This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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The Breeding Stocks
Morgan huffed in the breeding stocks, the pygmy falcon shifting her feet apart a little further under the cover of the dim room, barely lit with a crimson bulb for mood and sensuality, as if that would help her balance somewhat. But, of course, she had been in the stocks for so long that her back ached, lines of soreness throbbing through muscles that, perhaps, she had never quite given the due credit for existence to before. Her grey tail-feathers flicked up, showing off her slit, her heat bringing a rise of a flush to the point where the softer feathers came to an end. It was lewd and it made her look like a whore at the front of a brothel but not even a tingling Morgan could find it in herself to care at the very moment in time. The wooden stocks held her head and wrists firmly in place, wings bound in a binder to her back, completely and utterly helpless to the male stud that they sent in to breed her. And she didn't even know who it was, as if she would have even have been able to at all fight back against his lusts.
That was all part of the breeding, what just made it so special for her. She had to be locked down, broken down, made to stay there and she had volunteered for the whole thing too, signed her name on the forms with a flourish and a clamp of determination in the tense closure of her beak. If she didn't make sure she was bound down so tightly that she could not run away, she couldn't be sure that she would leave with a clutch of eggs seeded deep in her womb, her ultimate goal. Of course, she had tried before with partner after partner -- some of them longer-term than others, but there had never been a clutch out of any of them simply because they hadn't satisfied her in the way that she really needed to be satisfied. Without that, well...there was no true breeding for her.
Huffing, Morgan rolled her head from one side to the other, feathers crinkling uncomfortably against the ring of wood around her neck, locked and secured. There would be no escaping from it and, staring at the far wall, which was in darkness, she pulled at it experimentally once again, not even rocking the wood that had been bolted down into a sort of stage. Who she was on stage for, however, she still didn't know but her pulse quickened to image him, the stud of a male who was finally going to make her every last kinky, dirty desire come true.
That said, her companion seemed to be even more securely bound than she was -- a mean feat in itself. The vixen grunted softly into a ball gag, drooling around it as her red hair fell across her face. When she'd first been locked into the stocks, her hair had been curly and bouncy, evidently well-groomed before she'd ventured out on her 'date', although the heat of her body and the soft humidity of the room (one could not ward off summer, after all) rendered the curls softer and loosely, slowly slipping back down into straightness. It was a shame but Morgan knew too that both of them were going to look an awful lot worse than that by the time the breeding stud was done with them.
She was fortunate, however, in that, before she'd been rendered mute, she'd thrown a name Morgan's way -- Chloe. Her name was Chloe. But the gag had gone in too quickly for Morgan to ask any questions of her, those working at The Breeding Pens hastening their bondage so that their session could commence as swiftly as possible, as was their way. There was no sense, after all, in letting their clients wait around when they could be having the fun that they had come there in the first place to claim for their own. And the owners of the pens prided themselves on providing exemplary service at all times, sourcing only the most virile, studly of males to sate and seed the needy females -- and others, of course -- that flocked there simply to use their services.
Chloe's stocks, however, were more extensive than Morgan's, a bench allowing her the comfort of resting her stomach while her ankles were locked on either side of it, lewdly forcing her legs apart. If the falcon did not spread her legs to shift her weight and support herself, she didn't have to, technically, put her cunny on show but it was too hard to stay in one place as the minutes -- maybe even hours -- ticked by, the passage of time just another thing that she had not a single bit of control over. The vixen grunted softly, eyeing up the bird beside her, but it was hard to see all that much through the fall of her hair, settling instead to listen to the rise and fall of her companion's breath even if she could neither converse nor admire her body.
Behind them, the door slid open in a hiss of air as if the very room that they were in was an air lock through which all were protected -- although on which side? Chloe whimpered and hung her head, not even bothering to strive to look around, every last inch of her skin quivering with barely restrained tension, although she knew that, if she dared release it, it was the stocks then that would keep her in check. She shrank into herself even as her heart cried out for the lust to come, the stud male's claws -- he had claws! -- clicking slowly and lightly across the floor as he approached them in what she imagined to be a slow, sensual sway of a stalk.
Morgan was not so restrained that she couldn't at least try to look back and she craned her head at a vicious angle, eyes wide and bulging. Her beak parted but there was no cry to be heard from it as her heart leapt into her throat and stayed there, pounding and tightening where her airway should have been clear.
And yet the need to breathe seemed to fall by the wayside as she took in all she could of the gryphon, his black feathers commanding attention. He seemed to glow around the edges but that was merely an illusion as he rumbled out a chuckle, walking on all fours as his tail lashed back and forth lazily from his feline hind end. His front half, of course, was all avian, just like her, but his beak was larger and more wickedly deadly, tipped with yellow with a slash of stark, yellow markings on his face like war paint.
Ah... She twisted her head back at the moment that the realisation hit her, wings pulling uselessly at the binder. So that was why he looked like he was glowing. The strongly-built gryphon did not step into her line of sight but did let out a murr of appreciation, a wing brushing her flauntingly raised backside as she blushed and hung her head. His feathers, along the lines of his wings and struck through the curve of muscle in his body too, were tipped with yellow, lending him the appearance of a halo. Despite that, however, she very much doubted that there was much angelic about him. Or maybe she hoped not.
"My, my... Who do we have here?"
It was not her. Her heart fell even though she didn't quite know whether she was hoping for his attention or not, her stomach churning in hopeless knots. But it was Chloe who had his attention, the vixen moaning and shivering as he traced the fluffy tip of his tail over her back and buttocks, ignoring just how her tail flicked.
Groaning and drooling around the gag, Chloe blushed heavily, although there was nothing that could be seen through her fur, which was a blessing in disguise. Despite how she was, a shy introvert, she pushed the boundaries of what she was comfortable with in search of kinky, filthy fun and still wasn't even all that sure whether or not she wanted to be bred, made to carry a clutch of, well, they were obviously going to be gryphon eggs now. The father of a mating determined how the young would be born and her heart pounded all the more fervently to imagine pushing egg after egg from her sore and abused pussy, the pleasure that that mere act alone too would bring her. Maybe even more so than being bred.
