BRED BY MARK -- CHAPTER 3
By Pete Smith
In consideration my payment to you of a $1,000 "stud fee," you agree to host me at your weekend ranch property for an intense breeding session in which you intend to apply the "art and science" of insemination, inspired by standard techniques used on the ranch.
Immediately upon my arrival, you show me to a small "insemination" barn you have specially constructed on a part of the property your wife never visits. It's a small structure, with a main area and one stall. I see some kind of large padded sawhorse in the corner. Mounted on the wall are a horse saddle, horse bit and various leather belts, paddles and whips.
You inform me it's time to get serious about getting me pregnant and that over the next 48 hours I will remain in the barn to be methodically inseminated by your horse cock and sperm. You tell me that I will be allowed to ingest only what comes out of your body during that time to enable my own body to become fully oriented to your supremacy.
You tell me point blank that it will be a rigorous program and that if I'm not up to it you will understand. If I want, I can back out now and receive a refund of my $1,000 stud fee, less a $250 "standard cancellation charge."
Although nervous as fuck, I find myself mumbling "No, Sir" while staring at the dirty wooden floor of the little barn.
When I look up into your face a moment later, I see some kind of small, hard evil grin on your beautiful face. You just stare hard at me for a long moment, your evil eyes holding my gaze like a tractor beam.
Fuck, what the hell have I just agreed to! I think myself, suddenly feeling like I need to throw up.
Without uttering another word, you turn away from me and walk to a wooden box in the corner of the room. I can see you slowly removing some kind of small animal hair shear device, a half dozen safety razors, a couple of cans of menthol shaving cream and several big towels.
You then explain to that you have concluded that one of the problems in my being able to become pregnant may be that my body is stubbornly clinging to some false notion of its own masculinity. You inform me with an air of scientific certainty that the best way to deal with that resistance is to shave my body completely clean of all hair on it. That way my body will come to accept its natural femininity and submissiveness to your will.
Before I have time to process the implications of what you're saying, you instruct me to get naked. Once I do, you quickly get to work removing every shred of hair from my body, starting at my head and ending with the small hairs on the top of my toes. You begin by using the animal hair shear, following up with the shaving cream and razors. You work carefully and meticulously and it takes a full two hours before you are completely done. It is mid-summer hot, and by the time you've completed your work we are both sweating profusely.
You stand back to admire your work. I glance down at my body and am shocked at how it looks: there is not a hair left. My dick and balls in particular look small and pathetic without any hair.
Again before I have time to process events, you go back to the wooden box and remove some kind of wide, thick black leather collar. In the next moment, I feel you slip the collar around my neck and fasten it securely. For the first time since my arrival in the barn, I feel my little queer clit standing up stiff from my crotch.
I spend most of the next 48 hours secured to the special padded sawhorse (you tell me later you constructed it especially for me) as you breed my hole with your thick, eight-inch horse cock. In between breedings you insert a plug in my asshole to keep your babymakers locked inside until my body can fully absorb them. For nap breaks, you release me from the sawhorse and allow me to sleep on the straw in my stall.
My nourishment consists solely of what comes out of your body. You do not wish to waste of any of your sperm by dumping it down my throat, but you do allow me to lick the salty sweat from your body in between your ranch chores. Whenever you need to take a piss, I am allowed to eagerly drink down your hot urine.
By the end of the weekend, I have been filled to overflowing again and again with your spooge, piss and sweat. You inform me that an inevitable side effect of this kind of intense insemination training is that I will need daily infusions of your cum, piss and sweat or I will begin to experience painful symptoms of withdrawal. Ever the thoughtful breeder, however, you have set up an account with a medical supplies shipper and inform me that I will be receiving daily a fresh supply of all three of your fine bodily fluids.
Back home after the weekend I begin to feel shaky and realize you weren't kidding about the addictive qualities of your spooge, piss and sweat. When an hour later I hear a delivery truck pull into my driveway, I race out my front door and practically slam into the delivery guy in my anxiousness to get my hands on the overnight package you've shipped to me.
"Jeez, man. Take it, easy," the muscular young delivery driver tells me. "You need to sign for this daily delivery from 'Mark's Animal Insemination Supply Co.'. Hey, man, I don't see any farm animals on your property. Why do you need this shit?"
The young stud holds my gaze for a moment with his penetrating beautiful brown eyes. I feel my face flush in embarrassment and look down.
Nervously signing for the delivery, I grab the package from his hand and quickly head to the safety of my house.
As I reach the front door, I hear the guy call out to me, "Don't worry, man. I'll have tomorrow's delivery for you right on time!"