I lay on my back on the cold steel table, mywrists chained over my head and my negligee pulled up over my nipples. My legswere lifted and open, knees drawn up to my chest, as though I was about to befucked. The gynecologist stood between my stiletto heels, looking down at myexposed pink boycunt, clitty and sac. My Master, and his young son, who waslearning the slave business, stood off to the side of the table. His son wasthe same age as me—18—which added to my humiliation.
“Hmmm…” said the doctor, as helightly pinched my sac between his gloved fingers and lifted it away. With hisother hand he felt the flesh around my cunt, probing and pressing. “Good muscletone and flexibility…Do you fuck her often?”
“She gets fucked at least once aday, on the average. Unless I use her mouth, of course,” Master answered.
I gasped as the doctor suddenlythrust his finger deep into my boycunt. He laughed, saying, “I can tell…thisbitch’s cunt has excellent depth…..” He pressed his fingers in up to theknuckles. “Feels like she can easily take a cock up to the hilt!”
My clitty began to trickle precum,and he held my clitty in his other hand. “Good lubricator, too,” he said. Hetook his fingers out of my boycunt, and wiped them along my wet clitty, justlike a man does when he is about to fuck a slavegurl. He thrust three fingersquickly back in my cunt. “Squeeze me, bitch,” he commanded. I clenched my cuntaround his fingers, just like I do when my Master is fucking me. “Come on, youcan do better than that! Squeeze it like your master’s cock was in you!”
With that he reached up and pinchedone of my pink nipples. I yelped, and felt my cunt tighten reflexively aroundhis fingers. The two men laughed as the doctor explained to my Master’s son,“Remember that Tommy…a little pain always makes a cunt tighter!”
He took his fingers out of me andstripped off the gloves as he walked around to where I lay on the table. Ofcourse, I kept my legs in the inspection position, like a good obedient slavebitch. He looked down at me as I lay chained to the exam table, exposed, spreadand vulnerable.
“How old are you, slut?”
“Eighteen, sir.”
He lifted both my ankles in onehand, examining my asscheeks. There were several welts criss-crossing myasscheeks, just under my master’s branded initials. “What’s this?” he said. “Been a bad girl?”
I blushed….”Master Tommy spanked mesir….I couldn’t find my leash this morning.” It was true; Master had told hisson to leash me an put me in the back ofthe truck, but when the his son told me to fetch my leash, I couldn’t find it. They were waiting impatientlyby the door, expecting to see me crawling to them quickly, with the leash in mymouth. I knew I was in trouble when it took me several minutes to find it, putit in my mouth, and scurry to them on all fours. I knelt up, offering it.Master took the leash from my teeth and asked me why I kept them waiting. Ofcourse, I could only lick his foot, apologizing and begging for mercy. Then hisson piped up, “Can I spank her, Dad?” I was soon stretched over the teen’s lap,while he whipped me with the doubled leather leash. The boy had giggled inpleasure as Master looked on approvingly.
The doctor lowered my ankles and placed one hand on my smooth leg, idlystroking it while he turned to my Master. “I think this slave has excellentbreeding potential. She should be able to handle a litter of three or even fourpups. She’s healthy enough that she should be able to continue her householdduties, including sexual use. I’ll implant her cloned uterus and eggs today….sheshould be fertile in about two weeks, once the uterus has had a chance to growand bond inside her.”
With that the doctor turned to atray besides the exam table, lifting a plunger-like tool. Inside it, throughthe clear plastic tube, I could see something pink and wet. “That’s your newuterus, slave,” he said. “I hope you’ll give your master lots of puppies!” Hewalked back between my lifted and spread legs, and placed the tip of theplunger at my cunthole. He slid it into me deeply, and pressed the plunger,depositing my new uterus deep inside my belly. Then he removed the plunger, andtook a smaller syringe, with a rounded tip, much like the enema tube slaves useevery day. It was filled with a yellowish viscous mass. He inserted it deep intome and pressed the plunger, filling me with eggs.
“Congratulations, slave…..you’re nowa breeder!” the doctor said as he removed the tag from my collar and replacedit with a new one. “Your new inventory number is MJK029-B.”
“Yes sir.” I said. My master’sinitials, the twenty-ninth of thirty-odd slaves he owned, with a B for breeder.
The doctor unchained my wrists andinstructed me to climb off the table. I swung my long slender legs—my bestfeature, I think—off the table and stood up, my stiletto heels tapping on thefloor as I tugged my negligee down over my chest and ass. It was an inch or twotoo short, barely covering my ass cheeks; my clitty often peeked out in front.Master Tommy reached up and clipped the leash to my collar as the doctor explaineda few things to my owner…
“It will take about two weeks untilthe slave is ready to be bred. You can tell by examining her cunt..it will bedeep pink, almost red, and slightly swollen. Her nipples will be erect too. Irecommend you don’t use its cunt until then…just her mouth.”
I stood there, with my feet togetherin a proper feminine manner, my leash in the hand of a boy who barely reachedmy chest, my head down, as the doctor went on….”When it’s fertile, you shouldfuck it several times a day…I assume you have a rape rack at your facility?”
Master nodded. “Of course.”
“Good,” the doctor. “Bring it backin about a month, and we’ll check its litter.” The two men shook hands asMaster’s son tugged my leash. I followed him out through the office, past a rowof slave kennels, most of them containing an unhappy-looking slavegurl. My highheels tapped on the tile floor as I followed the young boy pulling my leash. Iwas now a breeder.
II. SomeDays Later….
I scurried along as fast as I could,my high heels tapping on the concrete floor as Master yanked my leash, tryingto keep up with him as he strode down the corridor connecting his house to theslave facilities. He had most of the leash bunched up in his fist, which forcedme to bend over as I followed him. With my hands bound behind my back, I wasterrified I’d stumble and then be beaten for being a clumsy slave.
That morning, as I was doing myhousework, Master had noticed that my nipples were poking against the sheerfabric of my little negligee. He called me over to him, and when I knelt at hisfeet he snapped his fingers and commanded “Present!” I quickly turned aroundand knelt on knees and elbows, my face on the floor, ass lifted high and thighswide, my clitty and balls dangling between my smooth thighs. I didn’t know if Iwas going to be whipped, or raped, since the command usually leads to one orthe other, but it was neither. Master lifted the hem of my negligee higher overmy asscheeks, and then gently prodded my boycunt. I winced at the sudden pain.
Master chuckled. “That hurt, slut?”
“Yes Master.” He did it again, alittle harder, and I yelped. “Hmmmm…your nipples are erect….and your cunt ismoister, and swollen. Deeper pink, too. I think you’re almost ready forbreeding, bitch!”
I suspected as much myself; I hadnoticed my “pencil eraser” nipples, and felt the increased sensitivity in myboycunt. I was hoping Master hadn’t noticed the changes coming over my bodysince he had decided to make me a breeder.
He slapped my ass, and told me tofetch a leash. I leapt to my feet andran off to obey. I put the leash in mymouth, dropped to all fours and scurried back to kneel up at his feet, offeringthe leash. He took it from my mouth and clipped it to my collar. He tugged me to my feet, turned me around,and bound my hands behind my back with the cords he always carried on his belt.
Now, I was being taken to the placeI dreaded almost as much as the slaughterhouse…the breeding pens. He tugged methrough a door into a large room; each wall on the left and right was linedwith a row of small cages, most containing a slave bitch. Some of them wereclearly pregnant; their bellies and tits were swollen. Others showed less, but often I noticed a datescrawled on their asscheek, opposite Master’s brand. I knew the date indicatedtheir breeding dates. If a slut failed to breed after three breedings…well, shewas no use as a breeder.
As we passed down the line of cages, I could see thedreaded rape rack: a low horizontal rail, with rings to secure a slave’swrists, ankles, and waist. When a slavewas secured over the rail, ass lifted, its face was at the level of the man’sfeet. Hanging on a hook nearby was a slave whip. It was common practice to whipthe slave just before breeding it; pain and emotional distress was supposed toencourage fertility. The more submissive a slave was, the more fertile it wouldbe. It was a far cry from being on my back in Master’s bed, my legs in the airas he fucked me.
There was already plenty of pain andemotional distress, however; the room was filled with soft whimpers and weepingfrom the caged slaves. Being a breeder was a pain-filled life: the pain of amore sensitive and delicate boycunt being rammed by a huge cock; the pain of thefrequent whippings; the pain as your “litter” grew inside you, and the pain of childbirth, squeezing outyour “pups” in the little cage while Master and friends sat around watching,enjoying the show.
There were only a few empty cages inthe room; Master kept about a dozen sluts breeding at any time to keep hisstock, replacing those who were sold as fucktoys, slaughtered, etc.
We stopped before an empty cage andMaster unclipped my leash. He loosed the bonds on my wrists and opened the doorof a cage. “In!” he commanded and I crawled in quickly. I curled up in the farcorner of the tiny cage, my long legs drawn up before me as Master locked thedoor.
“We’ll let you ripen for a few days,then I’ll be back to breed you, slut.” Master walked across the room to anothercage containing a slave. The slave’s hands were bound behind it as it lay onits back, naked but for high heels and collar. The slave’s breasts were swollenand taut, pale with milk. I saw that its nipples were clamped to keep any milkfrom leaking. The slave sobbed softly as Master stood looking down at it.
“Master...please Master…please milkme…please...it hurts so much…please…..” the slave begged piteously.
“Now now, girl….you just haven’tbeen giving enough milk lately, and you need to have your udders stretched.This will do you good. Don’t you want to be a good milker?” Master said as hestood beside the cage.
The slave crawled to the door of thecage and put her face to the bars, trying to lick Master’s shoes as itcontinued to beg and whimper, its full tits ballooning out to either side.
Master ignored the slave and walkedaway, leaving the poor bitch sobbing on the floor. After a few moments shepicked herself up and knee-walked to the wall of her kennel, where she beganrubbing her tits against the bars in an effort to relieve the pain.
Some time later the door opened andone of the attendants entered, carrying a bucket and ladle. Immediately , allthe slaves stuck their heads out through small windows in the cage doors, belowwhich was a small trough. The man walked up and down the rows of cages, ladlingslave gruel into the troughs. The slaves began lapping and gulping hungrily,and I did the same, although there was none of the table scraps that Isometimes received from the garbage when I was being used in Master’s house.
I licked my trough clean, and took along drink from the bottle and tube attached to the side of the cage. Then Icurled up in the corner and waited to be bred.
