The Breeding Bitch Diaries, Final Chapter: Celebration

As always, a huge thank you to my Mistress, without whom none of this would have been possible.

Note: this might make more sense if you read it after the first and second chapters in this little series, but it also stands pretty well by itself. Enjoy! ❤

(t-minus 4 months)

It was showing, by this point.

All the talk of being pumped full, stuffed soft and round with your spawn – it was all leading to this. There simply wasn’t any way of hiding it any longer – you had well and truly knocked me up.

And so, to celebrate such a wondrous occasion, you had decided to throw a party! Nothing too big – just a few close friends of yours, drinks, nibbles… and, you promised, some “truly unforgettable” entertainment you had lined up.

I spent most of the day preparing party food, tidying the house, and just generally trying to ready myself for the night to come – I kept getting the feeling that this was really going to be something special. You, meanwhile, had been busying yourself in the dungeon – I assumed something to do with tonight’s entertainment and left you to it, instinctively knowing it was well out of my realm of expertise. Besides… I kind of wanted it to be a surprise.

Eventually, evening fell – people would be arriving soon. Before they did, though, you pulled me to one side, and carefully clasped my puppy collar tight around my neck. I was always thankful for signs of your ownership, even when they’re somewhat overshadowed by the swelling belly you’d given me. Speaking of, that was certainly accented by my party outfit – an apron (and nothing underneath, naturally) emblazoned with three words: “Property of Charlotte”. You, meanwhile, were looking simply stunning in an dark green dress cut just above the knee, which seemed to shimmer hypnotically as you moved. Then you rolled out a table from the dungeon – whatever was on it was completely obscured by the sheet covering it, though. I’d just have to wait and see.

And then they were here! I was swept off my feet with greeting people, taking bags and coats – I didn’t know any of the crowd of women that walked in, but they all seemed to recognise me. A knowing glance, a little giggle as I introduced myself as your slave – clearly you had shared more than a few words to them about me.

For a while, though, everything was going pretty smoothly. I mostly flitted around, offering trays of snacks and top-ups on drinks, chatting with anyone who’d strike up a conversation, accepting congratulations and letting people feel the little bump you’d given me. After about an hour, though… something had changed. I could feel leering gazes boring into me when my back was turned – people kept spanking my exposed ass as they walked past – and while I was mingling, I kept hearing giggles, and whispers from somewhere:

“…and what a slut, she wasn’t kidding…”

“…more of a whore than I’d thought…”

“…looks like a little bitch. No – a desperate bitch…”

Before I could do anything, though – anything other than blush profusely, were they talking about me? – you had called everyone over to the covered table. You pointed at a spot on the ground next to you, and I knelt instinctively, as you spoke to the giggling crowd of Dommes:

“How’re we all doing, hm? Hope everybody’s having a good night so far! I just wanted to let you all know that the “unforgettable” entertainment I promised will be beginning shortly – slut, pass out those bags.”

And with a flourish, you pulled the sheet off the table, revealing a bag of party favours for everyone. As I got to my feet and began handing them out, I managed to glimpse what was inside: crops, paddles, clamps… An array of all sorts of implements. But the one thing common to every bag was also the most eye-catching – a thick, weighty, 10-inch strap-on. I was shuddering slightly as I returned to my spot on the ground, but you continued:

“Now, I’m sure you all know this party wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for Morgan here being such a breedable whore” – laughs from the crowd here, and more than a few lustful stares – “so I thought it’d only be fair that he serve as tonight’s entertainment. Get up here, slut.”

…I should’ve known, shouldn’t I.

I rose to my feet and glanced at the now-empty table – it had straps on either side, perfect for keeping something – someONE – inescapably locked in place. As I passed you, I heard a whisper in my ear of “chair position, there’s a good boy” and then, ominously, “good luck, slave”. I lay on my back, my head hanging over the edge of the table, and raised my legs up as told – thighs folded against my body, the “seat” of the chair, with my calves as the back, feet pointed towards the ceiling.

“My, so eager, isn’t he? Already assuming the position… What do we think about that?” you asked the crowd, theatrically cupping one hand to your ear as you strapped my thighs and upper body firmly into place. The responses were varied, but it seemed everyone was on the same page – “slut!”, “whore!”, “fucktoy!”, and so on. With your property all secured, you sat yourself down on my thighs and addressed the crowd once more: “OK, now I should mention the ground rules.”

I relaxed at this – I had no chance of making it through this many Dommes unfettered, but if it was ordered somewhat, then perhaps I could survive the night after all. But then, of course, you continued. “So, I count two slutholes, and two hands. Which means this slave should,” a spank to my ass here for emphasis, “should be able to take four of those straps at once. I’ll allow, hm, five minutes per go – then those using the holes can take a break, those using the hands can switch to holes, and two of you watching can use his hands. We’ll keep cycling through until everybody’s had at least one turn. Implements can be used freely, as can the cum function on your straps – it’s not like he can be knocked up twice (laughs from the crowd here), although I would prefer if you don’t drown or otherwise irreparably break him.”

A few light-hearted boos came from the crowd at this, and you gestured dramatically, throwing your hands up. “Alright, alright!” Turning to face me, you made direct eye contact, a wicked smile on your lips –

“You can break him a little.”

Then, to the sound of cheering, you slipped the blindfold over my eyes, and I was plunged into darkness.

I could hear you organising the crowd, deciding who would get to go first – feel your presence resting on my thighs, seated atop your conscious object. For a brief moment… silence. Stillness. Blank. Then the sounds came back to the world – the rustling clothes of strap preparation, chat and laughter from your party guests. And then, abruptly, the first strap arrived, the touch bringing a gasp to my lips as she lined herself up with my ass. The gasp quickly became a moan, as the head of her dick pried me open – and then the moan too was transformed into muffled little sounds, another dick filling my mouth, and then my throat. Two more arrived to put my hands to good use, and I heard the room erupt with cheering as you said “Tied down, legs over your head, ready to take fat cocks in every hole… Go ahead – use the bitch.”

I’m not sure how long I was kept like that – between the sensory deprivation of the blindfold and the overload of… everything else, it was all sort of a blur of whorish bliss. You were keeping time, though, making sure everybody got their fair share of free use slut. Each cock was different, individual – not just in size and shape, but the way they were used, too. Some would just ease their way into me, slow and sweet, almost romantically, intimately splitting me apart. Others came in hard and fast, crashing into my throat, pounding my prostate, over and over. Still others liked a combination, quickly hilting their cocks in me and then slooooowly drawing them back out, watching my reactions as my feet tried to kick, as my gag reflex kicked in while they pulled me inside-out.

The crowd kept themselves busy throughout – the bite of a crop, the thud of a paddle, groping hands and nipple clamps were ever-present. Every so often – presumably five minutes, not that I could keep track – you would clap your hands, and the two Dommes using my holes would thrust in deep, practically meeting in the middle, before filling me with their loads – hot and sticky, a warm and wonderful weight settling inside me – and then pulling out completely, cum and drool running down over my face. Then they were quickly replaced by the ones I’d been warming up with my hands, gaping my holes around them as I embraced the slutty pleasure of being truly used.

There was no consideration for the well-being of the holes they were pumping full, no concern – they knew full well from your stories exactly how much I could take, and it seemed they planned to make sure I took it. Objects are not routinely consulted on how they are used, after all. After a while, you asked how everyone was doing – and the responses came as a bit of a shock.

“It’s gonna take forever to get through us all at this rate, Charlotte! Can’t we speed things up a bit?” said a voice from the crowd.

“Hmm, well… I could lower the time limit a little, perhaps?” you offered. But, no, that wouldn’t be fair to those who hadn’t had a go yet. Suddenly, though, there was a breakthrough. “Oh, I know!” one Domme said, and I could feel another set of hands grip my thighs as she…

Wait, hold on… Was she…?

Before my fucked-out mind could put two and two together, she was sliding her cock in, alongside the one already there.

The crowd gasped in shock, while I made a sound nobody could hear through the dick filling my throat. My blindfolded eyes rolled back into my head as she began to move back and forth, the contrasting rhythms of the two cocks driving me mad with sensation. You turned in your chair and leaned down to me, asking “How does that feel, slut?”. I tried to respond, but to no avail – you laughed, and lifted my blindfold, the light briefly dazzling me as I saw your face. “OK, we’ll try this. Blink once for yes and twice for no, understand?”


“Good boy. Now, how’re you feeling about this new development, is it alright?”


“You’re OK with being double- no, I suppose you’re triple-stuffed, filled to the brim with these thick cocks?”


“You enjoy the fact that they’re keeping you airtight, ruining that little hole, stretching it wide for their use? You won’t be good for anything else after this, you know that, right? Just a set of holes -“


“- little more than a cock-sleeve, really -“


“- a slutty little bitch to be fucked -“


“- mated -“


“- bred.”

A deep, slow, long blink, here, as all three cocks drove deep inside at once, the women using my ass grabbing my raised legs for leverage. You softly put a hand to my throat, tracing over your collar, feeling the bulge of the cock filling it to capacity. We shared the sensation of feeling it twitch as it delivered yet more hot seed into my stomach – you feeling it from without; me, from within. Then you smiled that sweet, beautiful smile, and gently placed the blindfold back over my eyes.

“Well, it seems this four-cock whore is now a five-cock whore! Congratulations, slave.” You turned back in your chair and addressed the crowd, as I lapsed back into my barely-conscious slut-state, all but lost to the world. The owner of the new cock in my mouth grabbed the clamps on my nipples – basically handlebars at this point – and thrust vigorously, little movements back and forth in my throat that provided a variety of fun noises – objects don’t really need air anyway, do they?

Some time later…

You were standing in the doorway, waving farewell to the last few guests, before you closed the door and came back to the lounge. Your used-up, fucked-up property lay on the table – holes gaped wide and dripping with spunk and drool, body coated with seed and impact markings. “I hope you don’t think you’re done yet, slut,” you said casually as you wandered over to me.

“I mean, for a start, somebody still has to clean all this up,” and here you gestured at the room, the food trays, the mess of a whore that was me. “But even before that…” Your foot-long cock made a meaty thwack as it landed in your hand.

“…I never even got a turn.”

My mouth opened for you on instinct, accepting your length into its sheath as you leaned down and rubbed a possessive hand on my well-swollen belly.

“You know, in a few more months, all of this will be done with,” you said, impaling my throat with your fat, perfect, cock.

“And then, I’m going to do it all over again. And again. And again. Barefoot and pregnant, forever knocked up, my little breeding bitch – doesn’t that just sound lovely, slut?”

I couldn’t speak, could barely move to give an answer – but you didn’t even need to remove my blindfold to know how I would respond.


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