on how she used her hand to press my face into her groin, I thought I was making progress.
Another marker was the steady engorgement of the clitoris as I continued, until it seemed more like I was sucking on a large toadstool. I tried to back off to see what was afoot, but Emmer was having none of it, and kept my lips welded to her skin. It kept growing, and soon I was forced to conclude that Emmer was somehow growing a male member, and a very large one at that. I stopped suckling, but it didn't make a difference; through the simple expedient of grasping my head on both sides and moving my head away and back toward her, she made my throat act as a sort of vaginal sphincter. I struggled for air, but Emmer seemed to have lost sense, and so for a little while as I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. I remember her hips bucking and fluid filling my belly, then her releasing me to the ground, where somehow Gent appeared and made up for lost time. I experienced the most earth-shattering convulsion of pleasure, then drifted away.
The next thing I remember clearly was waking in relative comfort, impaled as I was accustomed to be and resting against warm belly fur as had also become my habit. However, I was in the barn, which was not where I was accustomed to sleep, with the upended table and anvil dragged inside. Also, I found myself to be utterly hoarse, unable to voice anything but the simplest grunts. I made some use of that as he woke and began to plow my fields again, insisting on a belly-to-belly encounter that left me quite stuck until afternoon harvest. Gent followed me very closely, and when I tried to go in with Emmer, he followed me so closely I couldn't close the stall door again. I tried to use this to my advantage, and repeated my performance with Emmer while she was facing away from Gent. I thought to make him mount her in jealousy or anxiety when she was in the midst of the act, and for the first time ever, it actually worked.
As I gasped for air and tried to regain my equilibrium after she'd released me, Emmer crouched her powerful legs and grasped Gent's forepaws, then lifted him in the air. I stumbled after her, afraid that she would hurt him, but she merely pulled on the other end of the chain to take up the slack between the diwarg and the anvil. My fear shifted to the possibility that she would instead close the ket collar around a support post or something, so I hurried over to try to wrest it from her hands. Of course, I hadn't a tenth part of her strength, so there was no stopping her as she had the idea to lock it around my neck.
After that, clearly, I was in the basket for sure.
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