The Breeding Bitch Diaries, Chapter 1: Conception

Special thanks to Mistress Charlotte for indirectly inspiring all of this, and directly inspiring a few parts in particular. 😘

(t-minus 9 months, 3 hours)

It was still early when I woke to my phone buzzing a gentle alarm, the morning sun beginning to stream in through the window. I glanced at the alert on the screen and my eyes widened – was it really that time of year again already? I’d better start preparing. Carefully, so as not to wake you, I unlocked the door to my cage (positioned at the end of the bed, naturally) and climbed out, stretched my legs, and headed for the kitchen, softly closing the door behind me. Time to whip up a nice breakfast. Nothing too heavy, but not too light, either – we’ll both be needing the energy, as there’s a LOT of work ahead of us today.

I opted for scrambled eggs on sourdough toast, with a fresh pot of your favourite tea on standby. I set your place at the table and then knelt in my spot – behind your chair, to the right – and awaited your presence, a slight shiver running through my body as I imagined the events to follow for the rest of the day. You emerged from your room not long after, your path carrying you straight past me as you sat at the table and began to eat. For a while I was beginning to think you had forgotten what day it was – it was only when you placed my portion into my bowl that I saw the look in your eyes and realised:

“You’re looking forward to this just as much as I am, aren’t you, Mistress?”

“Even moreso, slut. It’s been far too long.”

To which there really wasn’t much for me to add. What else needed to be said? After we both finished eating, you allowed me to stand, clipped a leash to my collar, and led me downstairs, down, deeper and deeper down. Down to your basement room, locking the door behind you. I looked across the room, always kept beautifully clean, and just knew we were about to make a complete mess of it.

“That’s right, slut,” you said from behind me, in that voice that sends shivers down my soul no matter how many times I hear it, “You’ve had your holiday – time to get back to your REAL job.”. Pulling your strap-on into place, you flashed me a wicked grin, and I knew exactly what was coming before it even passed your lips.

“It’s time to get knocked up.”

You fastened me down onto your breeding bench, all secured, nice and tight. I questioned the need for the straps, as I’d long since embraced my position beneath you, but you hushed me with a finger to my lips and a soft slap to my cheek – the universal sign for “don’t worry about it”. Which I didn’t – bondage is fun, after all. With me all locked in, you sauntered past in front of my face, my eyes practically glued to your hard, thick, FAT cock. Naturally my fixation didn’t pass your notice, and you made sure your tip was very well-acquainted with the back of my throat, numerous times – “to save on lube”, you explained.

With that little issue resolved, you continued walking, eventually leaving the range of my strapped-down vision. Rather than leave me with an empty dungeon to look at, though, you carefully placed your blindfold over my eyes, leaving everything pitch-black. My other senses kicked into overdrive – hearing your careful steps as you got into the perfect position. A spank to my ass made me flinch half to death with the sudden feeling of touch. I could practically taste the anticipation in the air. You were only interested in one sensation, though:

“Little puppy… You smell like a bitch in heat.”

And before I could respond – before I could think – you were thrusting into me, wrenching that sluthole open and claiming it, irrefutably, as your territory. The presence of you drove the breath from my lungs, the thoughts from my mind – it was all I could do to moan like a wanton slut, trying in vain to push back onto your cock, driving you as deep as possible. However, there was no urgency in your entry, no need to rush – instead you were taking it achingly, tortuously, slow. Dragging your length nearly all the way out, leaving only your tip within, before putting it back deep inside me, inch by painstaking inch. Snickering at my jerks and twitches as you pressed into that bundle of nerve endings – delivering the occasional spank to my tender flesh just to hear my intake of breath in response as I instinctively clenched.

This continued on for what felt like years – in actuality, it was probably only half an hour. Thirty minutes of slow, intimate sex, punctuated by the odd sound from us both – the smack of a palm on flesh, the satisfied moan of a well-delivered thrust. On one of these out-thrusts, though, you stopped in place, tip held within me. I was so spaced out, mind so cloudy, that it took a couple of attempts to hear what you were saying:

“I said, are you ready to start, slut?”

Start? Start what? Were we… doing something? Hmm… it’s… too hard to think… everything’s… so fuzzy…

I heard a muttered “fucking whore” under your breath.

I felt your hands grab my hips.

And then, for a brief moment, everything went away.

Even if I hadn’t been blindfolded, I suspect I wouldn’t have seen anything.

Just a moment of blank, blissful, emptiness.

When I came back to Earth, my tongue was hanging out, your hips were pressed up against mine, and your beautiful purple strap was completely hilted inside me, as deep as it could go.

“Ohhhh…” I managed to say, “You were talking abOU-“

But you weren’t talking about anything, anymore. You drew your length back and pounded it into me, hard and fast, your force killing the words in my throat.

I could gasp.

I could pant.

I could moan, like a whore possessed.

And that was about it. I simply wasn’t capable of anything else, at that point. Above it all, I could hear the repetitive slap of flesh on flesh, feeling you piston into me again, and again, and again. Widening that slutty hole, gaping it, feeling it gradually become loose and sloppy for you – not capable of resisting you, moulded to your exact shape. Nobody, nothing, can truly fill me like this anymore – only you. I’m little more than a warm, welcoming sheath for your cock, now. The truest definition of “conscious object” – merely a living fleshlight to be used up and filled up, until you’re satisfied.

And objects are not routinely consulted on how they are used.

So you continued to ravage me, wreck me, ruin me. Unflagging, unrelenting – crushing my common sense to paste with every pound. On, and on, and on, hour after hour. Eventually I heard your breath begin to hitch, and I knew you were close. With a final, solid, penetrating thrust, you bottomed out, and released your load deep, deep inside me. I could feel it, sticky and hot, hot enough to burn. Unfettered by biology, each spurt was larger than the the one before, filling me to the brim with that liquid lust. If I wasn’t tied down, I would have placed a hand on my belly to feel it from the outside, feeling it swell beneath my touch, as you pumped me full. You must have read my mind, in that moment, because I felt you lean over and do that exact thing, softly stroking, whispering in my ear:

“Congratulations, bitch.”

I knew instantly, instinctively, that it had taken root in me, somewhere deep and wonderful. In that moment, I was no longer being fucked – I was being mated. Taken, and claimed, in the most primal way possible – your breeding stock, your vessel. Held down, pumped full, and bred like a good little bitch.

(t-minus nine months)

I made no attempt to get up, though – I’d been here before, time and again, and I knew what came next. Unfettered by biology, remember – no refractory period meant you could just get straight back to pounding; which, naturally, you did. Despite the inhuman amount you’d just injected inside of me, you REALLY wanted to be sure it took – so why not go for another one? I certainly wasn’t in any position to complain. Rearing back, you drove your cock into me once more, the occasional spurt of excess seed dribbling out past you. I hadn’t cum, but it was like I was sympathetically feeling your post-orgasmic bliss – I was lost to the world, mouth slack and agape, tongue still lolling out, mind just empty and blank. You stayed bent over me, one hand resting on my belly, feeling the slight thump every time you drove yourself in. All the while you were still whispering in my ear, telling me what a good slut I am, a good whore, your obedient breeding bitch, nothing but livestock for you. That you were going to keep like this, stuffed full of your seed – leave me barefoot and pregnant in your kitchen. That I lived for this now – loved this – was addicted to the pleasure of it all. And I did, I was, all of it was true, more than anything.

It wasn’t too much longer after that that you delivered your second load home, definitely giving me a little belly bulge with the weight of it. I felt you draw yourself out and shivered slightly, the cool air of the dungeon contrasting with the hot seed leaking from a well-used hole. I began to move against the restraints, but – hm? You were… moving around to the front of me? I still couldn’t see for the blindfold, but I heard you crouch down, fiddling with some mechanism on the bench…

The next thing I knew, I felt myself moving, the bench rotating underneath me, turning me so my face was pointing towards the ground, and my feet towards the ceiling. As I rotated, you explained: “You’ve been such a good vessel for me, sweetness, so this probably isn’t necessary – but just to be SURE, I’m going to have to keep you here like this for a while, so my seed stays in you as long as possible. To give it the best chance of catching, you understand.”

The blood was already rushing to my head, as I felt the bench lock into place, keeping me at what felt like a 75-degree angle. Through my hazy mind I heard you continue “After all, there’s no point filling you up if it’s all gonna just trickle down your thighs in the grocery checkout line, is there?”. The sound of your steps drew closer to me as you leant down and said “Now, I’ll just put these earmuffs on you to ensure you stay in the right headspace – just focus on being the best breeding bitch you can be! Hmmm, but… You just don’t look quite right for it yet. Wait, I know!”

I heard you rummaging through one of the dungeon drawers, searching for something in particular. “Now, where is it… No, not that one, not- ooh, that’d be nice for another time… Where is… Aha!”

Your steps rushed back over to me and I felt your presence leaning in, reaching around my head to buckle an open-mouth gag into place. “There, that’s much better. Now you look like a fucked-out whore inside AND out! Oh, now don’t worry, sweetness – I’ve just got to go for a while, there’s a few things I need to take care of. You just sit comfortably, now, there’s a good bitch. I’ll be back to check on you soon.”

The last thing I heard before you slipped the earmuffs onto me was “…probably.”.

And then… silence.

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