Date: Fri, 10 Feb 2023 10:47:16 +0000
From: "out-cast@hotmail.com" <out-cast@hotmail.com>
Subject: Our new breeding slave

Our own breeding slave


This story takes place in a society where slavery is common, and it
involves consensual sex between young adult men. Feel free to try this at
home if you happen to live in such a society.

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---------


"May I have your attention for a moment," Father says as we are about to
leave the breakfast table. "I have a surprise for you all. With four
beautiful daughters who will soon reach a marriable age – Maria already
by the end of this year," my eldest sister beams dutifully, "I have decided
to buy a breeding slave just for private family use."

Gasps of delight from my sisters. Breeding slaves are expensive because
fertile males are so extremely rare. Having one dedicated just for the four
of them is an unbelievable luxury.

"In fact, our new slave has now arrived and is waiting in the Cloisters as
we speak, so I suggest we shall go and inspect our latest acquisition."

With Mother on one arm and Maria on the other, Father leads us to the
central courtyard that he pompously insists on calling `the Cloisters'. My
other three older sisters and I follow dutifully, while house slaves hold
open the doors as we process through the corridors.

"You know that, for me to get pregnant with you children, we had to hire
breeding slaves for one night at a time," Mother says, "Having our own
private breeder will make us so much more of a family ... Your future wife
could use him too, Alexander, when you are old enough to marry."

That last bit was aimed at me. I have not dared to tell my family that I
think that wives and marrying will never be particularly high on my list of
priorities.

The new slave takes my breath away. He is beautiful, a delicate smooth face
surrounded by riotous blond curls, his mouth slightly bends up at the
corners in a cute permanent smile. He mostly keeps his gaze down
respectfully, of course, but when he quickly glances up at us, I can see
that his eyes are a gorgeous golden brown that makes me go weak at the
knees.

"He has sired two baby boy-slaves at the farm already, so we can be certain
that he is fertile. And he's only eighteen, so we'll get years of use out
of him yet."

Eighteen, just two years older than me!

"He looks very nice. Nice enough to warm my old heart, in fact. I think you
may have to get used to a little brother or sister soon," Mother jokes. Or
at least I fervently hope that was a joke. Father seems to take it that
way, chuckling as he snaps his fingers and gestures the slave to undress.

I tear my gaze away from his face and look at the body he reveals as he
strips off his baggy tunic. A tall, lean, athletic frame, not overly
muscular, but arms and shoulders broad enough to betray he's used to doing
more work than just breeding. As he steps out of his shorts, a long fat
cock and two heavy low-hanging balls swing free between his thighs.

God, what a sight!

I think with embarrassment of my own 2-incher and the two shriveled –
raisin-like! – testicles that come with it. I have never had an
erection, despite my regular efforts to encourage one. I know I shouldn't
be ashamed; I know my penis is no different than Father's, or those of all
other men in civilized society. My tutors have drummed it into me for as
long as I can remember that infertility is a status symbol: `the beasts rut
while the gentlemen rule'. A big, fertile phallus is supposed to be an
object of shame, but when I see our breeding slave's package it doesn't
feel that way. I desperately wish I had something like that to enjoy.

"What shall we call him?"

Slaves don't get names at the slave farm, of course. It is up to their new
owners to name them, if they so wish. Our house slaves all have names, but
the land slaves out on the estate just get a number for convenience.

"How about Bucephalus, after the horse of Alexander the Great," Maria
suggests. "After all, he's hung like one."

Father smiles affectionately. "Very droll, Darling ... Well then, let's
call him Buck the Phallus, or just Buck for short. Shall we go back
inside?"

He turns back towards the Apartments, leading Mother by the arm.

"How much did he cost," she asks sotto voce.

"Only 30,000."

She looks at Father sharply. "What is wrong with him?"

"Nothing physical," Father replies quietly. "But he has been difficult to
manage from a young age, tried to escape about a dozen times, almost
succeeded thrice. I've made plans to deal ..."

Their voices die away as they walk up the grand stairs.




That night I steal from my room and creep up to the next floor. Buck is
kept in a set of rooms in the west faηade, outside the Family Apartments
but close enough for convenient access. I don't yet know how I will explain
my presence, but I have to see him. Touch him even, perhaps.

Please let there be an innocent-looking opportunity for me to touch him ...

You might think I don't need to explain my actions to a slave, but despite
what some people think, slaves are not completely stupid and they do talk
to each other. I don't want the whole household hot with gossip about me
fancying a male slave ... or any male for that matter.

Without a sound I turn the door handle and slip into the room.

Oh, my word!

For a few moments I just stand there and watch, swallowing heavily at the
sight. Well, I needn't have worried about explaining myself. Buck is lying
on the bed, stark naked, spread-eagled. Leather cuffs around his wrists and
ankles attach him firmly to the corners of the frame. A thick leather hood
leaves him unable to see or speak.

So that is Father's plan to stop him from making an attempt to escape.

My eyes feast at the sight of his long limbs, stretched by the taut
cables. I drink in his smooth flawless skin, an even tan showing that he
went about unclothed at the slave farm. His giant manhood lies heavily
across his left hip.

I can touch him! With him unable to see who I am, and unable to tell others
about it, I can touch Buck freely and get away with it.

Apprehensively, I rest my hand on his abdomen. Buck flinches at the touch,
unaware that there was anyone in the room with him, I suppose. My fingers
trace his muscles, a proper six-pack, and he relaxes under the caresses. A
trained sex-slave, he will be more than comfortable being touched up. My
other hand runs along the inside of his thigh, slowly stroking him,
enjoying his soft peach-like skin covered with a cover of blond hair so
thin it is almost invisible. My index finger wiggles gently in his belly
button causing him to tense up, hopefully from pleasure. For ages I sit on
the bed, stroking his abs, stroking his pecs.

I've never touched a man before, at least not like this, even though I've
dreamt about it for several years now. I love the sensation of his muscles
moving under his lean skin, I love the sight of this flat stomach, his
slender hips.

My left hand has travelled up his thigh and sits quietly in the nook
between his leg and his heavy balls. I bend over him and take one of his
nipples in my mouth, licking, sucking, biting down gently. His cock is
beginning to react to my attention. His breath is whistling excitedly
through the small hole in the leather hood. I take hold of his balls, so
big, at least the size of duck's eggs, and slowly begin to knead. My tongue
probes his belly button until his tool, straightening up as it fills with
blood, touches my cheek.

Gasping, I sit up and watch in awe at his growing cock. I've never seen a
hardon – well, not on a human at least – and it looks
magnificent. Reverently, I take hold of it just below the head, surprised
by the heavy throbbing of blood rushing in. It is so hard. And so big, well
over a foot in length and too fat to wrap my fingers around. Drawn in
irresistibly, I bend over it and touch the tip with my tongue. Salty with a
slight tangy twist, a taste I could get addicted to, I am sure. Starting
between his balls, I slowly run my tongue the length of Buck's monster,
using the tip to probe the slit and the edge of his foreskin when I reach
the end. Incredibly, I am rewarded by it growing harder and thicker
still. With both hands I massage his shaft while I try to get my lips
around his head. Too big! He is much too big to fit into my mouth. I go
back to using my tongue and hands. He is bucking his hips in time to my
strokes, desperate to get off.

Voices!

Jesus fucking Christ, there are people coming down the corridor!

Without a sound I get off the bed and hide behind the door. Only Buck's
massive manhood standing throbbing above his belly betrays that anything
happened here.

Eyes closed and trying to control my ragged breathing, I listen how the
voices pass us and disappear towards the south building. False alarm but
the mood has gone. What if one of my sisters were to desire a second look
and come in here, or – heaven forbid – Mother ... I slip from the
room and sneak back to my own suite. Better to wait and see how things
develop.




It is a week and a half before I dare to move again. I've kept a close eye
on what is moving in the night. My sisters have been well behaved, waiting
to make use of our new breeding slave until after they are married. Mother
was obviously joking when she suggested she might get herself pregnant
again. Buck has not had any attention in the intervening nights, and I
cannot wait any longer to touch his body again.

Back on his bed, I stroke and lick and rub, knowing what will get him hard
and soon I am rewarded by a generous foot of rock-hard throbbing meat. I
lick him from base to tip, suck on his balls and probe the slit, but it is
no longer enough. I want him inside me, and if he won't fit into my mouth,
it will have to go elsewhere inside my body.

I've been practicing every night since that my first visit. Fingers
initially, then bananas greased up with hand cream. Yesterday I sneaked a
cucumber from the kitchens, the biggest that I could find and even that one
was still not as fat as Buck's cock. The cucumber had been a painfully
tight fit and I could only insert half of its length before it became too
sore to continue. An ominous sign, I know, and I doubt I'll be able to take
much but I am hopeful that I'll be able to accommodate at least some of our
slave's big manhood.

I straddle Buck's body, gripping his cock, slathered thick in hand
cream. Does he know what I am planning? He is lying perfectly still in
anticipation. Carefully I lower myself until his head is pushing between my
ass cheeks. Pushing down, I allow it to start opening my ring, stretching
me wide. I want this, I want this so badly. His hard cock – even the
shaft is fatter than the cucumber let alone the big head – is extending
my sphincter. Too big! Again, he is too big and it hurts too much to force
it in. I keep up the pressure, trying desperately to relax my ring and
slowly convince my ass to give in to the invader. I need to feel him inside
me. But the giant cock won't fit, too big for me to allow him inside me.

Suddenly Buck thrusts up hard, driving the head and several inches of shaft
past my ring and deep into my gut. Only the fear of getting caught stops me
from screaming. Fighting the desire to pull off the huge invader and ease
the searing pain, I sit still and relish the thought that I have this
gorgeous slave – this man – inside me. It is not enough for the
animal underneath me, though. Probably following a primal instinct innate
to a breeding slave, he begins to fuck me, bucking his hips. Several inches
of his fat tool move through my gut, rubbing my prostrate and adding a
feeling to euphoria to the agony of the penetration. God, he feels so huge
inside me, so good inside me, so natural. Despite it all, the pain, the
massive head pounding me, the stretch of my ring, I lower myself further,
allowing Buck to thrust in deeper. I have no idea how much of him is inside
me now, but it isn't enough. I sit deeper still and something changes, Buck
pushes through some barrier, space opens up and he rams in hard again and
again while I keep lowering myself until his hips bounce off my backside.

Every inch! Every inch of that monster rammed up my bowels. The head feels
like a massive ball of fire deep inside my belly, stretching my gut every
time it is driven into me.

I begin to rock, back and forth, meeting Buck's thrusts. My movements
become longer, faster, meeting that colossal invader ever harder. When I
slide up and down the entire length of his shaft, I know that life will
never be the same again, that this is what I will be lusting for during the
rest of my life. The long fucking motions of that generous foot of hard
slave cock are almost too painful to endure, but also too arousing to
abandon. The violent thrusts get too much for Buck and I feel his seed
filling my bowels, a lake of hot slave cum gathering deep inside me. I
lower myself onto his torso, trying to keep his waning cock inside me for
as long as possible, waiting for my panting breath to return to normal.

When I finally let him slip from me, fitting more comfortably now, I
promise quietly that I will be back tomorrow.





I have visited Buck at least a dozen times over the past month, and each
time is still as exhilarating as the first. I would have gone more often
– I would never leave his room if it was up to me – but I must remain
careful to avoid being found out.

As my backside has grown accustomed to the girth of his cock, the pain has
become considerably less, although I wouldn't say it is completely
comfortable yet. Not that that matters, because the discomfort is easily
outclassed by the glorious feeling of 14 inches of solid slave meat – I
took a tape measure the second time – being driven into me at full
force.

I am sitting on his lap, the length of his manhood – or is that
`slavehood'? – deep in my backside, but he isn't cooperating. He is
shaking his hooded head, lifting if off the mattress, turning it left and
right. Most importantly, he isn't thrusting his loins, not pumping my ass
with his monster.

It is infuriating when a slave doesn't work, doesn't comply with his
Masters' wishes. It happens rarely because the repercussions are severe,
but in a way I am powerless and at his mercy here. I can hardly complain
that Buck is refusing to breed me, can I?

Suddenly I realize what he wants. Do I dare? I have wished to see his face
again from day 1, but do I want him to see me? If it is what I need to do
to get him to fuck me, though ...

I lean forward and undo the straps on the back of the hood, gently pulling
it away. His wild blond curls appear first, followed by his beautiful warm
eyes and finally a beaming smile. Mesmerized, I can only stare at
him. Close up he's even more gorgeous than I remember.

"Hi," he says finally. "I was convinced it was you, knew it from the energy
between us when you came down with the family to inspect me."

His hips are pulsing gently, rhythmically, teasing my ass with his hard-on.

"Hi," I reply dumbly.

I realize that he is looking directly at me, almost challengingly, unlike
any slave I've ever encountered.

"What's your name?"

A direct question, outrageously. No slave has ever dared to ask me a
question, certainly not without invitation.

"Alexander ... or Alex ..."

I want to talk to him, but my mind has gone blank. Staring at him
speechlessly, drinking in his beautiful face, his golden eyes. I am swaying
against his movements now, enjoying the slow comfortable pumping of about 4
or 5 inches of meat through my belly. He's smiling invitingly, expectingly,
waiting for me to take control.

"Do you mind ... that I ... you know ..." I gesture to his manhood in my
backside.

His smile seems to split all the way to his ears, and he laughs like a
light peal of bells. "It's what I'm on this earth for," he replies,
candidly. "But since you're a gorgeous young man, there is nobody I'd
rather make love to, even if it weren't my duty."

I lean forward, hold his face and press my lips over his. Buck opens up
eagerly and accepts my invading tongue. As we kiss, his thrusts slowly get
longer and faster and I meet every one – two bodies moving in an
increasingly fast rhythm, until the length of his cock slams into me again
and again. After an age, I have to break our kiss to brace against the
force of his lunging, my gut screaming at the power of the assault.

"Oh, yes, that's what I need," I whisper, "give it to me, breeder. Prove
yourself."

He does prove himself with dozen violent thrusts that knock the air from my
lungs. His egg-sized balls start to empty themselves inside me, his hot
juice seems to scorch my gut. I collapse on his broad chest, and he bends
his face towards me, reengaging my lips.

"I love you, Buck," I tell him when his tenderness has restored my
strength, "but I have to go back to my own room now."

"Can't you stay longer? Just lie with me, so that I can feel your body
against me?"

I shake my head regretfully and take the leather hood.

"I'll be back soon," I assure him as I cover up his face.




I'm unable to shake the vision of Buck's gorgeous features. He is without
doubt the most beautiful, loving, and virile man I have ever met.

That in itself is a shocking realization for someone who's only ever known
slaves to be of inferior character and talent. I've always been taught that
house slaves serve, land slaves dig, mow or herd, breeding slaves fuck and
that's what they are good at. In all other aspects they are supposed to be
inadequate and backward.

In the past weeks I've spent more and more time with Buck, much of it not
directly engaged in sex. Three or four times a week, I sneak into his room
and remove the hood. We fuck, sometimes violently and fast, sometimes slow
and tender, and afterwards I lie against his strong manly body, and then we
talk.

He's told me about his life on the slave farm, the system of separating
babies from their mothers at birth so that every child slave is a lonely
anonymous part of the herd, about the hard work on the land he'd done since
he could walk. How his salvation came when he was found to be fertile at 10
and was selected as a future breeding slave; afterwards he was still
expected to work hard, but the worst tasks were replaced by hormone
injections and exercises to improve his sexual prowess. He's only two years
older than me, but he seems to have lived twice as much.

"Will you release my arms, Alex, and my legs?" Buck asks. I have been
snuggled up against him, while my ass recovers from a violent attack. "Just
for the night, so that I can hold you against me."

It is a question that surprises me, because I almost forgot that Buck's a
slave, that he is tied to the bed while we are making love together. I want
to, but he is a slave, and the restraints are there for a reason.

"Please ... Let me wrap my arms around you."

His pleading brown eyes are impossible to refuse, and I cautiously remove
the straps from his limbs. As promised, he folds his strong arms around my
waist and pulls me on top of him until our mouths meet. Increasingly Buck
is taking the initiative when we are together, against all morals about
Master-Slave relationships. But fuck the rules because what we have is so
much more than that.

His fat cock, flaccid for once, lies between our bellies, where it gently
pulsates like a beast that could wake and pounce at any moment; it
genuinely is a beast. Now that his hands are free to roam, he takes full
advantage, stroking my skin, cupping my bum, squeezing my waist as he pulls
me so hard against his chest that I have trouble breathing. He's
stimulating me in so many ways; I should have released him much sooner.

"Do you want me to make your go insane with arousal?"

"You've been doing that for weeks ..."

He smiles and kisses me briefly. "What we've done so far, that is just
entry level stuff ... Do you want me to pull out all the stops? mind that
you will not be the same person afterwards!"

My mouth has gone so dry that I can only nod.

"To be sold as a breeder on the private customers' market, a slave needs to
prove he is able to ejaculate 3 times inside one hour," he whispers, "that
test is usually done on the slave's 18th birthday."

He is stroking my hair, my head lying on his broad chest. Over the past 15
minutes or so, I felt his tool swell back to its full majestic size.

"I took the test when I was 15 and managed 5 full ejaculations in 57
minutes, over two and a half fluid ounces of prime quality sperm. Probably
because I was fertile from a very young age and therefore joined the
breeder training program younger than any other slave."

"Is that why you are hung like that?"

Buck chuckles, "probably, the supplementary hormone program is all about
improving sperm volume and quality, but perhaps it helps penile growth too,
especially if you're only ten when they begin injecting."

"In that case I'm happy they started you so young."

He kisses my forehead. "I'm glad to hear it, because I think it is time for
you get reminder how it feels to be bred big. How long since we had sex, do
you think?"

"An hour, an hour and a half, perhaps"

"Then I should have built up a couple of ounces for jizz to get rid of..."

He gently rolls me off his chest until I am lying on my left side with Buck
spooning me from behind, his rock-hard cock against my back. His left arm
is wrapped underneath me and around my chest.

"Let me take this, baby. Relax and enjoy."

His big monster cock pushes between my arse cheeks and pops easily into my
loose chute. I close my eyes and let him take charge. For the first time in
our relationship, I let Buck fuck me, rather than me impaling myself on his
engorged tool. Once fully inside me, our breeding slave – my lover –
is surprisingly gentle, slowly and tenderly rocking, so his massive meat
smoothly stimulates my gut with a quiet intensity I could not have
imagined.

"We had to do exercises to improve our stamina," Buck whispers from
directly behind me, "to postpone ejaculation until the client has been
satisfied. When I am about to finish I will have you screaming for release
..."

He goes on to prove his prowess as he keeps me on the edge for the best
part of an hour. His manhood leisurely, metronomically, drives deep into my
belly, stretching and rubbing my bowels, non-stop stimulating my
senses. Nice to start with, great as it went on, then fantastic until it
becomes mind-blowing turning to excruciating when my gut can't possibly
stand it anymore.

"Not so loud, baby," he says quietly, and I realize that I am moaning,
moaning noisily.

"Please finish," I beg, "I can't take more."

"Yes, you can, baby. You can take a lot more than this."

His thrusts keep coming, long, gentle, and impossibly deep inside me. I am
panting to prevent me starting to groan again. Powerless in the hands of
this sexual pro, I repeatedly beg him to speed up, shoot his load and end
my suffering, but my pleas are futile. Then, just as I think I might lose
my mind, when I genuinely cannot suffer his attentions any longer, he
starts to power up, letting rip with harder, faster thrusts, his hips
slapping against my cheeks.

Barely interrupting his rhythm, he turns me onto all fours and, having
positioned himself between my legs, he fucks me like a dog covering his
bitch. Two minutes, three minutes to reach his full violent force, five
minutes of unadulterated animalistic power before he begins to fill me
up. I don't know how long he keeps going, how many shots he releases into
my gut, but when he finally collapses onto my back, my belly feels like it
might burst with cum.

We lie like that for five, ten, maybe fifteen minutes, breathless and
sweaty, his flaccid cock still buried in my rectum. I stir ... I should
leave. How long have I been here now? I roll him off me, but Buck puts his
arms around me and pulls me against his chest.

"Relax, baby, let's enjoy each other's touch for a little longer."

I let him hold me, subconsciously conceding that Buck is in charge now, the
slave becoming the master, the owner becoming the sex toy. I relax in
submission and exhaustion washes over me.




I am shaken awake, bewildered and disoriented.

"I'm sorry, baby"

His voice reminds me where I am and with whom. It doesn't explain why I am
spread-eagled and on my back.

"I've got to go."

As the fog lifts, I realize Buck has shackled me to the bed with the
leather cuffs that used to hold him. The tight hood stops me speaking and
leaves me blind. I recognize what is going on, what he is planning to do.

"I wish I didn't have to, Alex-Baby, but I may never get another chance to
become a free man."

He strokes my abs, my thigh.

"I hope they won't punish you too much when they find you tomorrow
morning."

"I'll come with you," I scream silently into the hood, "I will join you for
the rest of our lives. I don't care about my position, where we will live
or how. I only want us to be together, make love every day, twice a day
... all day!"

He gently takes my small cock in his hand and stimulates me until, for the
first time of my life, I have the amazing sensation of blood filling my
manhood.

"That's my boy. Next time you try to have a wank, think of me."

He kisses the leather hood.

"I've got to go, baby. I wish it were different."

Please, Sir, take me with you ...


THE END