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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
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Author's note: A reader asked me to give more attention to Bonbon's growing breasts, so I've added that, along with some other revisions of my own giving more attention to the F/F sex. I'm kind of warming up to the 'breast expansion' stuff, but YMMV; I invite any reviewers to let me know if they don't enjoy it.

My initial panicked apprehensions of starving to death passed away quickly. I had noticed the previous night that swallowing the hostrus' seed had made me feel somewhat sated, and of course there was quite a lot of water and nutrients in hostrus milk. I would simply have to live off of onabeast products until Roxie or Jrusk came to save me. It would be deeply embarrassing, of course, but much better than being trapped in the barn indefinitely. And trapped I would be, as there was no way for Gent to drag the anvil without crushing my head against it, even if I could coax him to do it.
The next day I felt a little nauseated and bloated, as well as still entirely hoarse, which I attributed to my unusual diet of semen and milk, but the nausea passed off after the morning and I was pleased to find I was still capable of convincing Emmer and Gent to mate as long as I accepted Emmer's use of my throat in the meantime. My breasts continued to feel a little swollen and sensitive, but my periods had always been a little irregular; I assumed I was just a little early that month. I went to bed tolerably satisfied at the end of that second day.
The morning of the third, however, saw my bloating significantly increased in my belly as well as my breasts, which were definitely the largest I could ever remember them being. This time I was sure it had to be the hostrus milk, which was very rich and creamy, and I had been consuming more of it than was probably advisable. I contemplated drinking from the water trough, but contracting a waterborne sickness would be the very last thing I should risk under the circumstances, so I continued as I had.
On the fourth, my bloating had increased dramatically, and I began to worry I had some sort of serious condition. There wasn't much I could do about it, but I worried all day at the unaccustomed weight in my belly. I might have enjoyed the look and feel of my continually-expanding bosom when I was younger and dreamed of the way Sally Wasping's plump breasts bounced, but at as a part of my unexplainable swelling it seemed ominous. Despite my anxieties, though, I think they might have helped me reach more of those shuddering peaks of ecstasy that I'd begun experiencing with some regularity when Gent and Emmer made use of me.
Maybe because of that, my technique with Emmer and Gent wasn't as correct as it could have been, and I ended up swallowing her load as well as being mounted belly-to-belly by Gent. Knowing that I'd be stuck for a while and not wanting Gent's penis to put too much pressure on my belly, I threw a strap over Gent's back and wrapped the ends around my wrists. It seemed like a good idea until I realized my hands were going to sleep and I might not be able to unwrap myself.
I thought I'd been in the basket before, but this was far worse. Would I lose my hands? What would become of me.
Then I heard an extremely welcome sound: the slight squeak of the front barn door opening to admit someone.
“Oh, perfect!” a female voice said in Pilvish, “Precisely as contracted. Wow, such an exotic. She looks the very image of an Artannian! My lady will be so pleased.”
I tried desperately to explain to the Pilvan woman that I was, in fact, an Artannian and not an exotic onabeast, but with hands tied, rear fastened to Gent, and no voice to speak of, I could hardly blame her for thinking me a simple beast.
“Let's see,” she felt at my breasts and then my belly while scratching Gent's head. “Interesting. This breed must have very small udders. Is that common amongst pygmies, or was it part of breeding them to look Artannian? I must ask Renda, she'll know. Regardless, this one is definitely breeding. I wonder how many days her...” I missed a few words at the end of her sentence that were beyond my knowledge of Pilvan. “...This hand-strap doesn't seem like a good idea.”
I was momentarily optimistic that I was going to be released, but all she did was replace the straps with padded manacles. Admittedly the new arrangement was much more comfortable, but once she had removed the slack on the cable running between them, they afforded even less freedom.
With a tap on Gent's nose, we were off. It was but a short trip of perhaps a mile where we joined what appeared to be a kind of bestial caravan. After discussion of my supposedly gravid state, it was determined that we should be loaded onto a flat wagon pulled by a team of majestic draught horses with truly imposing erections. Gent and I bedded down next to a cage containing a feminine winged creature who eyed us in an unfriendly way. Seeing powerful talons at the end of her legs, I nestled as closely as I could into Gent's underside and away from her reach.
Then the caravan resumed its travels, and its gentle swaying rocked me to sleep.
I didn't know if we travelled all through the night or if it was merely a short distance to our destination, but when next I woke we were in a sort of courtyard surrounded by beasts and beast grooms. Sometime in the night the my hand shackles must have been released, as I now wore a daintier set with a shorter cable. I was also being mounted from behind as a consequence of no longer being obliged to be belly-to-belly with Gent. My ankles were fettered now and the padded into a kind of strap across Gent's back, making it more comfortable to support my hindquarters.
This was especially necessary now, as I could not deny that I had all the appearance of a woman not many weeks from taking to childbed. It was, in some respects, the fulfillment of my worst nightmares. They had called me an exotic and thought me pregnant. I was, now, on the point of accepting their view of it. There was no question that what grew so rapidly in my womb must be some fey beast, and by all that I knew of science, no Artannian could carry such young. I could not figure what I was, but the natural child of my mother and father I could not be.
In my dismal state I wondered if the farm even truly belonged to me, or if it was Marina to whom all the responsibility new fell for looking after my sisters. Who, it seemed, were not my sisters at all, by blood.
Gent and I were placed in a cage together, labeled 'Gent and Ghostie', after the playful names Roxie had etched on the two collars of the tandem chain. It had ceased to be a tandem chain because the blacksmith had removed the chains from each collar, but we still wore them as well as the other shackles, similarly unchained. Looking around at the menagerie I saw many animals I'd never seen before of every sex and size, including what I could only think was a female diwarg, though she was not caged and appeared to be a senior beast groom rather than livestock like myself. It half reassured and half dismayed me to see Pilvans in my position. Reassuring because it meant that I had not fallen below the station of all rational beings, but dismaying because it meant that proving my status as a rational being would not automatically result in my release.
Later in the day we were allowed out into a sort of paddock area where my collar was chained to a post with a long chain and Gent allowed to jump freely over the railings and disappear into the forest. While he was away doing whatever he was doing, I practice waddling around bowlegged because of the cub I now assumed I was carrying, cradling heavy, milk-filled breasts that had surpassed my memory of Sally's twice over. My peramulations were beginning to tire me when Gent returned with a poor dead animal in his teeth, presenting it to me as if it was a high treat. I sat down to try to figure out if there were any parts an Artannian could safely eat, until I remembered that I was not Artannian after all. I may as well try many parts without prejudice and see how they tasted to my unknown tongue.
I ended up with a great deal of gore on my hands and cheeks, but having eaten little and enjoyed it less. Still, I felt it would be an insult to ignore Gent's gift, so after I had eaten all I could bear, I distracted him by opening my legs to him. He sniffed and became erect, but I think the size of my belly dissuaded him, because he didn't mount me. It was strange to feel so disconsolate because a dumb beast declined to rut with me, but it would at least have been familiar. I was even wracked with a kind of jealousy when the female diwarg came by and mounted him herself while staring at me as if to communicate her dominance. Maybe she was merely there to harvest his ejaculate, but whatever her intent, I was thoroughly intimidated.
The next morning I gave birth to a diwarg pup as expected. The confirmation of my expectations was nevertheless a major blow to some corner of me that must somehow have still hoping for some other explanation, though, and I found it especially jarring to be milked at the hands of a rather bored-looking Pilf. My vagina recovered with supernatural speed and that afternoon instead of returning to Gent I was taken back to an entirely different cage occupied by a ket well endowed in both chest and loin; the grooms called her a futaket. With my spirits so disordered I didn't even bother to object, nor did I resist when the futaket later pressed herself on me. Unlike Gent, her penis didn't have a knot that swelled after climax, so she was free to roger me all day and well into the night. As if to further confirm my bestial nature, her skilled fingers and slightly knobbly penis repeatedly brought me to a peak of ecstasy and over the strange, spastic cliff that left me feeling deeply sated and a little sore.
I woke up with an unsettled stomach and knew at once that the ket must have gotten me with child already. The grooms, experienced in these things, also immediately detected my state and returned me to Gent, who was overjoyed to see me again and expressed his affection in the customary way.
Things went on much this way for some time, such that they bred me with a standard diwarg, then a stallion who had to be coaxed to deposit his seed in my womb instead of my rectum. In the interstices they might return me to Gent, or lend me to some other beast for its amusement, which in my nihilistic mood hardly bothered me. Finally they bred me with a Pilvan slave, who hardly seemed to care about the act itself as much as his musings that I was some kind of exotic relative of the demon. Evidently the grooms were as underwhelmed by his performance as I was, so they transferred me to an actual demon, who was, besides being handsome in a rather terrifying way, also relentless in his sexual address. Of particular benefit was his freakish ability to hold me around the waist with his thumb and forefingers while kneading on both sides of my clitoris with his smaller fingers. That left him with an entire extra hand he used to manipulate my body in innumerable other delightful ways. If ever I was to fancy a male mate, he would be near the top of my list.
The morning after I delivered his imp, as grooms called infant demons, Lady Apowyl herself came to inspect her prized new breeding girl, as the groom called me.
I could just make out her group some distance down the row from where I rested in the recovery cage. She seemed to be inspecting some of the other cages along the way chatting with a Pilvan assistant and the female diwarg who acted as groom. It wasn't until she was quite a bit closer that I got a good look at her. I was just beginning to take in her striking features when she turned to look at me, and it was as if someone had jolted my body with electricity. Sally Wasping without her shift was nothing to it, and the predatory grin on Lady Apowyl' face made me hope and fear that the feeling was not one-sided.
“This, Merrith. What is she?” Lady Apowyl demanded of a grey-skinned companion who might have been her senior aide.
“I'm sure I don't know, milady. Renda?”
“This is the loan from Riannon,” the female diwarg growled, “It is very fertile, and has birthed whelps for all but the pelf, who did not find her to his liking.”
“Yes, I know that; it's why I'm here today. But what is she?” Lady Apowyl asked again, and walked toward me.
I was rooted in place as I stood near the bars of the cage. The Marchioness was tall; she probably overtopped even Roxie by a few inches, and the spun-gold hair cascading to her knees was nearly as long as I was tall. Her almost-bared breasts were just at the height of my head, and of nearly the same size. Her attire redefined clothing for me, for it left almost all her perfectly-toned torso in plain view, and even where the stretched fabric covered her skin, it did not conceal.
Thus I was staring at her bulging vulva, when Lady Apowyl asked. “Can she talk?”
“No,” Renda said, “She is mated with a feral. I believe she is also a feral.”
“A feral what? She looks just like an Artannian!” The noblewoman clapped her hands together to emphasize her pleasure at my resemblance to what I had believed myself to be for my whole life.
“Master Gastre thinks it is a demon of some kind, but we do not know. There are no others.”
“But this is just what I want! We must make more of her. Did any of the young take her type?”
“They did not,” Renda told her.
“Breed her with the futastrus with light hair,” Lady Apowyl commanded.
“Milady, unfortunately we got the loan of this one and the feral diwarg as part payment for a set of hostrusi that included the futastrus,” Merrith exlained.
“Then borrow her back from Riannon! And of course, there's no question of giving this one back at the equinox; add her to the permanent menagerie. You will arrange for her purchase at whatever price Riannon names; I know she must have planned this. Good for her; I so wish... But that's no more appropriate than ever. And speaking of both appropriateness and names: Ghostie? That odd name is neither fitting nor pleasing. Let this delicious little morsel be called Bonbon, after the Artannian treat. Would you like that, Bonbon?” she asked me, nodding her head.
I was so transfixed that I nodded my head in response, mouth slightly agape and hardly attending to what was being said.
“Oh, what an excellent little creature. I haven't been this excited in over twenty years. I wish I wasn't so rushed this morning, or I would want to spend considerably more time here. Also, make her fit for the favorites cage before I return. Bonbon could look very refined with some proper care. Wait, has the diwarg feral successfully bred with any other creatures?”
“We were able to get a diwarg cub from him through a ket, but while this, ah, Bonbon is quite fertile, the other feral is much less so, as one expects from most ferals,” Renda answered. It was difficult to judge tone in her guttural voice, but I though I heard discontent.
“Well, then, breed Bonbon to him one more time before sending her amongst the favorites. No sense in wasting the loan term. Well. Bye for now, my adorable Bonbon! I'll be seeing much more of you later, and I'm just as excited as you are.”
She turned away, so she didn't see my blush at the realization that Lady Apowyl's last words were a reference to how swollen and glistening my bared vagina had become in reaction to her visit. Shortly thereafter, they returned me to my cage with Gent, and my unrelieved arousal at her visit meant I was never so glad to be mounted.
As I lay under him afterwards, though, I finally started to fully engage with all that I heard when Lady Apowyl had visited me in the recovery cage. On one hand, I would be mortified to go back to the farm in such a way as would announce to all the world that I was not an Artannian at all, not to mention the certain advantage Dame Delilah would take of that fact. I almost preferred never to go back, and I had to admit to myself that my time here had certainly had its enjoyable bits. I also wanted to know exactly what kind of use Lady Apowyl might have in mind for me. On the other hand, though, I could not imagine spending my whole life as a beast in a cage. I didn't understand why I couldn't seem to talk any more, but it wasn't because I no longer had things to say.
Also, I worried about what must be happening back on the farm. I had some hope that Jrusk would be taking proper care of the farm in my absence, watched over by Roxie. For my brother and sisters' sake, I further hoped that they would have found the note I had started writing in case I needed to leave before Jrusk arrived and so have some guidance in how to go on. They must eventually begin to wonder what became of me, however, so surely someone would discover that I had been accidentally taken as Gent's mate. What they would do then, though, I had little idea.
Those were the thoughts that occupied the next week, which was the time it took to give Gent another cub. During recovery, however, instead of being left alone, Renda and an undergroom came in to re-pierce my ears so that they could be hung with the same little placards with writing on them that the permanent animals wore. Then I was taken to an entirely different courtyard, with separated buildings situated next to the walls enclosing the whole. I was led to a sort of ring in the middle where Emmer waited.
It was clear that she recognized me, and her curious male member began to emerge almost immediately in anticipation. As my own body responded and I noticed how much I was unconsciously looking forward to being taken again, it reminded me of how different a person I was turning out to be from the prim Artannian miss that I had been in Noldon. I didn't have an time to dwell on it too much because Emmer pulled my face to her bosom, and I quickly forgot about anything outside of the ring, including the breeding staff present to make sure Emmer and I copulated satisfactorily.
It certainly satisfied me; Emmer did not simply rut until she deposited her seed. She lifted me up then sat on a stump with me straddling her large thigh, positioning me to suckle at her huge hostrus nipples. As the sweet and creamy taste filled my mouth, she pulled my hips closer and spread my legs to allow to fill my cunt with both thumbs. She rotated them up and down around each other rhythmically until I sprayed by juices all over her thigh. By then her curious male part had emerged, and I happily switch from teat to cock, enjoying the tangy precum and the way I could make her fingers and toes clench in reaction. Before I could make her come, she lifted me into the air where she could suckle a little at my breasts, which made it my toes' turn to curl. Then, when I couldn't take it any more she lowered me onto her. It was difficult to lament my place in the world when it included such ecstatic heights of sexual pleasure, reached over and over again through an exhausting but world-expanding evening.
When we were both spent, Emmer went off to one building while I went to another, where my riveted 'Ghostie' collar was finally replaced with a steel band made of a single piece that the blacksmith and his apprentices carefully bent around my neck, then protected my neck with layers of oiled and wetted cloths while they welded the band shut permanently. To make it as comfortable and snug as possible, grooves on the bottom and top allowed for the insertion of replaceable chamois backing. Then, on the outside they applied a brilliantly-shining plate with a the name “Bonbon” in the kind of pretty Artannian lettering one might find on a curio necklace.
Because that process had taken so long they took me out for another good fucking, then back in for washing. Once I was clean a small team of Pilvish grooms carefully combed out my hair, then rubbed in scented oils before styling it as if I'd been a fashionable Noldon lady. I found it relaxing, at least until I realized that it was causing grumbling amongst the stylists.
“Bad enough that sometimes she wants the regular beasts cleaned up, but this one's a feral. Probably get it dirty and sticky before the night is through, and her ladyship not even here to see that we did anything. If her ladyship was going to enjoy her tonight, I'd understand it, but what does a hostrus care? Or whatever she is.”
“Maybe it's a surprise thing,” one of the others said, “Our lady did always like those little southern girls.”
“That's just a rumor. Plus, this one's just about flat as a harpy. Well, I exaggerate, but I swear, the only reason her teats look decent-sized is because the rest of her is so little. Doesn't seem like she would be her ladyship's favorite.”
“That may be so, but I heard our lady paid a small fortune for this one, so she must have some interest there. Besides, nothing to do but duty, and then see what happens.”
“True true. You never know with Dehiliards.”
Thus put on notice, I tried my best to keep my hair clean for the rest of the night, which wasn't always easy between milk, squirts of vaginal lubricant, and of course, plenty of cum. Still, I finished the night without having visibly ruined my high-class coif, and the next morning I was already confirmed pregnant, so I felt like they needn't have complained. They might class me with the feral onabeasts, but I was determined they would see I was not uncivilized.
I didn't go back to join poor Gent; it seemed I was now in Emmer's keeping. Once she saw she'd gotten me with child she was more careful with me, having me ride cowgirl and suckle from her teats standing up rather than while she was pounding me from behind. It was breeding-stall tidy, and despite my sympathy for my devoted diwarg companion, Emmer was a far better lover. The only really upsetting part was that she never took any notice of my attempts to stop her from starting in on me when I was feeling sore or tired, but once she had forced herself on me, she did at least make sure I always came. I eventually gave up resisting, since it just made me more tired and sore. In retrospect, I think this was intentional on Emmer's part; she was far cleverer than gentle Gent, and even he frequently grasped my intent to set limits.
From what I could tell, I was the only non-hostrus in the barn, and Emmer's stall was the only one with two occupants. A groom asked why this was within earshot, and was told that ferals were housed with other animals to distract us from problem behaviors like gnawing and whining. I didn't feel much like I was particularly prone to those kinds of problem behaviors, but then I must be the only feral onabeast raised in a very proper Noldon school for young ladies.
Not that I was so proper any more. The more Emmer demanded sex, then less I even considered any other possibility than compliance.
What was strange this time was that my breasts were swelling noticeably more than they had during my other fey pregnancies. By the time the week was over I had the bust larger than the average ket's attached to my comparatively petite torso, and they were producing enough milk to feed the voracious appetite of my hostrus calf. The Marchioness walked in on me nursing.
“This surpasses all my hopes. Oh my. She is absolutely my favorite,” she was telling Merrith. “How much did we end up paying for her?”
“Fifteen thousand Artannian pounds, milady.”
“So much?” Lady Apowyl asked, surprised.
“Riannon is absent and the caretaker was hesitant, milady. So we paid a high enough price that no fault could possibly be found.”
The Marchioness chuckled. “I bet she did it on purpose rather than drive such a hard bargain in person. She always was very clever. Well, Bonbon is absolutely worth it. If she turns out as well as I begin to hope, Bonbon is a bargain at twice the price.”
“Why is that, milady?” Merrith asked, bemused, and perhaps disgruntled.
“Have you noticed how her bosom has swollen since last week, and how plentiful the milk?” She reached out to lift my breasts in either hand, making me quiver. “They are like soft coconuts.”
“Yes, it is quite striking, milady, but forgive me if I do not see the significance.”
“I need to consult some records in my dear brother's library, but I begin to think she has the rare quality of sometimes taking on features of the creatures with which she mates. Could that also explain her appearance, if she's been mating with Artannians?”
“But in all history, no Artannian has ever impregnated any fey creature, whether Pilvan or beast.”
“Yes, you quite bring me back to earth. Nevertheless, her resemblance to Riannon is striking, don't you think?”
“I have only your description by which to judge, milady, but by that gauge I would say yes, there does appear to be a marked similarity, perhaps because Artannians are limited in their skin and hair hues.”
The Marchioness was now running her fingers through my hair, an intoxicating feeling, especially coupled with the magnificent cleavage the action thrust within inches of my face. “I am almost tempted... But no, this is for the best. If Bonbon could talk she would no doubt say commonplace things and I would tire of her quickly. Even Artannians, a breed that does so many interesting things, are actually quite dull in the great majority of cases.” She lifted me up easily to sample my breast milk, making me moan involuntarily.
“Would you consider it dull or interesting when they make war on us, milady?” Merrith asked.
The Marchioness relinquished my nipple. “Both at once, of course. Of all the things to do with their fascinating contraptions, war is the most boorish. Did you know that Riannon has a mechanical milking machine, powered by lightning gathered from the wind, which is capable of milking four hostrusi at once? I wish very much I could go see it.”
“Why don't you just buy the farm from Riannon, milady?”
“I think I would have her breasts bigger,” Lady Apowyl said as if Merrith hadn't spoken, “These are nice, but her hips are very wide, and so I think her bust should be wider to match. Breed her with the futastrus again and see if they get any bigger. Regardless of the outcome, have her fitted for house dress and taught such simple domestic tasks as she proves capable of learning. Also, whatever aesthetic improvements the spa masters wish to make, they are not to remove these dark little speckles on her cheeks, which are perfectly charming.”
“Yes milady.”
“Farewell Bonbon. Be a good girl and I'll give you treats later,” Lady Apowyl told me in a sing-song voice before giving me a brief but very suggestive kiss that sent me into a petit version of one of those paroxysms of pleasure I had lately been experiencing frequently. The Marchioness noted with approval the quantity of liquid I'd expelled from my vagina in the event, then turned and left.
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