Date: Wed, 27 Sep 2006 19:50:08 -0400
From: shags.the.dog@hotmail.com
Subject: The Making of a Breeder: Part 4

This is, obviously, a work of fiction sprouting entirely from my twisted
mind.  The people are not real and I'm sure these things never happened.  If
you don't like reading about sex between animals and humans, don't read it.
Please do not repost anywhere without permission.  All comments are welcome.

This is the last part of a four part story.

****************

The Making of a Breeder, Part 4 of 4
By Coldcountry


Three days later, Jason was on his hands and knees weeding the garden, and
Roger was in the kitchen when an old truck drove in.  The driver, a man
about Roger's age, shouted then came into the house and through to the
kitchen.  It was Cyle, a distant neighbor and friend of Roger's.  They
chatted a bit about the upcoming hunting season and how Roger thought
Bonkers would shape as a coon dog.

"New bitch?"  Cyle gestured out the window at Jason with the beer Roger had
given him.

"Yeah.  Had him just over three months now; he's a real breeder."

Just then, Fletcher came up to Jason and sniffed his ass.  Jason wiped the
dirt from his hands on the grass, straightened up and pulled his shorts
down around his knees.  He spread his legs and braced his hands as the big
hound mounted him.

"Niiiice."  Cyle twitched slightly.

Fletcher found his mark quickly and humped eagerly.  Jason reached back and
hooked a hand around Fletcher's leg, tugging him forward and sinking the
dog's knot into his clutching hole.  Fletcher's pace increased to a frenzy
and Jason tipped his head back, a blissful look on his face.  When the dog
finally stopped, his knot tied deep in the boy, Jason started to reach for
his own leaking member.  His hand hesitated a moment, the moved back to the
ground, leaving his own meat straining and quivering.

In the house, Roger smiled.

"Sweet Jesus."  Cyle took a large swig of beer.  "You wouldn't want to sell
him, would you?"

"Not enough money in the world."  Roger grinned.  "And he gives great head
as well."  Cyle raised an eyebrow.  "To me and the dogs."

Cyle moaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his groin.  "You're
torturing an old friend, Roger."

"Want to try him?"  Outside, Fletcher had slipped out of Jason and the boy
was pulling up his shorts.

"Really?"

Roger called Jason and the boy came quickly, trying to rub the grass stains
off his palms.  He came in the kitchen, blushing when he realized that the
men must have been watching him.

"Cyle's gonna try you out, boy.  How you want him, Cyle?"

Cyle was already undoing his jeans.  "Over the table's fine."

Without hesitation, Jason kicked off his shorts, spread his legs and bent
over the table.  Cyle lurched forward and buried his long, thin cock in one
motion.

"Shit, he's tight for having just been tied."  Cyle fucked frantically,
digging his nails into Jason's hips.  The man was spent in a few minutes,
groaning his release and leaning forward onto Jason's back.  He lay panting
for a moment, then slipped out of the boy and tucked himself back into his
jeans.  He eyed Jason's swollen cock and licked his lips.

"Go ahead," Roger chuckled.  "He's sweet as can be."

Cyle moaned as he sank to his knees, taking Jason's cock in his mouth and
sucking like a man dying of thirst.

Jason's gaze locked with Roger's and the older man nodded.  Jason gripped
the table behind him, throwing his head back as he came deep in Cyle's
throat.

Cyle stood up panting and wiping his chin as Jason slid back into his
shorts.  Roger gave a dismissive nod; Jason smiled at Cyle and went back
out to the garden.

Cyle took his beer and sat down heavily at the kitchen table.  "Sweet
mother it's been a long time since I had that."  He wiped the sweat from
his brow.  "Why don't you bring him to Moody's?  You could pay your taxes
for a year on what he'd bring in.  Hell, two years.  The boys'd pay a
pretty penny for a show with that one.  I'd help spread the word."

Roger took a long drink from his bottle.  "I dunno."

"You saying he couldn't take it?  He looked like a pro."

"Oh, I think he could.  I'm just not sure I want some of those boys knowing
I got him; they might come poaching."

Cyle laughed.  "You think Jake'd let any other dog near his bitch?"

Roger smiled.  "You have a point."  He looked out the window to where Jason
had finished weeding and was starting to water.  "I'll think about it."

~~

Jason sat in the front seat of the truck as it rumbled down the dusty road,
kicking up a plume of dust.  He was wearing only his shorts and his collar
with a lead that was snapped to the silver D ring.  It was night, a full
moon just rising over the hill.

"Nervous?"

"A bit I guess."  Jason fiddled with the end of the lead.

"I'll be there.  You'll be hurting when it's done, but I won't let you get
damaged."

Jason nodded, looking out the side windows at the fields slipping by.
Roger had explained the night to him; had asked him if he was willing.  He
wanted more than anything to please the older man, so he had agreed.  And
the thought of it had kept him hard for a week.

Roger pulled over and set the brake.  "We're almost there; time to get in
back."  They got out, Jason stripping off the shorts and swinging himself
into the bed of the truck.  There was a crate there, the kind that was used
for the hunting dogs.  Jason crawled in and turned around as Roger closed
the gate.  The rest of the ride was hard on his knees and he was grateful
to have traveled most of the way up front.

They pulled into a farmyard full of trucks, cars and four-wheelers.  A
cheer went up from the ragged group of men and they crowded 'round the bed
of the truck to see the new bitch they'd heard so much about.  Lanterns
flickered from posts around the yard, and with the dust being kicked up, it
was an eerie sight.  Roger pushed his way through the crowd and hopped up
on the truck.  He opened the cage, gripped the leash and yanked.  Jason
stumbled to his feet, keeping his eyes down, as Roger had instructed him to
do.  They crossed the yard to the barn, hands reaching out to grope the boy
as he passed.  There were whistles and cat calls that mingled with the
baying of hounds from inside the barn.  Jason trembled and moved close to
Roger.

"Hey, Rog, how come he's still whole?  Wanna borrow my castrator?"

Roger held up a hand.  "No thanks, Fred.  You know I got a taste for young
meat."

This was greeted with more laughter and someone passed Roger a beer as they
went inside the cavernous barn.  Noise assaulted them from all sides as the
more than a dozen hounds that were tied in the interior gave voice.  They
had done this before, and they scented a new bitch brought to them for
breeding.

There was a stage in the center, long, and just wide enough that the people
around it couldn't quite reach anyone on it.  This had been done to keep
people from cheating after one man had shoved his lighted cigar against a
bitch's balls to keep him from fainting.  At one end there were iron
stocks, with one ring to go around the neck, and one to each side to hold
the wrists.  Roger led Jason to it, shoved him to his knees and locked him
in.  A cheer went up from the men.  Jason started to sweat as Roger draped
a heavy pad over his back, slapped his ass and turned to the crowd.  "Who's
first?"

The men had drawn lots to determine what order they were to go in, and the
first man was leading his Blue Tick forward even before Roger had shouted.
Seeing Jason trussed up on the platform, the dog lunged forward, pulling
his leash from the man's hands.  He dove onto Jason's back and found his
target immediately.  The owner moved in, holding the dogs cock in front of
the knot so he couldn't tie.  Those were the rules.  No dog was allowed to
tie on the first round.  After that, it was assured that they did.  Dogs
that usually tied for more than five minutes weren't allowed, as the men
got bored waiting.  There was urine from a bitch in heat to keep the dogs
interested if needed, but it seldom was; the frenzy of the mass breeding
had them eager to go and they kept at it until pulled away by their owners.
The show stopped when the bitch passed out and couldn't be revived with a
bucket of cold water.  Bets were placed as to how many dogs the bitch could
take before passing out the first time, between times, and how many times
he could be revived.  A lot of money changed hands, not counting the hefty
entrance fee.  With the percentage of the pot and two thirds of the
entrance money that went to the owner of the bitch, an man could make a lot
of money.  If he called a halt, he forfeited his share of the winnings.
That had never happened.

As tradition called for, the dogs were brought in quick succession, the
next one mounting as soon as the previous one stopped humping and was
pulled off.  Once they started tying, there was a bit of a lull; a time
when money usually changed hands.  There was an official scorekeeper making
hash marks on a chalk-board every time a dog dismounted.

The summer night was hot, and the lanterns and bodies added even more heat.
It was soon sweltering in the big barn, even with the tall doors standing
open at each end.  Bats flitted in and out of the loft, disturbed by all
the noise.  Dust rose, choking the throat, and the whole scene took on the
flickering, cloudy look of hell.

After the first round of tying was over, Roger called a short time out.
Dropping on one knee, he offered Jason water through a straw.  The boy
drank greedily while Roger checked him over.  The pad had prevented a great
deal of scratching but was hot.  Jason asked him to remove it.

"You sure?"

Jason just nodded, his flanks heaving, sweat dripping off his hair.

Roger pulled the pad and signaled the start of round three.  After that, he
gave Jason water every half hour.  Rules allowed only two time outs, so he
fed the boy through a straw while one of the dogs was tied.

It was two hours before Jason passed out.  A roar went up from the crowd as
people collected bets and placed new ones.  The cold water revived him and
he shook the hair from his eyes.  His neck and wrists were rubbed raw from
the steel as he was pushed and pulled by the dogs' furious pounding.  His
back was bleeding from some of the worst scratches and his cunthole was
stretched and raw, a steady stream of dogcum running out onto the stage.

He only lasted forty-five minutes before passing out again.  The water was
dumped over him and he shivered.  Roger grabbed his hair, lifted his head
and spoke quietly.  "Fake it if you want, kid."

Jason's eyes opened in surprise and the crowd, seeing him conscious,
cheered.  Roger moved away, and while his back was turned, a small man
leapt up on stage.  He knelt by Jason's hips, slid his hand inside Jason's
gaping cunthole, then rammed his skinny arm forward.  He got it half way to
his elbow, withdrew and drove it in again to the cheering and stomping of
the men.

"Go Harmon!"  "Teach that bitch a lesson, man!"

Jason screamed as the man fisted him hard, and Roger, attention caught by
the commotion, grabbed Harmon by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off
the boy.

There was yelling and shouting, and Roger finally got two dogs credit on
the scoreboard for the punishment Jason had taken.  Things finally settled
down, and the next dog came bounding onto the stage, his huge cock
swinging.

Another half hour and Roger leaned close while the boy was gasping from his
third dousing.  "I'm calling it."

"No!"  The single word was ground out from between clenched teeth.  The men
cheered at the show of life, and Roger, looking grim, called for the next
dog.

Ten minutes later, Jason collapsed under a big Red Bone.  The dog had just
tied, so he was allowed to finish before the water was brought.  This time,
Jason didn't stir.  Roger lifted his head, but the eyes stayed closed.  He
quickly released the stocks, as the boy's weight was pressing his throat
against the steel, shutting off his air.  There was much noise as the men
tallied up their final bets and winners and losers were determined.

Roger gathered the unconscious boy up in a blanket and carried him to the
truck.  He put him in the back of the truck on some old gunny sacks and
smoothed the wet hair from his forehead.

"That's one fine bitch you got, Roger.  Ever want to sell him, let me
know."
  The owner of the farm passed a huge wad of bills to Roger, his share of
the nights takings.

"Don't hold your breath, Moody."  Roger tried for a light tone as he
slammed the tailgate.

The other vehicles were all still in place, the men staying to rehash the
highlights of the nights fuckfest, talk about hunting and get drunker.
Roger started the truck, backed around and headed home.

A mile down the road, he pulled off under thick trees on an abandoned road.
Lifting the limp body from the bed of the truck, he carried the boy to the
passenger seat.  Once behind the wheel, he pulled him over so he was lying
with his head in Roger's lap.  He tucked the blanket around the boy, backed
out to the road and continued home.

Jason was awake when he parked the truck in his yard, but he scooped the
boy up in his arms and carried him to the house anyway.  The dogs circled
him, getting underfoot, and Jake was snarling and snapping at the blanket
covering Jason.

"Back off!"  Roger shouted at the dogs and they obeyed, though Jake kept
growling.

"What's wrong with him?"  Jason's voice was weak.

"He's pissed.  His bitch has been fucking other dogs."  Roger set Jason on
the toilet seat and started water running in the tub.  "He's gonna be tough
on you when he finally gets to you.  He doesn't take kindly to disloyalty."
He pulled a long rubber tube from the closet.  "I'll keep him off you for a
while, but he's going to punish you sooner of later."

Jason's head drooped.  He didn't have the strength to care at the moment.

"Get in and bend over.  You need a good flushing."

Jason complied and Roger ran the hose well up into the boy's guts, flushing
him until the water ran clear.  He then mixed a solution, pouring a cup of
it into a funnel and into the boy's guts.  He inserted a soft plug to keep
the medicated solution inside, then washed Jason down gently but
thoroughly, toweled him off and had him lie face down on the bed.  He
spread ointment over the scratches and removed the plug long enough to coat
the boy's hole with a generous amount.  Finally, he gave Jason a shot.

"What's that?"

"Antibiotics.  I have it on hand for the goats."  He saw Jason's look.
"Works just as well for humans – or dogs.  I've used it a lot."

Roger undressed and climbed in beside the boy.  It was late.  Jason turned
toward the older man.

"Did I do OK?"

Roger stroked his hair.  "You set a new record."

"Good."  Jason snuggled against Roger's side and the older man lay watching
the moon for a long time while the boy slept.

~~

Jake was furious.  Roger had to tie him to keep him off Jason.  He keep all
the dogs off the boy for a week, though Jason was more than happy to suck
and jerk them.  Jake, however, was too incensed for that, and by the time
he was let loose, he was almost ready to kill something.

Jason curled in a ball on the floor as Jake stood over him snarling and
snapping.

"Roll over boy."

Jason was shaking as he rolled onto his back, put his hands at his sides
and tipped his head back, baring his throat to the powerful jaws.  Jake
lunged at him, taking his throat in his huge jaws and squeezing.  Jason
whimpered and Jake stopped increasing the pressure.  After a moment more
growling, Jake released him all together.  He went over Jason's naked body,
sniffing every square inch, then nudged his hip with his snout.  Jason
rolled over and hiked his ass up.  Jake mounted him immediately and fucked
him like a machine.

For four days, Jake was glued to Jason.  The big hound wouldn't let any of
the other dogs near the boy, and would frequently lunge at him, knocking
him over and fucking him into the ground.

There was relief all around when he finally got over his possessiveness and
things slipped back into their normal routine.

"If you had any doubts about whose bitch you were, I imagine they're gone
now."  Roger sounded amused as he watched Jake take Jason for the fifth
time that evening.

Jason groaned and collapsed as Jake finally pulled out.  "Why's he doing
this?"

"Marking his territory.  Trying to breed you; keep you t' home."

"Do you think you could tell him I'm not going anywhere?"  Jason buried his
face in his arms.

Roger smiled.  "You're doing a fine job of it yourself."

~~

They were working on the fence at the top of the pasture on the hillside
behind the barn, fixing it up for a couple of beef cows.  They had just
finished lunch when Roger stretched out his legs, pulled out his cock,
leaned against the tree and patted his lap.  Jason smiled and striped out
of his jeans, then turned, lowering himself slowing onto Roger's thick
member.  He sighed deeply, raising and lowering himself in time to the
urgings of the hands on his hips.

Roger came with a hard upward thrust and a grunt, holding the willing body
down.  He reached around, found Jason's stiff cock and stroked him.  His
other hand played with the boy's hard nipple as Roger leaned forward to
whisper in Jason's ear.  "Come for me."  He twisted Jason's nipple and the
boy came with a cry, his body jerking and shaking, before finally going
limp against Roger.

Roger wrapped his arms around the boy, holding him as they looked out over
the hills.  Autumn had come, and the leaves were glorious in shades of red,
orange and yellow.

"It's really beautiful here."  Jason's voice was hushed.

"It is."  Roger ran a finger around the inside of Jason's collar.  "You've
never taken this off, though I didn't say you couldn't."

Jason shifted, and Roger's cock slipped from his body.

"Do you like the feel of it?"

The boy thought.  "I like... I like the feeling of belonging."

Roger rested his chin on Jason's shoulder as they watched a hawk glide over
the meadow.

~~

Forty years later.

The man sat on his front porch in the sweltering heat of the summer
afternoon and watched the boy trudge up the road.  He was a stranger,
young, slight of build with lank black hair, a knapsack and a defeated
look.  Three Black and Tan coon hounds ran around the house, baying and
leaping at the rail fence.  The boy stopped and spoke to the dogs, and they
immediately quieted, wagging their tails and licking his hand.  He laughed
softly and rubbed long silky ears.

"You lost, boy?"

The boy smiled at the man.  "Is this the road to Clarkton?"

"Nope."

The boy bit his lip as he stared down the road.  "Oh."  He turned and
shrugged.  "Guess I'm lost then."

The man took his feet of the railing and stood.  "Come on in the shade and
have a beer."

"Thanks."  The boy slipped the pack from his shoulders as he opened the
gate and came up the path, the dogs trotting behind.

The man gestured the boy to the swing, then disappeared inside, returning
with two frosty sixteen ounce beers.  They tossed the caps in a bucket by
the door and relaxed in the shade, the only sounds the snoring dogs and the
buzz of insects.

"You run away or your folks throw you out?"

"I didn't...." The boy looked up, his brown eyes open wide.  He stared at
the man's face for a moment.  "They threw me out."

"How long ago?"

"Four months."

They sat in silence for a while.

"My name's Jason."

"I'm Mike.  This your place?"

"Yup."

"It's nice."


~~ the end ~~


*Hope you enjoyed the story.*