Onabreeder | By : FrigOfFury Category: +A through F > Breeding Season Views: 22153 -:- 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. |
The intensity of my attraction to Lady Apowyl was somewhat frightening, but it also lent the prospect of being made into a specimen more nearly perfect in her eyes as enticing as it was disquieting. Even more so, to judge by the amount of time I spent dwelling on the mental image of Lady Apowyl suckling at milk-producing breasts the size of Roxie's, except on my smaller frame. It was a ridiculous image, but one I kept coming back to again and again over the coming week as it edged steadily closer to reality.
Part of this was because being in a barn with all hostrusi warped my perception of breast and hip size out of recognition, and part of it was because Lady Apowyl' instructions worked just as she had planned, and I nursed my second calf with much heavier and more impressive breasts that, I trusted, Lady Apowyl would find more to her liking. I discovered their continued growth had conferred the ability to suckle from my own breasts, which opened new vistas in masturbation, which turned out to be very useful during training.
House dress proved to be a short black one-piece outfit with a deeply scooped neckline and short ruffled skirts over a soft white inner lining, plus some sandals with elevated heels that helped with the tendency I'd developed to stand on my tiptoes. It was far more clothing than I'd worn in quite a while but it required nothing more than the lifting of the skirt to grant access to my front and rear portals. I assumed it was for the convenience of others, but as it happened I found it very convenient on my own behalf. I'd become accustomed to having almost constant sexual gratification imposed on me throughout every day and once or twice at night, but for two days of training I was left entirely to my own devices. The trainers, at least, were delighted to find me a quick study who could perform basically every simple task they laid me, though I have to admit that sometimes my mind would wander in my increasing sexual desperation; masturbation helped me take the edge off, but there was no substitute for a vigorous fucking. In the end they determined that I would be taken to the breeding grounds for a brief gangbang at least twice a day so that I could focus on my tasks, but I was otherwise ready to take on the task of cleaning Lady Apowyl' bedchamber at least six days a week. One day, of course, would have to be set aside for delivering any issue from the breeding interludes.
The 'spa masters' rubbed various oils and liniments into my skin until it quite literally glistened. My hair they left or less as the stylists had wrought, but they added some attention to my finger and toenails to make them match. My face they declared perfect, yet they decided to 'accentuate the innocent look.' That involved painting my face with thick colored pastes, leaving them in place for a while, then stripping them off. From the glimpses I sometimes caught of myself in the various mirrors they occasionally held up to reflect light onto me at different angles, the pastes didn't seem to have done anything identifiable, but they seemed pleased with the changes. Finally, they pierced my nose, ears yet again, tongue, nipples and belly button. They were going to also pierce my clitoris but they didn't persist when I panicked. It wasn't that they hadn't done a good job with numbing my skin before the other piercings, but it was just too scary to contemplate. I was a bit surprised that they desisted, though, which made me wonder if I could have gotten out of the piercings entirely. On the other hand, the nipple piercings accepted attachments like little knockers that prevented milk from leaking when hanging down, but facilitated its flow when lifted for milking. It was much tidier this way, and not uncomfortable.
I was unreasonably excited to begin my new role and I was very disappointed to find that Lady Apowyl had business taking her away from home for several days. By the time she returned I was so round with demonspawn that she merely patted my buttocks when I presented myself, and then sent me to service one of the Marquis' senior slaves who enjoyed pregnant females especially. The Marquis himself asked me to send Lady Apowyl his compliments for the good job I did on behalf of his slave, having evidently not known that I was mute. I smiled, curtseyed and shrugged before returning. I thought about trying to write something, but not only did I not know how to write a word of Pilvish, even if I did, the only writing implements in the house were all those used on magic slates by senior slaves.
Besides, Lady Apowyl' words about the likelihood that I would not have any interesting conversation reverberated in my head loudly. I had never been been considered a brilliant speaker in Noldon, and despite her ageless beauty I knew Lady Apowyl to be at least a century old. I told myself how unlikely it was that I would have anything to say that might interest to her. That was to guard against my fantasy that she of all people might find conversation regarding the electrical arts to be as fascinating as it was to me. She had expressed admiration for the electrical milker, of course, but it was only reasonable that it was the promise it held for progressive breeders like herself that excited her interest, not the nature and behavior of electrical energies.
Meanwhile her home was filled with bizarre and fantastic devices that operated on principles that were no doubt quite ordinary to the Fey Race but were entirely unknown to me. I was also surprised to stumble upon a stockpile of weaponry and armor that, with its flaking pigments and age-worn straps, looked at least as ancient as anything on display in the Crown Museum in Noldon. The metal, however, remained as bright and free of dust or corrosion as if it had all been forged yesterday. I was not instructed to clean anything in that room, nor, so far as I could tell, was anyone else. Perhaps less amazing but still of personal significance, I found a mirror so large it would show the whole person at once even from quite close up. It let me learn to recognize who I'd become, and trace all the little changes.
Most prominent, both literally and figuratively, was my chest. Though I wasn't actually as big as Roxie, the bodice of the maid outfit lifted and rounded each breast so that if I let my arms hang at my sides, the outer arcs of each actually completely eclipsed my upper arms in places, just like Roxie's did on her larger frame. How would they look if they were truly as big as Roxie's? I put that frightening/arousing thought out of my head as I examined the other modifications. I wasn't sure if my lashes were really longer and thicker, nor was I sure if my lips were actually plumper than before, but they both certainly looked that way. I also looked a little younger, though again I couldn't tell it this was due to the spa masters' ministrations or if something about being bred made me look like a girl of an age to embark on her first social season rather than one on the verge of turning into a spinster after a half dozen seasons. As if Miss Oakenfield the future old maid had anything to do with Bonbon the onabeast maid. As Bonbon it was entirely to my credit that my well-padded bum filled out my skirt in the back as if I was wearing a bustle but no petticoats. The extra-tall heeled booties would make Miss Oakenfield a strumpet, but they just marked me as a marchioness' favorite, besides elongating the appearance of my legs. Perhaps the strangest thing about looking at myself in the mirror was how proud I was of what I saw, and how often I paused to feast on the image again.
Only one day into my second pregnancy at the residence I came upon Lady Apowyl moodily pacing back and forth in what I by then recognized as her travel attire. On her desk sat a small parchment scroll partly unrolled so that I could see some of the Pilvish writing, which always looked like vines growing across a page to me. She noticed me enter, gave me an absent smile that didn't reach her eyes, then went back to as close to a scowl as I'd ever seen on her unlined face.
It left me uncertain how to act. I was supposed to be cleaning her room, and the two exhausted and sticky servants sleeping on her bed would ordinarily be my responsibility, but just ignoring Lady Apowyl was almost impossible for me. I kept looking up from my task of wiping down the servants to see her still lost in thought, and I almost forgot to check how many layers of bedding the fluids had reached before taking them out. Eventually, though, my tasks were done, and Lady Apowyl was still there, now seated at her desk and studying the scroll.
As always, her hair was so beautiful that I hardly dared touch it, but I screwed up my courage and went so far as to allow my wrists to brush against the thick fall in order to lay hands on her shoulders. She started slightly, but didn't otherwise react, and I started to rub the tight muscles around the base of her neck.
“Harder,” she instructed, and though I had already been kneading very firmly, I increased the pressure almost as much as I could, until she said, “Good, good.”
Just being so close to her and being able to touch her was exhilarating, and her approval made my heart leap. I new the extremity of my reaction to be ridiculous, but there was no helping it. As had become a well-worn and vital habit, I ignored the ignominy of my situation so that I could enjoy it.
She didn't warn me off as my hands crept down her back and over the line from where her top covered her skin to the bare flesh of her lower torso. The Marchioness seemed to arrive at a decision and began writing, which caused me to pause.
“Continue, Bonbon. You are doing very well,” she told me mildly as she made the strange Pilvish lines on the page.
So I continued.
My face kept getting closer and closer to her neck, and I'm not sure exactly when I began to kiss it, but kiss it I did. And when Lady Apowyl didn't stop me, I kissed it more, and my lips wandered. Finally she seemed to complete her work, judging by her tossing dust on the page to soak up any excess ink, but still she seemed to hardly notice my presence. I don't know what evil genius came over me, but impulse led me to take a little tiny nibble.
She whirled so fast and with so little warning that I was landing on the bed before I had quite realized she'd grabbed me, and only an instant after she had pulled me back onto a cock as thick as any onabeast's, and so long that I could feel its pressure under my sternum. I cried out at the suddenness of it, but then I lost the ability to make more than whuffing noises as her deep thrusts operated my lungs like a bellows. She needed only one hand on my waist to control my thighs, and the other she used to squeeze and knead first one milky breast, then switching hands to pinch the nipple on my other. Needless to say, I experienced a powerful paroxysm within seconds, but she was nowhere near done. Every time she brought me over that edge she would merely pause to shift position, then resume.
I could not say how many times I came or how long it lasted, but there was a clear final moment when she finally achieved her own release and left me as full of her seed as Gent ever had.
She breathed heavily for a few seconds afterwards before pulling out to display the magnificence that usually remained hidden somehow. “That was adequate,” she said, sounding surprised and pleased. “That's a very good girl, Bonbon. Good girl. I wonder if you miss your feral diwarg friend. Would you like a visit from Gent, little darling? You deserve a treat.”
I made an inarticulate little mewling noise as I basked in the joy of adequacy and the feel of her semen steadily draining out of me.
Some of her earlier seriousness returned. “I wish you could speak, my little treat, because then you could tell me what became of Riannon. The truth is that I have missed her terribly ever since she decided to stay with the Artannians, but I have always taken solace in the idea that she was near to hand if ever the pain became too great. But now it seems she has gone, and the reports are so confused that I can't even be certain when she was last seen. Was it two moons ago, around the time I got you, or three seasons ago? I daren't make more direct inquiries, of course.”
She looked at me and chuckled. “You have such an expressive face and you're so obedient that I know you understand me sometimes, my clever, sensuous little feral Artannian, or whatever you might be. You knew just what I needed. And you can even make me cum, which, I'll tell you Bonbon, no one has been able to do in a while, despite some very dedicated slaves.” She waved at the slaves near me on the bed, who had remained insensible throughout. “I am tempted to try to breed you myself, which is admittedly rash. Not that it's very likely to result in issue, but you're so unusual, and so fertile... I will need to think on that.”
The Marchioness left the room with a pensive air and I dropped off to sleep and some very strange dreams. When I woke I was worried I'd be in trouble for failing to perform my assigned duties, but apparently having managed adequacy as Lady Apowyl's sexual partner paid all debts amongst the household staff, who looked on me with a mixture of admiration and envy.
Given her evident intent to travel somewhere it didn't surprise me that I didn't see her for the rest of the week, but I still looked for her every day. As I watched my pregnancy progress, I wondered if when she returned she would have decided to breed me or not. I also wondered if maybe she was my real father, so to speak, though I had to dismiss the idea: how could she not know, if that was the case? Unfortunately, it seemed more likely that Lady Apowyl was right, and I was an exotic creature bred as a gift to her from Mother that was never given, presumably because my ersatz parents grew too fond of me. Or maybe I was intended for the exact role into which I'd been thrust: when my parents went missing, I returned and, through sale to Lady Apowyl, provided my ersatz brothers and sisters with a means to go on.
I was angry at Mother and Father for not telling me, or giving me more guidance, but I couldn't blame Marina or any of the others; I was completely confident that they never had any idea of the truth. I was also not ready to make peace with being a breeding animal for the rest of my life, though if one had given me a choice between freedom and another wild turn in bed with Lady Apowyl, I would have needed a very sober head and a great deal of willpower to choose the former.
Not unusually, the choice was taken from me. The very day I delivered the futaket I was carrying, Gent, Emmer and I were placed on a caravan back to the farm that was very like the one that brought us in the first place. We were not the only reason for the trip, as evidenced by a plethora of other animals destined to parts unknown, but we were the first to be delivered.
It was late at night and I could hear the deep grogginess in Jrusk's voice, and his Pilvish was worse than usual as the caravan leader explained that Lady Apowyl was loaning back some prized animals as a token of her pleasure. While he was occupied with coaxing, threatening and forcing Gent into the diwarg barn, one of the Pilvans in the caravan let Emmer take me with her into the newly-completed hostrus barn, which is how I woke up carrying my third calf by her.
The farm attendant who came by in the morning was a Pilvan groom I recognized from Lady Apowyl' menagerie, apparently also on loan to make sure that we were properly housed. It would seem that he was satisfied with me being in Emmer's possession and moved on to focus on deficiencies in the housing of my diwargs. Or whoever's diwargs they were now.
Emmer reintroduced me to the wonder of the electrical milking machine,. When she first held cups up to me I tried to shy away because I was worried that either the hard band around my nipples or the flexible pieces threaded through them would catch or pull in the mechanism within the teat cups that massaged milk out of nipples, but with the miniature knocker piercings lifted my rings happened to be perfectly sized. The experience was rather comfortable and more than a little pleasurable. Unfortunately, once the seal took hold and milking started, the nipple ring's perfect fit then made it impossible to extract myself while suction was still being applied. The machine was situated so that I couldn't get to its power switch, so I was stuck until the Pilf came around again. I didn't fill my can up a quarter as much as the hostrusi did, but I was still impressed as how much I'd produced. The Pilf was less so, and set aside my milk for testing. Did I want it to pass muster? How much would I be producing after this pregnancy finished growing my breasts still further? Would being milked keep getting more pleasurable as my nipples got bigger? I had many questions.
Jrusk remained occupied elsewhere, and though he did peek in at me once, he didn't seem to recognize me. It wasn't until I was sitting attached to the milkers again on the morning of my third day back at the farm that Roxie happened by and decided to take a look-in.
“I want to see Lady Apowyl's Bonbon,” I overheard her telling someone as the door opened, “The one that looks like an Artannian.”
“I'm not sure Lady Apowyl...” the Pilvan groom started, before she cut him off.
“If she's on loan to Riannon, then I should be able to look after her like any other, Mr. Pilf,” she said firmly, striding into the relatively dark barn to look at me. “Wow, she really does look like an Artannian. Bonbon?” she called to me.
I made a noise in acknowledgement, but of course I couldn't really answer, and I was too conflicted to do anything else. I was far more willing to be breeding animal in Lady Apowyl's eyes than in Roxie's, or anyone else who had known Miss Oakenfield.
“She a hostrus exotic?” Roxie asked the groom in her farmer's Pilvish.
“We don't think so. She's got diwarg feet, hostrus teats, Artannian ears. We thought she was a feral, but she doesn't have trouble getting pregnant so now we think she must be breeding stock, just not one we've seen before.”
Roxie squinted at my feet, still giving no sign she'd recognized me; her eyes were still adjusting. I hadn't even figured out if I wanted her to. Well, I knew that I probably should, but I couldn't think of how to explain myself. Then she turned away. “She's been successfully bred with everything?”
“All common stock except Pilvans, including futaket and futastrus.”
“Anything young that look like her?”
“Not yet.”
“What's her production like?”
“We only just started milking her, but it looks like a half gallon of sweet...”
“All hands!” a distant guttural voice yelled in Pilvish, and the groom startled.
“Are they already trying to sway up the roof?” Roxie asked the groom.
“Must be,” he answered.
“Alright, better go help, then.”
They left, and I missed that chance.
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