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The Breeding Man

Part 2

For DuskCypher

By Draconicon

Six hours of sleep didn't amount to much when it came from sleep gas and happened under rubber blankets. George sat up as they retracted, going through the motions of rubbing his legs and restoring blood flow. His morning wood had returned, and with it, a violent need for the restroom. Not that he'd get it before the guards arrived. Breedstock were expected to show as much control as possible, or further control would be forced upon them. It was something of a miracle that they hadn't eliminated his bladder for a medical implant or forced a catheter upon him, quite frankly, and he wouldn't put it past them to do just that if they thought that he was wasting company time.

The bull sat with his legs pressed together, his morning wood bobbing with suppressed need as he breathed slowly, trying to focus on anything but that other need. The guards would be there soon, as the hum throughout the room told him, and they'd take him somewhere where he'd either be able to do his business, or where he'd be too distracted to care.

Click. The panel opened.

"Breedstock #77."

"Ready," he muttered.

"Are you functional?"

"Impaired," he said.

"How?"

"Bathroom. Need it."

"..."

"Please."

"Stand back from the door."

He was on the far side of the room. There was no more getting back from the door even if he wanted to.

The steel slab opened with the signature whoosh, and the two cows stepped inside. They usually stayed behind him, or were dragging him along when he was no longer coherent enough to think for himself, so it was a rare occasion when he could look at them.

They were, of course, thick and broad across the shoulders, with a hint more curves than bulls had running down their sides and the rest of their torso. Their big round shapes came in the chest and hips, but between them, it was mostly straight lines. They liked to act as if they were all soft and motherly, but he had never seen a cow act like that. They were just as thick and broad and strong as most of the bulls.

Instead of being naked like him, they wore the company jumpsuit - a black-rimmed, white-chested and bellied thing - with the security attachments. A tool belt held their 'weapons,' which ranged from a tazer to several things far more long-range, and they each had a drone that followed them with hovering pulses beneath the little spheres.

"Bathroom, hmm?" one of them said, looking down at him.

"Please..."

George hated begging. They made him do it every time, and he hated it. They knew how much this bothered him, knew the pain of being made to hold on, the way that even just trying not to humiliate himself brought humiliation in its wake. There was no getting away from it.

He hated it, and they loved it. The cows chuckled, shaking their heads.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"I guess there might be time. There's a breeding slot this morning."

"Hmm, but she might be a kinky one."

"Kinky enough to like a bull pissing on her? Ha. Not someone that rich."

"You never know. They're freaks."

"Look at him. He looks like he could explode any second."

That was how it felt, quite honestly. George's muscles were clenched as tight as they could go, and he barely had a grip on his bladder. He felt like it could blow at any point, and there'd be nothing that he could do to stop it. It felt like he was going to make a mess of himself, and he whimpered, his cheeks going red.

"Heh...you need it that bad, Breedstock?"

"Please..."

"Heh, well, since you said please..."

The cows were beside him, now. They started to reach for his arms...then one of them punched him in the side.

He gasped for breath, his eyes going wide for a moment. His control slipped, but he managed to get it back a split second later. Nothing came free, even though he swore a little bit dribbled down his internal tubing. He huffed, puffing and panting, and the cows looked disappointed.

"Hmmm, looks like he's holding it today."

"Well, can't get 'em every time. Alright, Breedstock. You got time. Follow us."

He did as he was told. What else was there to do?

Once he no longer felt like his bladder was going to explode, he was allowed to wait on the catwalks of the garage. The various cargo vehicles going in and out were passing through a forcefield at the far end of the room, and though it was constantly rippling, he kept watching it. It was the only window that he was ever allowed to look through, and the only one that told him anything about the world outside.

Breedstock, as a general rule, were lost to the world once they started producing sperm. Any male child that was born to the public was recommended - really, all but required - to be kept isolated from everyone except their immediate family to reduce the risk of any further contagion from November-Y. There was little risk of it in all actuality, but it meant that there were fewer people to complain when the time came and the child started producing sperm.

He had worked that out from his time in captivity. Here at Daisy's, there weren't many gossips, but the guards usually had something to say, and he had pieced together bits of information from the things that they said when they thought he was unconscious or incoherent after a milking. November-Y had been mostly eradicated as an ongoing disease, with only a few places in the world actually showing any signs of the virus still presenting in any subjects, but the safeguards were still in place.

This one was more a safeguard for the companies, though. It meant that the male child didn't have any real likelihood of having friends, of having anyone besides his own family that cared about him. They never had the support that they needed to keep him if he started producing sperm, and the doctors had easy access to check when they were in isolation like that.

And if the child never produced any? It was easy enough to let them go. No profit in ones that didn't have anything, and the family would then be shamed, told that they weren't virile enough, fertile enough, to produce a male child that got around the deficiencies of the disease.

George shook his head as he looked out at the orange sky. He remembered, vaguely, that the sky used to be blue. It had been that way, once, back before the world went to hell, before everything changed.

Ever since, it had been orange, blazing, shimmering like the fires over the smokestacks and exhaust ports that had been over every factory when he was a kid. That color spread across the sky, and the sun was all but impossible to track. Through the forcefield, he could just make out the spiked spires of the apartment blocks and the penthouse buildings that the average cow and family lived in. They cut through the city-scape like blades of steel grass, growing ever further upward with empty units that would likely never be filled with natural children and new generations the way that the world used to be.

He tried not to think about the fact that the species was on a doomed track with so few viable males left, but it was hard not to. The companies - not just Daisy's, but all of them that had access to Breedstock sperm - were pushing the sale of them and fertilized embryos as much as possible. The panic that had followed November-Y meant that everyone wanted to make sure that they were having kids, hoping to breed more males, but the fact that they were going to have so many children that were far more closely related seemed to have escaped their notice.

Not that it mattered to him. He never got to see them. Never would have any sort of connection with them.

Didn't really want them.

He sighed, leaning on his arms, only for one of the security officers to smack his ass. He stood up straight again, groaning.

"Present well, Breedstock. The customer's coming."

"..."

"And stay silent. Just like that. Customer's not here for your words."

He knew that. They were here for one thing, and one thing only. All he had to do was deliver that one thing, and they'd leave happy, and the company would be satisfied with his performance.

He just wished that it was being done with a male, not a female. It was harder and harder to stay erect in them these days.

The shuttle-craft carrying the customer arrived a few seconds later, splitting the forcefield down the middle. The shuttle itself was a smaller version of the larger passenger shuttles that the average, common bovine used, though it was much shinier and equipped with the glimmer of a forcefield of its own. Clearly, someone wanted to stay safe. It was perhaps fifteen feet long - a third of which was engine - and about nine feet wide. Hardly a graceful craft, but then again, George would be hard-pressed to find anything in bovine society that was.

It landed, and the customer stepped out. She was a bit younger, perhaps nineteen years old, and had obviously been picked for the breeding program by someone else. She didn't want to be here, he knew; she had that walk, that look that spoke volumes.

And he'd have to breed her. Someone not entirely willing. Just like him.

The bull groaned under his breath, only to be slapped again.

"That sounded like a complaint, Breedstock."

"It wasn't."

"Better not be. She's better than you deserve."

"Heh...don't get soft on us now, Breedstock."

The security officer pulled her tazer from her waist, tapping the trigger twice. The electric jolts between the prongs sent a shiver down his spine, and he forced himself to think of the males from before, the other Breedstocks. Thinking of their asses, the slight musk of other men that was missing with females, the hardness of their bodies in comparison -

That did it. He had an erection again, and he had to keep it. The slightest shift, and they'd start looking at ways to change him again.

"Good. Now, go down and greet her."

It was the only time that he was allowed on the bottom floor of the garage. Greeting clients with their partners was part of what Daisy's offered those that came for proper breeding. It was meant to be a bit more of a personal touch, rather than the impersonal thing of going to a Breedstock's cell where the male would be tied down and forced hard. So far, he had been able to keep up, but...

Well, he had a bad feeling about today.

He walked down the staircase, the steps forming out of hard-light projectors. Tap, tap, tap went his footsteps, and the female looked up as he approached. Her cheeks went red - had she never seen a naked male before, he wondered? It was certainly possible. Most bulls stayed covered, as they needed so many treatments to get the slightest hint of arousal and nobody wanted to risk their herd-families against a hidden Breedstock.

She looked him up and down, still blushing as he came closer, until he stopped a full five feet away. He crossed his arms behind his back and lowered his head.

"Ma'am," he muttered.

"Breedstock."

"You've come for...me?"

"Yes. I...I'm told that I need to get pregnant. Today."

"I will make sure that happens."

"I hope that - will it hurt?"

"Have you ever done it before?"

"No."

"Have you ever...indulged yourself?"

"...Not much..."

"Then it might."

He wasn't allowed to say that it would, because that might chase her off, but he couldn't quite lie to her and say that it wouldn't hurt at all, because that would be a lie, and he wasn't sure that he could carry that off. Shaking his head, he offered her his hand, and she took it.

The pair of them ascended back to the catwalks, and the guards escorted them away from the 'Dorms' and on to the breeding rooms. He hadn't been there for nearly a week; he'd been hoping to stay away for longer.

The door shut behind them. The breeding rooms were nicer chambers than the extraction rooms or the observation rooms, and far better than the cells. There was a bed with proper, old style blankets, something that he had been told by some of the older females that the outside world didn't bother with anymore. There was no need for the waste of cotton and silks for something that didn't work as well as the other alternatives. Still, the quaintness of it remained for the breeding chambers.

The bed was soft, the mattress supportive rather than firm and hard. The walls had projections of portraits and candles to mask the artificial nature of it. The air was filled with pheromones meant to keep the body ready for rut, and he could see that the reluctance and shyness was already fading from the cow girl that he was supposed to breed. Her cheeks were red still, yes, but her breasts were already showing a bit more through her jumpsuit, and her nipples were hard enough to be visible.

Think of the others...think of the others...

George kept the thought of cock and muscle, of hard body and warm ass inside his head. It was the only thing keeping him hard.

He was terrified of looking down, and more terrified still of actually fucking her today. It was usually something that he could make work, but today? Today, it felt like he was risking something much more than usual. If he didn't follow through...

Oh, he didn't want to think about it. He just had to make it work.

"May I make a suggestion?" he asked.

"Yes..."

The pheromones in the air were working, alright. She sounded like she was in heat, like she was already drenched beneath the jumpsuit. No, no, don't think of that. Think of anything but that. Stay hard, stay hard.

"I would suggest staying on your stomach, your rump in the air. I can do this quickly and you can go about your day."

"Mmmm, but why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I thought that you were supposed to give the personal touch..."

She stroked his cheek, obviously thinking that she was being flirtatious, that she was being sexy. She sounded drunk. Drunk on the chemicals in the air. He groaned, shaking his head.

"I thought you wanted to be bred..."

"I do...but I want it...romantic..."

"..."

"Come on..."

She unzipped her jumpsuit, pulling it down from the front. It wasn't a zipper, of course, not anymore. It was more like an intelligent bit of fabric that came apart with the right kind of pressure, 'unzipping' as it seamlessly ripped down the front. The same pressure would push the material back together, allowing it to 'zip' back up and -

And he was desperately distracting himself as she pulled her breasts out. All cows tended towards the large end of the spectrum, but her jumpsuit had compressed her true size. She had a mottled brown and tan coloration across her body, something that made him think that she was a recently-raised cow, someone that had been common but whose family had come into a great deal of money. Or a good promotion.

She pulled the jumpsuit down the rest of the way, revealing that she hadn't bothered with any undergarments. She had completely stripped herself in short order, showing off every part of herself, showing off her need, her want, her drug-induced frenzy for this.

And then she was on the bed, her legs spread, her pussy dripping for him. Just for him, for the breeding she was about to get. She pulled her legs up and over her head, surprisingly flexible, and rubbed her hand along her nether lips.

"Put it in...take me like some good girl..."

"..."

"Come on...show me..."

He was starting to soften. He tried to hold that mental image again, tried to imagine her as a man, but he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, she looked too soft, too wrong for that. George crawled over her, trying not to let his fear show on his face, feeling the stiffness going out of his shaft more and more as the seconds passed.

It touched her. She pulled him close. He tried to push in...

And he failed.

He tried again, and again, but his cock had gone too soft. It flexed and bent rather than staying hard. He whimpered, trying to force himself to thrust into her, to take her, but it was too late.

I don't want this...I don't want this...

It was the first time that he had been able to say that, to himself, and it happened at the worst possible time. The young cow looked up, confused, hurt. She wondered, he imagined, if she was ugly, if she didn't appeal.

And then the security forces showed up. He had just enough time to turn to the open door, just enough time to see the tazer, before it was right behind his balls.

"NNNNGH!"

His cock was forced hard again, and the cow pushed down on his back, just over the base of his tail.

"Hump...we'll talk about this later."

And he did as he was told, even as he hated himself for it. The cow beneath him was so drugged with pheromones that he doubted that she'd even remember his hesitation and mistake, his 'faults', but the guards would.

They stared at him, promising retribution for the damage he might have done to the company.

The cow was creampied and sent away. The security officers sent her off with a credit towards a future purpose, saying that it was all for the sake of maintaining good relations with her and her family. It was a lie, of course. They didn't want her to sue them for faulty merchandise if she ever remembered what happened.

George, on the other hand, was taken to the labs. Not the good labs, either.

This time, he was strapped down to one of the hard-light tables, the sort that they could float around and make sure that the patient strapped on it could be exposed to any operation angle. His arms and wrists were attached to it in the spread-eagle position, and his waist was pinned as well. His cock had long since gone soft, leaving him less exposed than usual at the front.

One of the Directors had come down to see this. Her name, as far as he knew, was Daisy 3. All of the Directors were named Daisy something, and this was Daisy 3, attached to the breeding operations. She had been there when he first arrived, and he had little doubt that she'd be modified to be there long after he died.

And she was angry. Very angry.

"This...is supposed to make us money," the nearly-midnight cow said, tapping his cock with one hard-tipped finger. "And when it doesn't make us money, that is a problem."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You will be."

"I didn't mean -"

"Are you gay, #77?" Daisy 3 asked.

George shook his head, his body at least responding while his mind was frozen. Did they know? Did they think that was the reason -

Well, it was the reason, but did they know? That was the question. If they knew, if they even believed that it might be the case, then they'd have motivation to get into his head and start screwing with it. They could fuck with his mind, fuck with him however they wanted to keep the product flowing.

If they wanted him to cum on demand, there was probably an implant for that.

If they wanted him to fuck a female, even if no longer artfully or personably, there was a way of scooping out the thinking part of his brain.

They could do anything to him, and he had no right to protest. That was what it meant to be Breedstock. Once one lost the rights of a person, they lost the rights to do anything or feel anything the way that a person did.

Daisy 3 looked him in the eyes, and he wondered if she believed his unspoken lie. She kept staring, her finger pinned to his cock. He hissed, gritting his teeth as she pushed down harder and harder until it felt like she might break it.

And then, she stopped. He gasped for breath as she walked around him, instead, looking down at his face the whole time.

"#77. You are, as I am sure you have figured out by now, the last of our Breedstocks. The numbers of your kind are falling, and the sheer cost to buy another would set our corporation back by ten years of profits. You - and only you - are the key to our financial solubility for the foreseeable future.

"As such, you must be...protected, and your ability to produce our product must receive the same such protection, and enhancements."

"...What...what do you want from me?"

"The same that we always wanted. But more."

More? He was barely keeping up with what they wanted as it was. He didn't know how much more he could give.

The hum of the drones caught his attention, and he whipped his head around, watching as surgery drones popped out of the far walls, floating closer and emitting their various tools. Most of those were connected via hard-light, as well, but they ended in the more traditional tools. Scalpels, saws, and more were extended in his direction.

"If you cannot produce naturally, you will be given...improvements."

"..."

"And if you fail on another female - which you should not, but if you do - then we will take further steps."

He couldn't beg. He couldn't. That would tell them everything that they needed to know to take that step now. If they had that excuse -

No, he wouldn't give them that excuse. He'd keep his mouth shut.

And so he did, even as the drones came down for him...

He was escorted back to the Dorms after that. The failure with the female customer was not coming out of his sleep cycle, but he still had thirty minutes before he was due to fall back to sleep. The blankets wouldn't rise until then, and he was left alone with his thoughts, and -

A soft buzz was followed by a 'squirt', and suddenly his nostrils were filled with the raw, unfiltered scent of cow-pussy in heat. His eyes watered from how strong it was, and his spine ached from the forced signals made to shoot down it. The signals hit the new implants near his crotch, positioned along the tubes that ran from his balls to his prostate and then to his cock, and his balls churned, and swelled.

The feeling was an unnatural acceleration of his own production process, leaving him huffing and grunting as he felt his cock throbbing for reasons that were completely unrelated to arousal. It was no longer rising because he wanted to get off, but rather because his body wanted to get rid of the excess cum inside.

But even as he started getting more on-edge, he felt something else clamping down down there, a new barrier that was little more than a chemical application to certain nerves right in the base of his cock. It meant that he couldn't quite 'complete the circuit', couldn't quite push himself to the point of orgasm.

It was there.

It was close.

But it wasn't happening.

He groaned under his breath as he huffed to himself, rubbing his hands over his face as he felt the tension getting worse and worse, the sheer need of climax right there, begging for him to put his hands on his hard cock. His body wanted him to give in and jerk off, to enjoy himself, but even that was a traitorous thing. The company would come down on him for wasting product, even though this was their fault.

But the smell disappeared as he was made that horny, and he remembered what Daisy 3 had said.

_It will make you hard every time that you go soft. The smell will remind you where you belong.

It will make you full every time you go empty. The feeling will remind you of your purpose.

It will make you obey every time that you think of being defiant. That will remind you of what you are. Breedstock._

Breedstock.

He had always hated the word, but there was no escape from it. It had embedded itself over twenty years, and that meant that it was there to stay. There was no getting away from it, no changing it, no being something else.

George breathed slowly, taking his time to really focus on the clean air while he could. That pungent smell of cow-pussy was going to be hitting him regularly if he didn't find a way to stay hard on his own. If he could, then great. If not...

If not, they were going to keep conditioning him.

Can't do this for long. Can't keep doing this...

The failure in the bedroom had been all the warning that he was going to get. Now that he knew what he was, what he wanted, what he was capable of doing, he couldn't just stay here and pretend that he was okay with this anymore. The pleasure that he got from the coupling wasn't real, wasn't fulfilling the way that he got from other men...and there were no other men here. Not anymore.

The other Breedstocks - particularly #31 - were long gone...but they had been the only ones that understood, the only ones that were like him. He missed them. He didn't know how much he'd miss them until he realized just how isolated he was without their company, without that banter and understanding and acceptance.

Without someone else that understood what he was going through, that had some personal insight into it, it was too easy to believe that this was just inescapable.

You could...

The thought hit him harder than he expected as a plan started taking shape in his mind. He could escape. He could get out of this. But he needed a bit of help, and that help would come...

In the form of a hostage.

It's possible...it's just possible...

After all, there was every reason that the customers would continue to come as long as he didn't make another mistake. The implant would let him fake it, at least for a time, before his body stopped accepting the pheromones, before he could stop fooling himself again, before he could no longer take the torture. The right one would come eventually, the right one from the right family, and that would give him a valuable target to hold hostage.

They wouldn't expect it; he had been a model Breedstock for nearly his entire stay, and they didn't really understand how far his misery went. They didn't believe that he was as desperate as he was.

Well, he was.

George took his time to breathe slowly, even as the pheromones returned. He was going soft, and they wanted him hard. Hard as a rock. Hard and dripping and oozing -

And he was. Oozing more than he wanted to admit. His balls felt full to bursting, and he knew that when his next shift came, he'd be as productive as one could imagine. He was already huffing, puffing, groaning as he felt just how tight his balls were, and he almost wanted them to come for him and take him away.

They wouldn't, though. Not yet. Not until the next shift.

The room was shutting down. George got to his feet, pacing, spending his last minutes in motion. He thought about the possibilities, the dangers, the things that he didn't know.

So many things that he didn't know. The moment that they were past the forcefield, it would be like stepping off the edge of the world. They weren't even in the city he'd grown up in; he'd been born and raised halfway across the world, but Daisy's had been the corporation that had owned most of the land around his hometown, and they had been the one to seize him when he proved to be Breedstock. He didn't know what it was like out there, what would happen to him when he let his hostage go.

And he didn't know where #31 was.

He stopped dead in his tracks, realizing just what it was that he wanted. Not freedom - or at least, not just that, not by any means - but companionship. Not even that, not even. No, he wanted love again. He wanted to be with the person that had shown him what he really was, who he was deep down inside, rather than just the product that the corporation wanted him to be for their profits.

He wanted #31 again. He needed him.

A small tear started taking shape in the corner of his eye, only to be cut off as his body was hit once more with the powerful stench of the cow pheromones. He wrapped his hands around his muzzle, right over his nose as if they could block it out, but that was nothing but wishful thinking. They'd installed it so that went right to his brain and spine, hitting him hard and keeping his body from escaping a biological response.

It was a prison that he'd carry with him, but George still had hopes that he could escape it. Maybe. Someday. With help.

Time was running out. He went back to bed, laying down just in time for the blankets to start sliding up his legs. He closed his eyes, not wanting to stare at the prison tonight. Knowing that he would have to pretend harder than ever before that he was a good Breedstock was a nightmare, but for the first time in his entire life, there was light at the end of the tunnel. He had a possibility waiting for him way out there, something that might actually bring him some happiness again.

He just had to wait for the right moment.

The End

Summary: George goes through hell with his next work assignment, and risks losing what little freedom he still has.

Tags: M/solo, M/F, Bondage, Forced Breeding, Gay Acting Straight, Failed Erection, Tazer, E-Stim, Humiliation, Vaginal, Orgasm, Cum, Pre-Cum, Forced Erection, Dystopia, Bovine, Cow, Bull, Female Dominated, Cyberpunk, Corporation, Paid Breeding, Prostitution, Series,