Breeding Stock

All characters represented in this work are wholly fictional, and over the age of eighteen.

Tyra sat alone at the kitchen table.

I watched her sadly, as I had many other women before.

Her world had just come crashing down, destroyed by the man who had claimed to love her since their marriage, almost two decades before.

I couldn't even imagine the pain she was going through, the anguish of knowing the truth about her husband Pete's extramarital affair.

She'd hired me to take the pictures, to find proof, to tell her which of the farmhands had been fucking her husband. But watching her look at them stone faced, I knew she wished she'd let herself remain ignorant.

It was an easy job, a quick job, and ultimately a simple one.

Jack Trask, P. I., always gets his man (or in this case, woman), but cases like these never made me feel good about the work I was doing.

I thought back to the morning, thought about whether I could've done anything differently.

I'd pulled up to the commercial farm in my old, mud-brown Pontiac Vibe in the predawn hours.

If you ask the IRS, they'll say it's for work-purposes only. If you ask my wife, she'll say it makes the occasional trip to the grocery store. Luckily, the IRS and my wife don't know each other, meaning I can take the inconspicuous sedan wherever it needs to go.

There were already twenty or so vehicles, mostly trucks, parked at the same dirt lot at which I stopped. It was abuzz with activity despite the early hour, perhaps twice as many people as cars hustling this way and that.

I was already noting down potentials, male and female alike. You can never count out a married guy deciding to cheat on his beard.

Anyone and everyone could be a suspect, it's up to the private investigator to be good enough to sniff it out.

I'd arrived incognito, and to be frank, the dukes chafed at me. I wasn't used to jeans, or flannel, or boots, and I found them all to be a little tight. At the time, I thought the case was going to take longer, so I felt assured that they would break in.

I didn't bother going up to the house, Tyra had emailed me the schedule, where her husband was "supposed to be" along with a full roster of the employees, and pictures for about half of them.

But the thing she'd emphasized was the pictures. She needed them caught in the act, surreptitiously photographed having intercourse, not just a blowjob or a handjob behind the barn.

That was something a little more specific than I usually hear from jaded spouses, but her money was good, and I was going to get a bonus if I could deliver quickly.

I headed off across the farm, passing buildings full of clucking hens, snorting hogs, and braying sheep. It was one of the top three largest family-owned places in Kansas, and they did a little bit of everything.

I wrinkled my nose as I passed a sheep pen loaded a dozen deep with the critters. Make that a lot of everything.

I passed various esoteric pieces of equipment, trailers, and machinery on my way to a building marked on my map as "Barn H3", marveling at the size of the place. It must take a few hundred people to harvest these fields, and take this livestock to market.

I began to feel a little uneasy about my chances of figuring out who this guy was fucking, but I steadied my breathing (through my mouth) with the knowledge that I had the full schedule, times when he was going to be alone, or nearly-so, and an advance on my normal fee.

I could take as long as I needed.

I shouldered open a side door to H3. It was a prototypical hayloft above, with horse stalls below. I emerged immediately adjacent to a ladder, and made a split-second decision.

If Pete were (as his schedule suggested) feeding the horses and mucking their stalls, he would naturally tend towards remaining on the ground floor, meaning I would have a particularly good vantage point from the loft.

I quietly, but swiftly, padded up the ladder, conscious of the sounds of movement from the stall immediately to my left.

I crouched up in the hay loft, and looked down to see a farmhand I'd only just evaded emerging from the aforementioned stall.

She was petite, young, a pretty blonde with tight jeans, sanitary gloves, a rank pitchfork, and a shapely (from what I could tell) behind.

My keen investigative senses were hammering away as I spotted a man entering the barn from the opposite end I'd entered.

It didn't make sense for a man with the wealth and obligations of Pete Dutton to be mucking out his own horse stalls, but it was perhaps even more suspicious that he'd list himself as doing so while actively omitting a farmhand.

I snapped a few quick pictures as Dutton approached the girl, who shed her elbow-length gloves, leaning the pitchfork against the stall door she'd just left.

I strained to hear them over the generalized creaking and whispering of drafts passing through slatted siding endemic to old barn buildings, and the nickering of horses in the area below.

"-thing else in here?" Her voice was high and teasing.

His response was low, chiding, and too quiet for me to catch. The farmgirl giggled and stepped closer to him, too close to be platonic. She placed her palms flat on his chest, and tip-toed up to give him a brief, shallow peck on the lips.

His arms encircled her, pulling her close, resulting in a yelp and more giggling as he pulled her into a more forceful kiss.

I snapped a picture, feeling like I always did, an unexpected voyeur to their affair.

Dutton was tall, a strapping man of perhaps forty, fully in his prime despite what the speckling of grey in his hair might imply. His hands were massive as they trailed downwards, cupping his employee's backside with evident lust.

I snapped another picture, this wasn't the proof Tyra had asked for, but if I were any expert on human beings, I could be assured it was leading somewhere.

As if on cue, the girl broke off their kiss, her bootcut jeans dragging on the dusty floor as she sank downwards, keeping her eyes fixed to Dutton's.

"Do you want me to make you feel good?" She cooed, her hands expertly undoing his belt and fly with swift, articulate motions. This certainly wasn't her first time in the barn.

Dutton murmured some assent, indicating his desire.

A flurry of pictures hit the memory card as I watched the girl begin. She drew his penis from his boxers already at half mast, an evident display of his adulterous designs.

She grinned up at him, slapping his meat against her face like a pornstar.

He was big enough for it to flop onto her from cheek to forehead, a girthy man with a veined manhood, now throbbing with desire.

I realized she was young, nineteen or twenty, a perverted sexual prize for a man of his age. It made her strokes and licking all the more grotesque as she massaged him to full arousal from her knees.

But for those of that disposition, it was undoubtedly effective, and Dutton was evidently one of them.

The girl drew herself up on her knees, and, holding the base in both hands, began to suck his cockhead like a lollipop, eliciting a moan of pleasure from the older man.

I snapped a few more stills, hoping for them to go all the way, but knowing I'd likely have to come back for a few more days before I got the kind of evidence Tyra desired.

Dutton's hands threaded through the young girl's hair, gripping the golden locks in his strong fingers.

The girl and I could both tell what he was about to do, and she relaxed her throat in anticipation. Dutton began to fuck the farmhand's face, groaning loudly as he did so, pushing in and out of her mouth with pleasure.

The girl sat on her knees, hands now grasping Dutton's denim-clad rear as he used her face to pleasure himself. Her eyes were fixed upon his as he cut off her airway with his meat, slick gluck gluck gluck sounds filling the barn as he took his sexual frustrations out on her throat.

Saliva and tears ran down her face as she tried desperately to hold her breath, her employer's thick girth pumping in and out of her airway.

I took a couple more pictures, but I didn't enjoy watching. It was erotic, to be sure, and I felt my own cock twitch just imagining what he must be feeling. An older man taking advantage of their employment's power dynamics, however, made me sick to my stomach.

It was over as quickly as it had started.

Dutton grasped the girl's head, pushing his cock to the hilt in her mouth, and groaning to the rafters as he shot his load all the way down her throat.

I watched her struggle as the warm cum spurted down his manhood and flooded into her stomach, jets of hot semen pouring out of her boss' penis. She tapped his backside, once, twice, then more forcefully, until he lazily withdrew, allowing her to drop to the floor, gasping and coughing.

"Now that's a good girl!" He laughed as she choked, saliva and cum dripping from her mouth as she found her breath again. "You're gonna be running this place someday, you gotta learn to roll with the punches baby!" He reached down and slapped her ass, the very picture of lasciviousness.

It clicked then for me, it wasn't just a manipulation, but he'd promised her a stake in the farm in exchange for the use of her body. It made my skin crawl to think about.

To my surprise, the girl giggled, still choking but clearly convinced by his words. She reached up an arm, and he helped her to her feet. I could see the streaks of tear tracks cutting through the dust on her face, but she smiled at Dutton even after his face-fuckery.

They embraced, again kissing passionately, tongues dancing in the dim light of the barn as Dutton buckled his belt.

"We best get to gettin', those boys will be there to take sounder 52 any minute!" Dutton exclaimed, checking his watch like a cartoon parody of a farmer.

The two of them broke their embrace, and he followed the girl out, grabbing at her ass, causing her to yelp and jump.

I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and I made my way out of the hayloft.

Clearly, Dutton had at least one affair partner. Wracking my brain, I tried my best to connect her tear-soaked face to a name from those pictures Tyra had sent over, but found myself drawing a blank. I elected to call her 'Lusty' as an alias in lieu of a confirmed identity.

I referenced the schedule on my phone briefly as I exited the barn, the sun peeking over the horizon to shower the agricultural landscape in gold.

Two hours of hog-showing until the next potential block, a brief fifteen minute window of "silo inspection", then another hour before the last of the day, a half-hour simply marked "bull selection". I grimaced, hoping that I wouldn't have to figure out what that meant.

Hopefully Dutton would endeavor to copulate with his lady in the seclusion of Silo GR47.

I scrolled through the calendar. Most slots were under a half hour. I wouldn't have liked to live my life planned to such a degree, but when you're as important as Dutton, perhaps it made more sense.

I set off for the silo to find a vantage point. A good P. I. always arrives early.

Silos aren't known for their ease of spying, and this one was certainly no exception. I was forced to resort to a weapon in my arsenal I prefer not to utilize, in this case a pinhole camera affixed to the roof, looking down on the thin catwalk that ran the length of the grain storage drum.

I held my breath as I stretched out to adhere the suction cup to the metal, cognizant of the dangers of the grain (soybeans? Perhaps sorghum?) swallowing me up if I were to fall.

Too many inexperienced farmhands had found themselves consumed in such a way.

After wiring the camera for sound, I beat a hasty retreat down the ladder, holding up behind a handful of barrels adjacent to the site.

Not a moment too soon.

Dutton and Lusty appeared around the side of an adjacent building as I ducked down behind the stacked receptacles.

Lusty checked off notes on a clipboard as Dutton instructed her, seemingly mentoring her in the operation of this portion of the farm.

All a ploy of course, I knew his interest lay in her pants, not her brains.

I just needed him to prove it.

Lusty and Dutton climbed the ladder up the large metal structure, clambering into the access hatch. Lusty first, Dutton behind her, ogling her rear.

I switched my attention to my phone, watching the screen intently. On it, Lusty and Dutton stood on the catwalk, closer than any employer should be to his employee.

He was clearly grinding his erection into her from behind, holding her by the hips as she clung to the guard rails, making soft moans as the older man took advantage of her body.

"Please, won't you put it in, just for a minute?" She begged, breathlessly, in a way that made my loins tingle, and I'm sure did the same for Dutton, judging by the way his hand immediately began searching for his belt.

The two began to strip from the waist down. Despite myself, I liked what I was seeing. Lusty's ass was curvaceous, the picture of sex even while bent over in a grain silo, jeans down around her boots.

Dutton released his manhood once again, and I prepared to get my money shot. His throbbing manhood settled between her asscheeks, and he thrust against her twin globes of flesh with evident pleasure.

"Put it innnn!" Lusty moaned, but Dutton held back from the unblemished young slit before him, clearly already wet with her arousal.

He fished for a moment in his jeans pocket, and produced a condom. He discarded the wrapper, and rolled it down over his manhood.

Lusty groaned with annoyance as she felt him wrapping his johnson.

"Can't we just do it naturally? Please? I'm so fucking wet!" She wiggled her hips against him, as if to tempt his cock forward.

Dutton spanked her, hard enough to make her yelp but not hard enough to leave a mark.

"You know we can't, you know what that would mean." He admonished, like a schoolteacher talking to his pupil, despite his rubber-clad penis throbbing between her cheeks.

"I know you want to, and I know it would make you feel good!" She replied, repeating the seductive motion, eliciting another smack on the opposite cheek.

"I've said it's not happening young lady, so it's not happening!" Dutton exclaimed.

It was a common reaction to a married man receiving pressure from his lover. Her attempt to supplant his wife by getting him to knock her up. The classic devil's wager for an old dog, and usually one he'll lose if she's persistent enough.

A gambit ending in misery for both parties, her belly swollen with his child as he's thrown out by his enraged spouse.

Lusty grumbled something the microphone couldn't pick up. I was certain fornication was about to happen regardless, and I was about to make my money for this job on the first day, but unexpectedly for the three of us, a sudden banging, hand on metal snapped us out of our collective reverie.

Another farmhand stood at the base of the ladder, a young man with a patchy beard and a threadbare checkered shirt.

"Dad? You up there?" He shouted up towards the ajar hatch.

On my camera, I saw Dutton immediately spring into action. He pulled his pants up, fastening his belt hurriedly, the condom dropped into the silo below from his swiftly softening cock.

I cursed inwardly, careful to keep my thoughts silent. It wasn't that I wanted Dutton to be guilty or Lusty to get fucked by the older man, but they were clearly used to doing so with one another. At the end of the day, if that's what Tyra wanted me to find for her, that's what I was going to find.

"Yeah! Just running inspections!" Dutton called down to his son below the ladder of the silo. The younger man cocked his head and called back up.

"Well the County Commissioner is down at the West Gate, wants to talk to you about some permitting." Dutton cursed, turning back to Lusty.

"I've gotta go!" He muttered, making to leave, but she stopped him. She grasped his hand and pulled him back to her, pushing his fingers down to her vagina.

He gasped, feeling her wetness, the warmth of her slit and the ease at which he could enter her.

"We're not done." She stated seductively, staring him dead in the eyes. Dutton paused, checking his watch, then sighed.

"One hour, Bullpen, don't be late." He commanded, before bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking her fluid from them with relish.

I shivered, it was a perverted gesture of animalistic desire.

Lusty remained in the silo, clothing herself as Dutton descended, rushing off with his son for their unspecified permitting request.

A few minutes later, Lusty emerged as well, carefully stepping down the ladder, clipboard in hand.

Her departure allowed me to retrieve my camera and microphone, and curse my bum luck.

Only one more chance for the day, but the two of them had looked pretty worked up with each other.

I momentarily considered- what would the moral thing be to do here?

On one hand, Lusty was being taken advantage of by her boss, which in and of itself could probably be considered some sort of labor law violation. On the other, both she and Pete Dutton were causing emotional trauma to his wife, for which she deserved some sort of recompense.

Morally neutral at best, I thought.

One more chance, I had to make sure I was in place. Multi-camera coverage and a direct view of the location.

I set off in the direction of a building named "The Bullpen".

To the best of my understanding the building was some sort of cattle sex dungeon. Over the course of my career, I'd been in many sex dungeons, but never one for cows.

The main floor had several pens, with large shutters seemingly intended to hold the cows in place for the bulls to mount.

Thankfully, there was no breeding going on at the time, and doubly-thankfully, Dutton would be heading for the office.

It was a dim, cramped room. Half IT-room, complete with a closet server rack, half office space, with a single desk covered in pictures and documents detailing the virility of various bulls, the windows to the breeding floor covered by slatted blinds.

If I were to engage in a sexual tryst in a workplace without informing my wife, this is where I'd do it.

I naturally chose the closet for my vantage point- the door had a few vents for heat from the server, but also provided a good view of the room. I wired it for sound and video, covering from a few angles in addition to the server closet.

Not a moment too soon, I heard incoming footsteps and dived into the closet.

Lusty.

I held my breath as she entered the room, peering around as if to satisfy herself that Dutton had yet to arrive. She ignored the server closet, as if discounting the potential for anyone to possibly be within, just as I'd hoped.

The P. I. game has a way of setting the heart to thumping.

I watched as she began to strip, fascinated by her choice to do so without a concern for someone other than her lover arriving at the office.

The lack of forethought certainly implied a certain teenage mindset. Once her full, perky breasts (easily a handful and a half apiece) emerged, I settled on nineteen. With a rack like that, I could hardly blame Dutton for failing his vows of marriage.

Lusty undid her belt buckle and began to shimmy out of her jeans and underwear. Her hips and rear were wide, like a cave painting of the neolithic woman, screaming her fertility to the sky. Her skin unblemished and unmarred by the ravages of time, begging for the attention of her admirers.

I confess, I was getting hard. It's difficult to be objective while watching a beautiful girl undress in front of you. Lusty stripped down until she was wearing nothing but her cowboy boots, preening and sliding her hands down her body as she awaited her lover.

She slid one tantalizing middle finger slowly between her pussy lips. She was tastefully smooth on her labia, but had left a shock of blonde hair adorning her mons pubis, more of a fashion statement than anything else.

She moaned as she inserted her finger, bending at the waist over the desk perpendicular to my hiding place, allowing me a wonderful view of her figure in silhouette.

The door clicked open, then closed again.

Dutton.

"I've been waiting for you." Her voice, fittingly for the name I had given her, was lustful, husky, and low. She didn't even bother turning around to see him, she simply used two fingers to spread her labia, giving him a rear view of her slit, open and wet, waiting for him to enter her.

"I-" He began, but had to pause to clear his throat. "I don't have another condom with me." It sounded meek coming from the same man who had fucked this girl's throat that morning.

Lusty wiggled her hips back and forth, the same motion she'd made in the silo earlier.

"I didn't ask you to wear one." She began to massage her clitoris, an invitation if I've ever seen one.

Dutton couldn't help himself, he needed to be closer, needed to feel her in his hands. He stood behind her, his hands finding her hips like nature intended, but still he resisted.

"It's not safe-" He began, but she pushed herself back against him, her rear pushing against his cock, straining beneath his denim.

"I need a bull to mount me." She moaned. "I need a calf inside my belly!" She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes wide and pleading. "Won't you let me make you a daddy again?" I could tell Dutton was finished.

I think he could tell too.

He undid his belt, pushing his jeans to the ground with the reckless abandon of a man half his age.

Lusty bit her lip as she watched hungrily.

His cock bounced free, settling between her asscheeks for the second time that day, before Dutton pushed it down, his cockhead poking against her wet, tight opening.

"Give it to me daddy!" Lusty hissed through her teeth, practically vibrating with excitement. "Put your seed in me!" She arched her back lower, giving him easy access, his manhood rubbing into her slickness, the fluid quickly coating him.

Dutton didn't need any more encouragement.

With a grunt, he pushed his unprotected penis into the young girl half his age bent over on his desk. It slid inside easily, and I watched as her labia minora parted to allow him access to the depths of her furnace.

His girth was stretching her out, I could tell, and I almost forgot to take pictures as I listened to their moans. Her petite frame was overwhelmed by the man now pumping in and out of her, completely helpless to his desires.

Although their desires were apparently one and the same.

"Daddy! Oh daddy!" She whimpered as his throbbing rod plunged in and out of her, his balls making slick slapping sounds against her thighs as he claimed her. "Breed me! Give me your calf daddy!" She was beyond aroused, a level beyond, incoherently babbling for his dick to fulfill her unresolved daddy issues.

I knew he couldn't last long, I wouldn't either.

He was bottoming out in her. I could even see a small divot of flesh on her lower abdomen pushed outward below her as his girth filled her beyond what her body could take.

She was clenching around his manhood, begging him to fire his genetic payload into her womb, to make her the woman she wanted to be.

"Give it to me! Please! Make me a mommy!" Her exclamations were needy, they craved the love he'd given his wife, and the DNA he was holding in his semen.

It was too much for him.

Lusty's moans and begging suddenly turned into a single high note, joined by Dutton's own exclamation as he finally crossed the finish line.

He reached forward to grasp her pendulously swinging breasts, thrusting fully inside, the bulge of Lusty's stomach now fully apparent as his cockhead swelled and throbbed inside her, nestled directly against her cervix as he pumped his cum into the girl.

I felt aroused, but also sad. He was sealing her fate, pumping his semen into a girl who wasn't smart enough to know that she didn't want to be a single mom, to know that he wasn't going to give her the stake he'd promised her in his farming empire.

"Take my fucking baby!" He grunted, momentarily withdrawing to push back in, sending another jet of his sperm deep into Lusty's uterus.

"Yes! Oh god yes! I'm pregnant! I'm pregnant! I'm pregnant with your calf!" She babbled inanely, clutching at her lower abdomen as if willing the sperm to find their target.

They were both clearly unwell in the head.

So they remained for almost ten minutes, sealed together, whispering and moaning, cumming with one another in a sweaty office smelling of sex and teenage hormones.

Dutton pulled his shrinking cock out of her, releasing a torrent of slick cum out onto the floor of the office. Neither of them seemed to care, which either spoke volumes about their disregard for the workplace, or for the cleanliness of the office.

Which it was, I won't speculate.

Pete Dutton left first, after a few minutes of cradling his young lover, holding her hands over her uterus and kissing deeply.

I wondered if he'd accepted the consequences of his actions, or if he was just playing along with her delusions.

Only time would tell.

Lusty took a few minutes to get dressed, but once she was, she seemed much more businesslike. Perhaps she was preparing for the responsibilities of motherhood, or truly believed she was getting part of the farm and wanted to put on an air of professionalism.

That's not really for me to speculate.

Tyra handed the P. I. his envelope, and he swiftly departed. She was left alone with the pictures, the pictures which showed her husband cheating on her from every angle.

With her daughter.

She bit her lip as she sat at the kitchen table.

There he was fucking her throat.

There he was putting a condom on.

There he was bending her over, with no protection at all.

There he was cradling her as his cum dripped down her leg, whispering into her ear about how he was about to replace his wife as primary breeding stock.

Her fingers dropped down to her pussy, and she began to masturbate, thinking of them together.

Her forty-year-old husband fucking her nineteen-year-old daughter, frantically copulating in The Bullpen.

She was dripping with desire as her son stepped into the kitchen, naked, his penis ready to sheath inside his mother.

"So you finally caught them at it?" He asked, as she allowed her dress to drop to the floor, bending over the table in much the same way as her daughter had mere hours before.

"Yes." She replied, feeling her own baby boy's manhood like iron, pushing into her slit without even a thought of a condom. "We're going to have to beat them to it."

Their cries of pleasure filled the house.

They were also trying for a baby.