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Onabreeder	By : FrigOfFury Category: +A through F > Breeding Season Views: 22686 -:- 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:
First off, there is a TON of sex and fetish-y content. That might not be legal where you are, but figuring that out is up to you.
It's basically a fan fiction inspired by HartistaPipeBomb's Breeding Season erotic monster breeder game. There's also a pretty big influence from the Corruption Of Champions-type transform stories, so if you don't like those, you probably won't like this much. I've taken extensive liberties with the Breeding Season world and characters, as well as injecting more than a little Victorian Britain into the setting. There's not as much characterization as I usually put into my stories because I wanted to give my frigging/wanking readers latitude to imagine everyone as they wish, but I'll probably end up doing an edit that's less porny and more classically 'erotic'. I've also packed in a bewildering amount of different fetishes, including (of course) lots of bestiality, but also breast growth, pregnancy, lactation, some bondage elements, role reversals, incest, and lots of women with male parts. There's sex that I would call rape if it weren't in an erotic fantasy novella, so be warned. That deserves an extra call-out, so:

There's sex that I would call rape if it weren't in an erotic fantasy novella, so be warned.

But rape in real life, or anything that even skates close to it, is about the least sexy thing in the world. So, I've avoided things that remind me of real world rape and misogyny. I am really willing to rewrite versions of this so that other people can enjoy it without being reminded of real world rape and misogyny, so definitely contact me with any concerns on that score, and I might be able to write an alternative edit that works better for everyone.

I'll go further and say that I'd be happy to write edits to include fetishes I didn't cover, or describe existing fetish events in more detail/greater length. I'm not actually into every fetish represented, so I won't be surprised if I didn't do some of them justice. In other cases I hit fetish situations several times from slightly different angles, so it might get repetitive. Further, I wrote this whole thing for the female breeder, but I would have no problem writing something like, say, a gay male breeder. I have a whole other story line in my head for Officer Ferris and gallant Lord Apowyl that I didn't write because it doesn't really touch on this story. A straight male breeder having sex with a bunch of captive females I'm not so sure about because that tends to trip off my internal rape alarms – which isn't a judgement about anyone else, just a statement of how I feel about things in my gut. That's part of why there are so many women with penises in this story. But, if you want to see more entirely consensual sex between the female breeder narrator and more male characters, let me know and I'm happy to do that.
Basically, send me your critiques on anything and everything, and I'll see what I can do: PairAFeelya at gmail dot com
Finally, this has already been a little bit of a community effort, and so I give complete license for anyone else to do with it as they will, as long as they recognize that the original characters belong to the Breeding Season game team, not to me, so I (PairAFeelya) can't give them away.
So without further ado, the story begins.

None of my siblings had ever told anyone our parents were onabreeders. We didn't even tell people precisely where the farm even was, because then they would know that they were almost certainly involved in onabreeding in some respect, except there was nothing respectable about onabreeding. Fortunately it was quite lucrative and allowed us all to board at thoroughly respectable educational establishments in the capitol, so I had thought to be free of the taint long enough to find some other line of business, and perhaps someone to marry me so I could take their name.
That was before I got the telegram from their solicitor in Landager Town saying that they were missing and presumed deceased. As the eldest, I was now in charge of the estate and so the offices of Salisbury&Groad awaited my decision on what to do in those trying times. Attached was a sort of prospectus of the farm's operations, including quarterly sales and expenses, contracts, assets and debts. Then, at the end of it, the expected proceeds of selling it.
My stomach dropped at how small the last number was. Mother and Father had poured their savings and even taken out loans against a bunch of improvements that wouldn't resell. For example, an 'improved electric milking machine' cost them almost a thousand pounds to install, yet would only sell for 150 or so, according to Salisbury&Groad's estimates, while the two large battery-charging windmills would have to stay with the farm. Meanwhile the restrictions on the transfer of onabreeder farming licenses plus the fact that since the Pilvish Treaty the farm was no longer technically in an Artannian possession meant that the farm itself wouldn't fetch a tenth of its value. In short, the farm was worth hardly anything unless one of us was to continue running it.
I sat for at least an hour, trying to think of an alternative, but finally I steeled myself and wrote out a response to send back: I would be coming home to take over the farm.
Before I broke the news to the others I packed everything I owned into two trunks and a small valise and had them delivered to Grand Noldon Station via penny cargo. That kept the tearful farewells short and painful rather than long and agonizing, and then I was off to the wild north.
Being a solitary sort, I enjoyed the long train ride and the views of the snow-touched Sofells as the tracks wended their way northward into the Artannian border provinces that formed a buffer between Pilvia and Artannia proper. Despite the recent conflict over Artannia's failed attempt to capture the Pilvan lands south of the Gitonic Mountains, I didn't many signs of violence, much less wanton destruction. Perhaps it was just because no fighting reached so far south, but I chose to take it as a reassuring sign that the matter was settled and these counties would remain peaceful and beautiful.
At Carbaugh I transferred to the Landager-Northport line westbound. This time not everything was quite so pristine: a bridge over the Grenway hastily rebuilt with wood trestles, a star fort abandoned per the treaty agreement. On balance, however, the communities seemed largely intact, with bustling markets and spring planting in full swing.
The further the train went west, the smaller the communities became, and the more signs there were of non Artannian architechture. I didn't see any Pilvans, of course, or any of the other strange northern races, but I could see that they lived here once. Only when we finally approached the end of the line at Landager the next morning did I start to see signs of non-Artannian villagers, separated off in their own squares and markets, trading strange goods I couldn't identify before the train took me past.
Landager Central Station was not nearly as grand as it sounds; the major cargo terminus was actually in Little Falls perhaps two miles further west, but as the boundary between Pilvia and Artannia was the small scarp that caused the Grenway to become unnavigable, passengers could go no further without crossing the border.
I hired a hackney to convey me to Salisbury&Groad, donning a cloak against the frigid morning air and steeling myself for more condolences. What I did not expect was to discover that instead of two somber old solicitor gentlemen, one was a somber young man and the other was a somber female of middle age. With purple skin and the bulge of fangs under her lips. A Kala, my parents had called them when I was little, though I was never sure if that was the name of their race, or their tribe, or some other grouping. In Noldon they didn't teach that sort of thing to gently-bred females like myself, and honestly I'd been afraid to show too much interest of my own lest my schoolmates suss out that perhaps our farm 'in the north' was not in Artannia at all.
Well, here I was, back in the north again after spending half of my life in the capitol. Dimly, I remembered that the Kala also bred onastock, though differently than the Pilvans, or experimental Artannian onabreeders like Mother and Father who tended to follow a Pilvan model. Whatever her fellow Kala did, though, this woman was a solicitor, not an onabreeder.
“You must be Miss Oakenfield,” the Kala woman said in perfect Artannian, standing to welcome me. “I am Ms. Aska Groad and this is Mr. Michael Salisbury III. Everyone was very sad to hear of your parents' disappearance.”
“Please accept our condolences,” the young man added, looking surprised for some reason.
“Thank you,” I said, and then I ran out of things to say.
They exchanged glances. The man cleared his throat. “We had not... I had had the impression that we were expecting a Mr. Oakenfield. Though of course I can see the strong resemblance to Mrs. Oakenfield, now.” He looked like he wanted to say more but wasn't sure how to go on.
“I believe they named me heir in place of the eldest male because he is twelve years old and, though a dear boy, rather unready to manage the family affairs,” I pointed out flatly, “I take it you are having second thoughts about my ability to take over the farm. If it reassures you at all, my earliest memories are of working at my mother's side on the farm, and I do remember how to get along, generally.”
Ms. Groad, clearly the blunter of the two, said, “You look delicate. It's not a job for delicate women. But your mother had a delicate face and she was a very good breeder. You know onabreeding, then?”
“We were just beginning when they packed us all off, but I know a little.”
They exchanged glances again.
“I can hire help while I get the hang of it,” I pointed out.
“It's effectively illegal to hire Artannians on an onabreeding farm,” Mr. Salisbury said, “But we can put you in touch with the Breeder's Guild office in Little Falls which can help you find appropriate people. I understand them to be quite expensive, but you might be surprised how difficult it is to find someone appropriate without help.”
“What do you mean, 'appropriate'? You mean reliable and skilled?” I asked.
“Yes, that as well,” Ms. Groad said, “But also female, as you are an unmarried woman under the age of 25 and Artannian case law would make us guilty of negligent moral endangerment if we facilitated your hire of a male non-Artannian. It's really very gothic, but we must be extra careful because of how closely scrutinized onabreeding properties are. Have you considered bringing another sibling to help?”
Marina had outright offered go come with me, but she was on the verge of making a very advantageous match so there was no question of letting her throw herself away with me. Carol was a beautiful nitwit who would be of little help, and was doubtless destined for a good match of her own, if she didn't get taken in. Marina would look after her, I knew. Troublemaking Georgiana might be well-served to be sent to work on the farm, but she was doing so well in her studies lately that I couldn't countenance pulling her from perhaps the first thing she'd ever done right in her life. The rest were too young.
“No, it can only be me,” I said.
“I really must counsel against it. A lone girl...” Mr. Salisbury started, but Ms. Groad interrupted him.
“We will help her get in touch with people that will help her, and she will be perfectly safe,” she said firmly.
“And what of the danger that carried Mr. and Mrs. Oakenfield away?” Mr. Salisbury responded.
Ms. Groad looked a bit troubled, but said, “In that case, merely having a male present was not proof against whatever it was. The truth is that is does happen sometimes. The farm sits on the north bank of the upper Grenway, at the foot of the Gitons. Those are fey lands, and always have been.”
Her statement gave me a chill down my spine, and Mr. Salisbury's as well, I think. But I was not going to let my brothers and sisters down. It was modern times, with electricity and steam engines, dynamite and air guns. Surely I should be able to keep myself safe from forest creatures, even if they were not like ordinary ones. Unless... “Are there troubles with the local Pilvans? They were so friendly when I was a girl, but the war...”
Ms. Groad shook her head and smiled a little sadly. “Your parents were respected amongst the Pilvans, and there was little fighting here. Of course Pilvans have their criminals just like Artannians do, but if a Pilvan is behind your parents' disappearance, I doubt it was one from the settlement here. I think it was much more likely to be an untamed onabeast of some kind. The farm is on the edge of the wild lands, and even the Pilvish don't know all the creatures of the forest, I don't think. They are not seen often, but some are quite large and dangerous.”
“Or one of our local Artannian criminals. I would be remiss not to warn you that onabreeders are viewed with suspicion in the upland villages as well as here in Landager Town,” Mr. Salisbury added apologetically.
“Yes, in particular there were rumors that your mother consorted with Pilvans in her youth, before she met your father. True rumors, of course. Your mother was a Riannon after all, and that clan has lived in this area as long as the Kala have; that's how she had that farm for a dowry. The Riannon tribe was always on good terms with the Pilvan traders. Though, Mr. Salisbury advises not to confirm such rumors, as Pilvans are currently also viewed with suspicion or even worse here.”
I was stunned, and Mr. Salisbury intervened. “Ms. Groad does not mean to imply that the intercourse went beyond the line, Miss Oakenfield. It was, I'm sure, of an entirely normal social nature.”
His words were not the reassurance they should have been, because the common joke amongst my siblings that I was part Pilvan was inspired only in part by my facility with the Pilvish language, and anyway Marina could also speak it well enough. The larger part was the difference in my appearance. Where my brothers and sisters all had curly dark or auburn hair like Father's, mine was even lighter than Mother's, with a mild wave. Though not especially tall myself, my other siblings were noticeably shorter. They had brown or hazel eyes; mine were a pale blue with dark rims around the irises. All my sisters were pleasantly curvaceous, but my reputation as a frump owed to my uninspired attempts to disguise a more florid figure, which my cheekier siblings compared to Pilvan concubines.
Everyone knew humans weren't like onabeasts, and we could only breed with other humans, but of course Pilvans and humans look so similar that the inevitable speculation that my parentage was an exception to that rule had dogged me ever since I was little. My reticence about our northern origins was partly to escape those ridiculous and impossible speculations. Or at least, speculations that I'd always been taught were ridiculous and impossible. Yet, here was confirmation that my mother had at least spent time amongst the tall, voluptuous fey people with straight hair and famously dark-rimmed irises. There was also a further ignoble fact about my birth that I had kept from everyone except dear, loyal Marina: I was born only a few months after my parents wed. I had always assumed that Father and Mother had anticipated their vows, but what if Mother had taken a Pilvan lover?
“Miss Oakenfield?” Mr. Salisbury asked with deep concern.
“Pardon me. I am striving to adjust to altered circumstances.”
“Of course! Of course Miss Oakenfield. Who could expect otherwise? This must all be a great deal to bear all at once.” He gave Ms. Groad a faintly accusatory look before continuing in a soothingly upbeat tone of voice, “I do want to reassure you that we made sure a Breeder's Guild intermediary was notified to arrange for a reputable caretaker from the community to look after your farm temporarily, so we trust that you will find things in order when you arrive. The sensitivity of these matters precludes us from knowing precisely whom might have been selected, but we did confirm that the guild would cover the expense and guarantee the probity of their choice. Your parents were also respected members in good standing of the Breeder's Guild, so I have some confidence that you will find help in that quarter.”
His speech did its job of settling my nerves, partly by giving me time to remember that though I didn't look very much like my siblings or my father, Pilvans only occasionally had hair or skin in any color normal for northern Artannians like myself, nor were most as floridly endowed as their reputation would indicate. In fact, none of the Pilvans I'd encountered as a child had looked anything like me, and I would bet I had probably seen every Pilvan in the village at one time or another. I merely looked very much like my mother, was all.
“Regarding the onabreeder license transfer tax, there is no deadline to pay it as long as you at least meet the monthly interest payments, which are fairly nominal. However, the old tax inspector retired recently and a new one should be arriving soon,” Mr. Salisbury continued once he saw that I was calmer, “I haven't been able to get any information about her except that she's rumored related to an unnamed member of Parliament. Hopefully she will accept old Mr. Crutchfield's assessments with minor adjustments, but if she is aligned with someone amongst Sir Cromwell's anti-fey zealots she may try to foist a high valuation on you to increase the amount of the tax. If that should happen, we have every expectation of successfully fighting it in court as long as you keep payments current. Nevertheless, it can take considerable time, so it's by far better if you can avoid antagonizing her.”
“Will I be expected to travel to meet her here?” I asked, confused. The farm was now far in Pilvan territory. Only the onebreeder license was in Artannia at all.
Ms. Groad answered, “The treaty gives Artannia the right to send tax collectors, together with a guard contingent, to property held by Artannian citizens who have tax liabilities.”
“Liabilities?” I asked.
“She means citizens who owe the Crown money,” Mr. Salisbury clarified.
“A tax inspector, or collector?” I asked.
“Of necessity they are the same office for these new officials who cross into Pilvan lands,” Mr. Salisbury said.
“Oh. How much should the tax be if she uses the old inspector's assessment?”
“Ten percent of the value over fifty thousand pounds,” Mr. Salisbury said, “As the assessment is seventy thousand, that implies a tax of two thousand pounds, which would be easy to pay off in a year, especially if the new agreements contracted last summer prove even half as lucrative as promised. Your parents were very canny breeders both on and off the farm.”
“They also worked hard,” Ms. Groad added, giving me a somewhat admonitory look.
“I promise that I can work hard,” I told her.
Mr. Salisbury smiled. “I make no doubt. Very well. How are you for funds?”
“I have six pounds, plus a few coins. I hoped to draw on my parents' bank when I got here.”
They exchanged looks again. I was growing to hate that signal of bad news. “Not everyone will accept paper money at face value this close to the border, as it can't be spent in Little Falls. Also, the moneys currently in the account are frozen pending certification by the tax inspector that the license transfer taxes are paid, so you may find yourself a little short funds until your first sale. Fortunately, as you can see, you already have a buyer your product at the moon market. Until then...” Ms. Groad unlocked a drawer and withdrew several coins. “I do have a few coins to help tide you over until you get to the farm, where I'm sure there will be more.”
I accepted with gratitude and signed the papers necessary to allow them act on my behalf as well as to confirm my parents' will designating me heir to the property, from which I was to provide for my siblings. Then I was off to find a coach to take me to Little Falls. During the search I had the bright idea to hire a hackney to take me all the way to the farm instead, since hackneys in Landager Town would accept my pound notes. After I got home, and I could ride down the Grenway back to the guild office in Little Falls aboard our market boat.
My plan seemed to work; several jarveys either turned me down or gave me cause to be uneasy about them before I found one older man who agreed to my terms, but by midmorning we were headed up the former crown pike from Little Falls toward Crows Crossing, which used to be the closest Artannian market town, before the treaty moved both town and farm well into Pilvia. I wasn't overly familiar with Crows Crossing, but I had been there a few times back when we still raised mostly sheep and pigs. The road from the farm to Crow's Crossing wasn't much more than a rutted track in some places, but if the hackney couldn't make it, I was sure I could borrow a canoe and paddle home.
The old coachman drove his gig at a very sedate pace, resting the horse frequently and depositing me and my trunks at the Overwater Inn in Crow's Crossing just a hair before the evening meal. As was not unusual for an unaccompanied female, I got a lot of hard looks as soon as I ducked my way into the dim interior.
“Hello,” I addressed my audience, “Is anyone headed upriver with space for my trunks, or have a canoe to lend for the night?” Silence and a few overtly hostile gazes were all the answer I got. “I can pay,” I added, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
“I'll sell you my old dugout for a shilling,” a wizened gadger said, leering toothlessly. “Ain't got no use for it.”
“Is it dry?” A shilling for a dugout was awfully cheap.
“Sure. Got an oar, too. Bit dirty, but it's a shilling, eh?”
I looked around at the other spectators to see if any of them thought I was being played for a fool but all I saw was disgust, so I figured he was just a lazy sot. Well, I wasn't about to let him change his mind, so I payed him and started lugging my things down the bank trail toward the bush he said covered his dugout.
Dirty hardly sufficed for the crude moldering length of lumber, and the oar was rough and split by age and disuse. Nevertheless, it did float, and it didn't leak even after I'd pushed it out on the water with my luggage already aboard. I wrapped the oar in a length of fabric to protect my hands from splinters and began to pull.
It was tough going with such a heavy boat against the spring flow, but I made steady progress and saw the eaves of the house from a distance before night fell. I guess I got overexcited by the prospect of the long day being over, because I didn't take the last bend as cautiously as I should have. A nearly-submerged log hit the dugout and forced the nose to the side where the stronger current of the outer bend pulled me around. I tried to recover, but my watercraft skills were more than a little rusty and I only succeeded in swamping the dugout.
I was not such a fool that I hadn't tied off my trunks, but I wasn't wise enough to test the strength of the old crossbar, which pulled right out of the side of the boat. I was able to grab my valise and used the newer of the two trunks as a float while I swam ashore, but the older one escaped me in the dark. I dragged what I had out of the chilly water then ran down the bank to see if I could catch the last trunk. I think it must have waterlogged quickly, because I saw nothing bobbing along the surface high enough to make out in the dark, and I walked back and forth along the bank until I was shivering violently.
Feeling defeated, I trudged back to my remaining chest and valise. I stored my Artannian travel documents in a waterproof pigskin pouch as a matter of habit, and Salisbury&Groad had given me the legal folio in a thick oiled canvas, so I had high hopes of their remaining dry. Whether I would be able to get any dry clothes was an entirely different matter.
I first walked along the embankment to see if I could spot either my extra petticoats, which I'd removed as a dangerous impediment to swimming, or my heavy cloak which I'd shrugged off once I'd found myself in the water. I did spot at least one petticoat caught in the lowest branches of a tree across the river, but I wasn't willing to chance the frigid swim to recover it. My cloak, on the other hand, would be expensive to replace, so when I thought I saw it caught on something in the middle of the river, I made my mind up to fetch it. I took off the rest of my by-then partially dried clothes and spread them across some bushes before making my way out again, only to find that it was a trick of the light on a submerged rock.
When I turned back toward the shore I had the fright of my life, because on the bank, staring at me in the starlit darkness, was a creature that looked like a wolf the size of a draught horse. I froze and forced my teeth to stop chattering so loudly. I looked back toward the other side of the river. Could I make it to the far bank? That was the fastest and deepest portion of the the river. No, not in my current state, and the cold would take me soon if I didn't get out of the water. My only hope was to meet it unafraid and hope it didn't attack.
Following that plan, I walked back as steadily as I could on feet gone numb with cold. Was this the creature that had taken away Mother and Father, perhaps? Was I about to meet their fate? It didn't look particularly aggressive despite its size. Merely intent and almost thoughtful.
It waited patiently as I approached, and actually stepped aside to give me room to climb the embankment. It nudged me with its head when I paused my ascent, and I obliged by resuming. Then, when I reached the grassy area where the land leveled out, it tripped me. I just barely caught myself before planting my face in the earth, but the giant wolf's warm bulk settled atop me and pinned me in the place. Had it realized I was dangerously cold? It appeared that it must have, and I welcomed the enveloping fur and warmth too much to mind the strong musky odor.
For a long time I lay there under that firm but soft pressure, until a pebble under my thigh became intolerable and I tried raising my bum to signal I needed to get up. Somewhat to my surprise, it worked, though when I tried to get up off my hands and knees, one of its massive forepaws enveloped my upper arm and pressed my shoulder firmly back to the ground.
Then it licked me right in the butt, and kept licking me all up and down the crack between my legs. At first I thought maybe it was deciding whether to eat me after all. I tried to move my rear away from the tongue, but it stopped that by pinning one knee with another forepaw, then using a hindpaw to pull my other knee to the side and then hold it in place as well. As the licking continued I started to feel very strange and warm, like how I felt the time in sixth form when I saw Sally Wasping without her shift. Finally it stopped, though, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
That's when it happened: a great big fleshy something pressed against my nether parts, sliding up and down, trying to force an opening. I could feel that it was much too big to fit, but the creature was so big and powerful it might injure me in the process of attempting to mount me. I tried to struggle, but it was no use. The massively-male creature began to force his way between my thighs.
At first it was uncomfortable, even painful, and I was sure that any second something in me would tear. The opposite seemed to happen, however. I felt an elastic giving-way that didn't hurt, in fact it was almost pleasurable, though mortifying. My virginity was being taken by some kind of fey creature barely more than a stone's throw from my parents' home. He pulled out a little and slid in further, then out and in further still while the feeling of pleasurable excitement inside became stronger and harder to deny. Was I enjoying my bestial encounter? My rebel body was, at least.
Finally I felt the soft impact of his giant testicles against my thighs, proving that he had found space for his entire length in me. That was also when he stopped – to the great disappointment of my female parts – and began injecting his seed inside me. The surges of liquid pressure were powerful enough for me to feel clearly, but meanwhile the base of his member swelled larger and larger, growing well past the point of anything that should have fit, yet none of my stretched skin tore, or even hurt. Thus effectively sealed, none of his ejaculate could escape me, and I reminded myself that though fey creatures could impregnate other fey creatures even if they were not of the same kind, I was not fey, and my very embarrassing experience would have no long term consequences. Besides taking my virginity, which hopefully wouldn't be such trouble up here.
The wolf-like beast evidently decided it did not wish to spend all night in that spot, because it stood up to its full hight and took a couple steps while I wildly tried to keep from scraping my head against the ground. He ducked his head down so as to support my upper body – my lower body was still affixed to his organ – then took a few steps before his chin moved and I grabbed onto his neck lest I smack face-first into the ground. That seemed to have been what he wanted me to do, because thereafter he positively pranced up to the double south-facing doors. He turned the handle with his mouth, but I could see that an additional catch that was not so easy to reach had been added to the door.
I decided that I would rather go inside as well, so I obliged by releasing the catch with one hand while continuing to grip the wolf's ruff with the other. The deep dark inside was entirely impenetrable to my eye, but apparently the beast knew its way around well and trotted upstairs to the bedrooms. Into the master suite we went, and then he stepped up into my parents' large four-poster, where he curled up around me and seemed to drop immediately to sleep.
Given my exhaustion and the comforting warmth after my close brush with hypothermia, I felt drawn to slumber as well, but the novelty of the situation kept me awake for a while. First there was my distended belly, swollen both with the knot at the base of the beast's penis and the incredible quantity of his seed filling my womb. I wondered if this was how early pregnancy felt, not that I was ever likely to become pregnant now that I was a deflowered onabreeder. Though my interest in marrying had always been tepid, I had never realized how comforted I had been by the idea that if I changed my mind about marriage and childbearing I would be able to secure a respectable offer. If anyone ever discovered me in this situation, I would be lucky not to end up in stocks. But given that the creature was warm, the night was dark, and I couldn't pull myself off his member anyway, there was no sense in worrying when I could be resting.
I drifted off to sleep.
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Onabreeder