My Forced Breeding

My filthy pig of a husband decided last week that since he couldn’t produce any children with me (our union had been barren for the three years of our short marriage), that he was going to breed me with a fertile man (or more than one, if the first one didn’t “take”). I begged and pleaded with him not do this awful thing, he knows how modest I am about my body and how I don’t want any man but him, but he won’t listen. He got this horrible idea off of a Web site he visited, “A Breeding Beauty” I think it was called, full of the fantasies of this dark-haired whore whose only apparent wish in life is to be impregnated by strangers. Grrrr! I’d like to blow up the Word Wide Web right now and kill whoever created it. Its presence in my husband’s life has brought only misery to me.

Now, in less than an hour, the man he picked out for me from a “breeders” club online will be here, ready to fuck me and inseminate me, as if I were some sort of cow or dog. According to my husband, he is a very large man, in perfect health of course, but chosen also for his huge cock. Part of the kick for my husband is going to be seeing my tiny tight vagina, the perfect size for his smallish 5″ penis, split open by this monster and reamed! I hate him! I hate both of them for subjecting me to this incredible indignity!

So why don’t I run away? I didn’t believe he was serious when he first presented the idea to me, and when it finally dawned on me, today, that no matter how hard I cried and raged and refused him sex I wasn’t going to talk him out of it, he had me clamped into this stupid collar and locked down to the floor before I could get the first pair of panties into my suitcase. I would leave instantly if I could, I would stay with my sister who agrees that I am too good for my husband, but my dear spouse has got me chained by a locked metal collar to an o-ring set in the floorboards of our bedroom. Another cute trick he learned online, apparently.

Earlier today he insisted I take a long shower and make myself especially pretty for his “guest.” So I cooperated, still thinking I could talk him out of it. After the shower in which I carefully shaved all hair off my body as instructed, I finger dried my full mane of long black hair so that it curled and waved in all directions. I carefully applied the dark, sultry makeup that makes me irresistible to my husband, and a light spray of perfume. My husband had chosen my clothing for me: an obscenely short sleeveless white mini dress made of a clingy spandex material that hugged my body and outlined every curve. It had an extremely low-cut back, so low, in fact, that it exposed the top of my ass crack. The part of the dress that covered my breasts was made of a filmy transparent material: my large, dark nipples stood out clearly underneath it. Finally, the dress was so short in front that if I sat down or even walked with a step longer than a couple of inches, my bare brown cunt peeked out from under the hem. Where did he find this monstrous dress, I had wondered when I first put it on. Do women really wear things like that? It was the sluttiest piece of clothing I’d ever seen, let alone worn. My “outfit” was completed with some trashy large white hoop earrings that made me look, even without the damn dress, like a hooker, thigh-high sheer white stockings which ended many inches lower than short skirt of the dress, and some extremely high-heeled white sandals. I just knew I was going to trip and fall down in those things.

The doorbell rang and I stood up quickly, almost falling forward across the chain as I did so. I jerked angrily at the stretchy dress to pull it down, but if I pulled it down so far that my cunt was not in danger of being exposed, half of my bottom popped out the back! I heard my husband talking loudly in his “macho” tone and a deep bass voice answering and laughing. Fucking male bonding was what they were doing – over my incipient pain and degradation! Oh, how could my husband DO this to me, I wondered, not for the first time and not for the last. How could he treat me just like an animal, a piece of meat without thoughts or feelings? I felt tears behind my eyes trying to get out, but just then my husband walked into the bedroom, with a very large man following him. I would have thought this man very attractive had I met him under any other circumstances, but as it was I hated his features on sight. I looked imploringly into the stranger’s face, your face, but your stare back was leering and merciless. I looked down in shame. “What a fine piece of meat you have locked away in here,” you said to my husband appreciatively. “And just think, it’s going to be all mine for the next seven days.” Seven days! Oh good lord! My husband had promised me that you’d be here two, or at the most three days! I shot my husband a venomous glance as he replied, “Yeah, it works out perfectly. I finally get to take that long fishing trip I’d missed during my years of married life.” Oh god, this was going much too fast. My head spun with the news: my lover and protector was leaving me ALL ALONE with this frightening and monstrous man for a week? I couldn’t believe it.

Luckily or unluckily, I didn’t have much time to think. “May I inspect the merchandise?” you asked. “Be my guest!” my husband replied and went to sit in a chair on the other side of the room. Just before he sat down he turned on the video camera in the corner that he liked to keep trained on our bed. He was going to film you breeding me! I was horrified. Making movies of private marital acts was one thing. Filming a stranger fucking me to get off and to impregnate me was obscene! After sitting down, my husband immediately stood up and walked back over to me: “Wait, it might be easier, if I removed her chain. Watch out, though, she’s anxious to run.” “Ah, she’s uncooperative – you have given me a treat, my man. The resistant wives are my favorite ones to breed.” You then came up to me and introduced yourself perfunctorily and arrogantly, “I have a name but it isn’t for the likes of you. Just call me “My Lord,” and we’ll get along fine.” I decided then and there that I would NEVER call you by that ridiculous title! You grasped my chin and forced me to look into your eyes as you said this, but I refused to say anything in return. I simply stared defiantly back at you.

Suddenly, before I knew what was happening your huge lips were on mine, kissing me with a rough, passionate and extremely wet and sloppy kiss. It was all tongue and dripping saliva. I recoiled in disgust but your held the back of my head and pressed me to you. Finally you stopped and looked down at me, a sneer of satisfaction on your horrible lips. “You FILTHY bastard!” I yelled. I have a big mouth and to my frequent misfortune often say the first thing to reach my lips. This time I’d made a really big mistake. “You filthy bastard what?” you asked softly. “Just that!” I replied, again saying the first thing to occur to my outraged mind. I followed up my other remark with, “You inept loser of a kisser!” Oh, that naughty mouth of mine, it just can’t resist hammering the point home. “Don’t tell me you want more abuse?” Swiftly and viciously, you backhanded me. I stumbled backward and almost fell onto the bed. I was stunned by the pain and started to whimper. “You filthy bastard what?” you asked me again. “Ok, OK! You filthy bastard MY LORD!” I half-sobbed.

Then I turned to my husband: “Honey, how can you let the brute do this to me?” My husband looked contemplatively at me for a minute, then said slowly and articulately, “Because you are a selfish, stuck-up bitch who sometimes makes my life a living hell with her constant refusals to have sex, her arrogant snubbing of my friends, her haranguing me about my job and the money I make, not to mention her sneers at my infertility. You need a baby and you need to be taught a lesson. This man is here to do both.” I was horrified: my husband had never talked to me like that before. Never dared, I suddenly realized. “Oh, and speaking of my friends,” my husband added, “the next time they’re all over here for cards, and you’re acting like your usual stuck-up, too-good-for-them self, I’m going to show them all the best highlights from your breeding tapes. You might be able to avoid that humiliation, however, if you agreed to serve us all our drinks and snacks very graciously, wearing only a thong.” Both you and my husband snickered at the idea. I decided I would destroy the tapes made during your visit if it was the last thing I did.

My reverie was shattered by your next words, “Walk for me, bitch. Walk like a whore. I want to see your slutty body jiggle in that obscene dress you have on.” I walked rigidly back and forth along the length of the bedroom, slowly and carefully to avoid the dress riding up in front and pulling down in back. “OK, that’s enough,” you exclaim impatiently. “Now jog for me.” I blush crimson at this next order, as I know exactly what you’re going to see when I start to jog: my nipples bouncing wildly up and down in their see-through casings, my dress riding up higher and higher in front, and who knows, with my luck, falling further down in back. You raise your hand threateningly and I realize I’d been stalling.

I begin reluctantly to jog, and as I do, you start to chuckle and comment on what you see. My husband joins in with deeply personal information about my body and how I respond during sex, and together you’re humiliating me so intensely that I want to die. But it gets worse. You order me to stop and catch my breath. I do, hurriedly pulling down my dress in front and back, where it has also ridden up. As I do, you take a straw out of the paper cup that my husband left on the dresser last night. “In a second, I’m going to have you jog again, and THIS time I have a job for you. Here, let me put this into – place.” You’ve stepped around me and, oh god no, you are pulling my low backed dress down so far that it catches underneath my plump brown buttocks, exposing my entire bare ass to your view. You then pulled my cheeks apart and inserted the straw a tiny way up my anus. “There!” you say in satisfaction, returning to my front and pulling the top of the dress down over my tits in the same fashion. Like my ass, they are now bare and completely exposed to you. “Now, babycakes, jog for me and your husband,” you say, “but jog nicely so that your dress doesn’t ride up in back and knock that straw out. If the straw pops, cunt, guess what will be taking its place?” I stare at you in shock. You couldn’t mean – Even my husband has never entered me “back there!’

“Jog!” you yell angrily, and I begin, with tiny jumping steps quite unlike my previous jogging, trying as hard as I can to not dislodge the straw. Even if the dress stays put under my ass it would be easy to knock the straw out with my movements. “Listen, you lazy cunt,” you say harshly as I continue my little jog to the far end of the bedroom, feeling utterly ridiculous as I do so, “if you don’t jog better than that right now you’re going to get a taste of my belt!” Jog better? But if I did, the straw might fall out! I could even feel my dress start to slip upwards as I thought this. But I didn’t want you hitting me, you were far too large and your arms too strong, so – I – .jogged – faster. The dress held for two red-faced bouncing trips around the bedroom. “That’s more like it!” you encourage me. Halfway through the third trip, however, just as I was turning to return to you, the dress popped up in back snapping the straw out of my ass and onto the floor. “Now look what you did, you dumb slut!” you roared at me. “Can’t even follow a simple order! Well, you’ll pay for it, but you’ve proven to me that the only thing you’re good for is fucking. Get your fat ass over here!” Sobbing partially in fear but mostly because no one had ever talked to me like that in my life, I finished my jog over to you. You looked me up and down coldly, then ordered “Strip for breeding, bitch!”

I remove my clothes, sobbing as I do. Oh god, the moment had finally come. When I am completely nude, I start to remove the ugly hooker earrings. “Leave them in!” you tell me harshly. I hear my husband breathing loudly behind me and just before you push me roughly onto the bed I turn back to see him, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his hard dick. I realize finally there is no hope: my husband is enjoying himself immensely at my expense. Once on the bed, you order me up on all fours, doggy style, facing my husband. I’m trembling in terror, praying it won’t hurt too bad, praying that I won’t feel as shamed as I expect I’m going to feel, when you tell me to turn around and take a quick look at what’s going to be ramming up my cunt and ass shortly.

I do, and really wish I hadn’t. You are a remarkably built man, not just long, but amazingly thick and even a woman of a normal or large sized pussy would have a hard time accommodating you without suffering. My tiny cunt is in for quite a beating. I gasp as you stick your finger in me rudely to check my lubrication level, and am shocked to hear you say that I’m soaking wet. Of all the humiliation I’d suffered tonight, this was the worst: that my cunt had got wet at the disgraceful and degrading things you’d made me do. “Come on over,” you invite my husband. “She’s ready for you!” I don’t understand what you mean. Aren’t you going to fuck me? My silent question is answered when my husband shoves his hard dick in my face. “Suck me, cunt!” he says meanly with no caring or feeling in his voice. This is another big shock for me: I’d only sucked my husband once, and then it had hurt my mouth and jaw so much and I’d complained so bitterly that he’d never dared ask me to do it again. But your presence, clearly, had made him bold. “Get going! Suck your husband’s dick!” you growl impatiently, slapping me very hard on one ass check.

I gasp at the sting and move my mouth onto my husband’s dick. As I start to suck him, you begin to run your huge tool up and down my ass crack, slowly, teasingly. Up and down, you grind it against me. I feel you get harder and know my torment is coming soon. Unexpectedly, as you’re running it up, you pull back and with one huge thrust, impale me. The pain explodes in my mind and I scream at the top of my lungs, dropping my husband’s cock out of my mouth. He’s immediately got it in hand and pushing it back in, however, snarling ferociously, “Suck me, bitch, if you don’t want your silly face slapped off!” So screaming and moaning I start to suck my husband’s cock again. At the same time you’re pulling out slowly, almost all the way, then ramming your huge dick back in my cunt as hard and as fast as you can, then pulling out slowly again, then ramming, etc. Each ram makes me scream in agony; each time you pull out I tremble at what’s to come. I expect that with all my lubrication, your fucking would have to start to feel easier, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s worse, as I start to get scraped inside and on my labia. Please please please I keep repeating over my husband’s cock. Please hurry, please! You both laugh over my pathetic begging, and then ignore it, taking your pleasure in whatever ways you want, taking as long as you want. Eventually–it seems like forever but it’s probably been less than half an hour–you begin pumping me harder and faster. I can feel my plump ass flesh wiggling each time you shake it with your thrusts and imagine, in shame, what a show my bottom and cunt must be putting on for you back there.

You seem to be getting closer, you seem about to cum, but you stop. Holding perfectly still inside me, you lay across my body and whisper in my ear, “So what does it feel like to get bred like an animal, huh? It must be hard not to have any choice in the matter, to have to submit to my will and my pleasure, to be forced to get knocked up with my baby, whether you want to be or not.” I moan in shame and defeat and my husband chooses that moment to cum. I choke as the unfamiliar and salty fluid gushes hotly into my mouth. You whisper to me to stay on his cock until he is done, then tell me to swallow his cum. I don’t think I can, the taste is already making me gag, but you say more loudly, “I’ll slap you ten times as hard as the love tap I gave you before if you let a drop of his fluid escape.” So I swallow it all. The taste is horrendous and I dry heave a couple of time before I get my stomach under control. “Good girl,” you say condescendingly, fondling my ass cheek.

You then lift up and begin reaming my cunt very hard and fast, again making me sob with pain. “Come around to the back,” you invite my husband, “and watch me dick her.” My husband goes behind and watches your huge cock furiously fucking me doggie style. “You take very well to being mounted, darling,” my spouse says with a snicker. “Maybe I ought to buy a great dane to keep that tight little twat of yours wide and open.” I hate him! “I’d love to see her fucked by a dog,” you say, your breath coming raggedly. “I’d – help – to shove that gigantic knot up her.” With that you give one final gigantic thrust that I can’t help screaming at the top of my lungs at what I feel. I feel your hot semen spurting deep inside me, I feel the head of your dick pressing ferociously against my cervix, and I know I am doomed. There is no way that horrid filthy seed of yours won’t reach its destination, probably even on this first try. Once again the heavy weight of your body presses down upon my sweating trembling form and you slowly slip out of my pussy. I pant in relief as the horrible pain slowly recedes.

“Now, let’s increase her chances of getting preggo by holding her in position,” you tell my husband. To me: “On your back, slut, legs in the air!” I dumbly do as you say and your grab my feet, pulling them back over my head. My butt rises up in the air, giving my husband and you an obscene view of my genitals. “For this to be effective, I have to hold her here for, oh, about twenty minutes,” you tell my husband. “Isn’t it the perfect position for a slut like her?” “Oh, indeed,” says my husband sarcastically. “Is there anything you’d like to do to her, Sir, before you go on your fishing trip? After all, you aren’t going to see her for a full week.”

You both chuckle lecherously and I choose that moment to try to get away. I yank both my feet as hard as I can, hoping to surprise you but all I do is cause my exposed crotch and buttocks to wiggle obscenely, as you hold me easily. “Oh yes,” my husband says, “my wife has just reminded me of something I’ve always wanted to do with her, but never have. When she tried to squirm out of your grasp just now, I caught a glimpse of that dark wrinkled little butthole of hers. I’ve always wanted to know what it is like up that tight little cave.” “She’s never let you up her ass before?” you ask incredulously. “What a bitch! I’ll be sure to punish her later for that. In the meantime, what’s it gonna be, lube or no lube for the lucky lady?” My husband looks at me coldly and calculatingly. “Lube – this time. She’ll die of embarrassment when I squirt that cold tube of gook up her bottom right in front of you.” I want to scream at the top of my lungs, “NOOOOOO! LET ME GO YOU DIRTY SCUM!” but I know by now it will only make things harder for me. It’s going to be a very long week.

The End

© 2003 Unda. Crucia. Eximius.

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