I Am a Breeder

by Lostzilla

I am not going to tell you anything about my life before I became a breeder. That part of me is dead, and I can never have it back. So none of that really matters. I am who I am, nothing more or less.

My given breeder name is Tiara. No one uses the name he or she was born with.

Our lives are nearly the same from the time we get up to the time we go to sleep. The males require a drug to make them multiorgasmic, but that is all. That drug is called Prolactinhibit. Females, however, need two drugs: one, Perplensia, to relax us, to make us feel wonderful, and the other, Mactidum, to make us so horny we can't stand it.

This is not who we really are, the women I mean, but this is the life we are expected to live and the only one we will live. Should anyone find this and read it, do not waste your time dreaming about someday rescuing us; we are damned by the things we have done and by the drugs we take. We can never go back. Just be glad that you are not one of us.

I am going to tell you about a typical day in my life. It may not be comfortable or pleasant or make your heart jump for joy, but I implore you to read it regardless. It begins on a day that you can choose, any day; it would not matter.

The alarms in Breeding Center Nine wake us up at 0600 hours. The routine is always the same: we shower, shave if we have to, brush our teeth, and dress in our gowns. Then we take our drugs. By the time we have breakfast we are beginning to feel the effects.

From my own experience, the Perplensia makes me feel sensationally alive, as though I am in love with everyone around me and my life cannot get any better than it is. I feel like I am in heaven even though I am in hell. The Mactidum puts the ache between my legs; it is relentless and insatiable, making my pussy wet and driving me to fuck.

It is good that there are so many men here, for if not I know I would be turning to other women for the pleasure I crave. There is no love here, however, for Mactidum makes love impossible. We fuck. That is what we do; it is all we do.

Breakfast is plain and simple: three eggs, five slices of bacon, one muffin, and juice. I do not mind that the menu never changes, for by breakfast's end I am so horny that I feel like I could fuck every man in the center. I eat only to live, but I live only to fuck.

And so as a group we move to our assigned Ecstasy Rooms. It is not without reason that they are called this; from the time we begin to breed until the time we finish at 1800 hours, the sound of our blissful agonies fill the rooms we are in, and the men more so than the women scream out their pleasure as their penises explode in our bellies.

The room is enormous, though just how big it is I am not sure. The women in the room, however, I can say are all beautiful and have attractive bodies. It is a certainty that the more desirable we are to men, the more they want to fuck us. Men do not need drugs to make them horny; their penises get hard for us quite naturally.

Ecstasy Room Three, the one to which I have been assigned, is exactly like the others in that it is full of beds, all king-sized, and during breeding hours our masters play loud, wall and floor-vibrating music to excite us even more. The songs are always the same, but I never quite get used to it because I can hear over the music the screams and cries of sweaty men who are in the throes of babygasm; I listen more to that than I do to the music.

Breeding begins promptly at 0800 hours. Each morning I walk into the Ecstasy Room dressed like the other women in a plain, white gown. We wear no makeup; we are too beautiful for that. The women all stand along the edge of the room while the men wait naked on the beds, and this is how it is until the music begins to play. Then we wander around looking for the man we want to fuck first and get on his bed.

Normally there are not less than three men on each bed. Three men and three women means that six people are fucking on every bed at any given time. The sheets will all have been changed, but the mattresses remain soiled by the baby seed which falls out of our vaginas after the men have finished sperming in them.

By day's end tens of thousands of men will have babygasmed several dozen times. They are sweaty and smelly. We are sweaty and smelly, and our vaginas are sloppy. Most of us, men and women, will then be ready to go back to our rooms and crash. But not all of us. Some, including myself, remain horny, and we will spend the next few hours seeking out partners with whom we become utterly depraved as we work off what remains of our lust.

I am thirty-nine years old, lucky I suppose because my masters consider me to still be beautiful enough to remain in the center; I do not know what happens to women who are no longer acceptable as breeders, though I know that they are released into the wasteland outside to survive as best they can.

My height is five feet exactly, and I weigh one hundred and six pounds. I have gray eyes and long blond hair; my breasts are large, and many men have told me that my butt is among the most attractive they have seen.

It is only when the Mactidum wears off that I become aware of the pathetic person I am. I hate what I do, and I hate what men do to me. I feel differently when the Mactidum is in control, because I am a different person then. My vagina hungers for pleasure more than my stomach starves for food. I cannot have enough penises inside me, and in fact I worship them; when breeding hours are over and I am working to spend the last of my lust, I will suck penises until their owners scream, and then I will swallow whatever is squirted in my mouth. I will let men butt-fuck me until it hurts.

The pleasure is addictive and necessary; my sanity depends on it. I eventually return to my room dripping with sweat and with baby seed in my vagina, my butt, and my stomach. Then I go to sleep hoping that I will not wake up.

By far the most humiliating part of my life is not what I do to men, as I cannot control myself once I become artificially horny, but rather it is what men do to me. They have no excuse, for there is no drug that makes them the way they are.

When the breeding begins and I have chosen my first man, I lay on my back while he thrusts hard and repeatedly into my vagina and stares at me, if he is short enough, with such lust in his eyes. I am not a human being to him, but a mindless, heartless woman who exists for his pleasure. We are there to fertilize my eggs, which are always removed from my uterus shortly after they have attached to the uterine wall so that I may then continue to breed; for the man, however, the pleasure he gets when his penis is exploding like a volcano in my vagina is so excruciating to him that he screams, "I'M IMPREGNATING!," and then I see the veins pop out on his head and neck.

Sometim...