Clara’s life had become a monotonous rhythm of failed relationships and unfulfilled desires. Each breakup left her more hollow than the last, her heart aching for something—no, someone—to fill the void. But it wasn’t just companionship she craved. Deep down, Clara wanted more. She wanted to feel alive, to create life. She wanted a child.
Her first attempt at achieving this dream came in the form of an anonymous hookup app. She meticulously ***********ed a man with traits she thought would make for a perfect father—tall, strong, with kind eyes in his profile picture. Their encounter was brief, clinical even, but it left Clara buzzing with hope. Weeks turned into months, and the two pink lines on the pregnancy test confirmed her wildest dreams. But fate had other plans. The miscarriage shattered her. The loneliness returned, more suffocating than ever, and her body betrayed her further by beginning to lactate, a cruel reminder of what could have been.
One day, as she numbly stumbled through her daily routine, she stumbled upon a flyer for a local fair scheduled for the coming summer. It called for applications for booth rentals. Something about it sparked a fire in her chest. An idea, daring and desperate, took root. A Breeding Booth. It was outrageous, yes, but it was also thrilling. Here was a chance to reclaim control, to turn her pain into purpose, and perhaps, just perhaps, to fulfill her deepest desire.
The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of preparation and anxiety. She rented the booth weeks in advance, her hands trembling as she filled out the application. Acquiring the materials was its own adventure—the padded wooden stock, a sturdy yet uncomfortable contraption that would hold her in place; the variety of toys and furniture, including a sex chair for women who wished to be pleasured; and the pop-up gazebo with nylon walls for privacy. She carefully painted a sign, the garish red letters proclaiming her intentions to the world: ‘Breeding Booth: Mouth $50, Pussy $100, Ass $150. Women get free rides. Strap-ons, toys, and furniture provided. Free milking available to all.’
As the day of the fair approached, Clara’s nerves were frayed. Was she really going to do this? Expose herself so completely? The thought of strangers using her body sent shivers down her spine, but it also ignited a hunger deep within her. She wanted this. Needed this.
Finally, the day arrived. The fairgrounds buzzed with activity, the air thick with the scent of fried dough and sawdust. Clara set up her booth with meticulous care, each piece falling into place like a puzzle. When everything was ready, she stared at the stocks, her heart pounding. With a deep breath, she locked herself in place, her head and arms secured firmly in the wooden frame. The cool roughness of the wood against her cheeks grounded her, anchoring her to this moment.
A heartbeat. Then two. Was this insane? Of course it was. It was also the most alive she’d felt in years.
The first customer was a blur of denim and hesitation. A young man, probably a farmhand, his calloused fingers fumbling with his wallet.
“Is… is this for real?” he stammered, his voice tight with a mixture of shock and raw desire.
“The sign doesn’t lie,” Clara purred, her voice low and inviting. “It’s all yours, if you can pay.”
The crisp sound of five ten-dollar bills sliding through the slot was the most beautiful music she’d ever heard. Face-fuck.
He undid his jeans, his cock springing free, already thick and hard. He stepped forward, one hand gently guiding himself to her lips. She opened her mouth, her tongue darting out to taste the first salty, musky preview of him. Yes. This. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound from his chest, as her warm, wet mouth enveloped him.
His hips began a slow, tentative rhythm. Clara closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation. The way his tip hit the back of her throat, the way her jaw began to ache so deliciously, the muffled, desperate sounds he made. She was a tool for his pleasure, a vessel, and the sheer anonymity of it was the most potent aphrodisiac she’d ever known. His thrusts became harder, faster, less controlled. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to send a jolt of perfect submission through her. His body went rigid, and with a choked cry, the first hot, pulsing jet of seed shot down her throat. She swallowed greedily, eagerly, taking every last drop of his offering.
The day became a delirious carousel of flesh and ecstasy as word spread like wildfire through the fairgrounds. Men of all shapes and sizes, husbands sneaking away from their wives, groups of grinning friends pooling their money, and even curious onlookers turned participants, each paid their dues into the box before taking their fill—or rather, filling her. A thick-set man with tattooed arms, his knuckles scuffed and calloused, was the first to claim her pussy. He paid with a crumpled stack of bills, his deep voice gravelly as he muttered, “Been a while since I’ve had something so tight.” He drove into her from behind, his grunting fervor making the wooden frame creak and shake. Clara’s body jolted with each thrust, her moans muffled by the cock of another man who’d paid for her mouth, his hands gripping her hair as he thrust in rhythm with the tattooed man behind her.
"Oh, hey, Carl," said the man behind her.
"Howdy, Ed. How're the kids?" said the man in her mouth.
"They're fine. They're out there getting churros. You had one of them yet?" said Ed, as his hips smacked into her ass.
"Oh, yeah, they're great. Only had a few, though, don't want to get too fat."
The air was thick with the sounds of their pleasure—guttural groans, wet slaps of skin on skin, and the occasional rustle of money dropping into the payment box as the line grew.
As one man pulled out, sticky and spent, another stepped forward, eager for his turn. A young man with a boyish grin and nervous hands dropped a wad of cash into the box before unzipping his jeans. “Uh, can I… milk you first?” he asked, his voice trembling with excitement. Clara nodded, her lips curling into a sly smile. He crouched beside her, his hands fumbling as he positioned the bucket beneath her swollen breasts. His fingers brushed over her nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from Clara as he began to squeeze.
Warm streams of milk flowed into the bucket, the rhythmic pull of his hands sending waves of pleasure through her body. He hesitated for a moment before leaning in to suckle directly from her, his mouth hot and desperate. Clara moaned, her hips writhing against the stock as the sensation mingled with the throbbing ache between her legs.
When he finally pulled away, his lips glistening with her milk, he stood up, his cock already hard and twitching with anticipation. “Now… can I…” he stammered, motioning toward her pussy. Clara’s eyes gleamed with approval, and she gave him a sultry nod. “Take what’s yours,” she whispered, her voice low and inviting.
With a shaky breath, he moved behind her, his hands gripping her hips as he aligned himself with her slick entrance. He pushed in slowly at first, his groan mingling with Clara’s sharp intake of breath as she felt him stretch her. “Fuck… you’re so warm,” he muttered, his voice trembling with awe. He began to thrust, each movement gaining confidence as he found his rhythm. Clara’s body rocked against the stock, her moans growing louder with every stroke.
His pace quickened, his hands clutching her hips tighter as he drove into her with abandon. The sound of their bodies meeting, wet and urgent, filled the booth. Clara could feel him growing harder, his cock pulsing inside her as he neared his climax. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum,” he gasped, his thrusts becoming erratic. With a final, shuddering groan, he buried himself deep inside her, his release spilling into her waiting pussy. Clara sighed in satisfaction as she felt him empty himself within her, her own body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.
He pulled out slowly, panting and spent, before stepping back to admire his handiwork. Clara gave him a coy smile, already knowing that more would soon follow. “Thank you,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. He nodded, still catching his breath, before disappearing into the crowd, leaving her ready for the next eager customer.
A woman’s voice broke through the masculine clamor, soft yet commanding. Clara looked up, lips swollen and glistening with spit and cum, to see a stunning redhead with fiery curls cascading down her shoulders. Her arm was linked with her husband’s, a tall man with a rugged jawline and piercing blue eyes. “My turn,” the woman said, her voice laced with mischief. She guided her husband to Clara’s rear entrance—after he slid a crisp stack of bills into the box—and then dragged the padded chair in front of Clara’s face. The woman positioned herself on it, lifting her skirt to reveal her soaked pussy, and lowered herself onto Clara’s waiting mouth.
Clara’s world exploded into a new dimension of sensation: the hard, relentless thrust of the husband pistoning into her ass, stretching her to the brink of pain before tipping over into blinding pleasure. And in front of her, the intoxicating taste of the woman, musky and sweet. Clara’s tongue delved and swirled, worshipping the swollen folds, coaxing shudders and breathless cries that were sweeter than any payment. The woman’s fingers tangled in Clara’s hair, guiding her deeper, urging her to drink every drop of her arousal.
Midway through the day, a woman with a confident stride and a knowing smile approached the booth. Her skin was sun-kissed, her hair tied back in a loose braid, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. She didn’t bother with the payment box—Clara’s sign promised women their turn for free. “I’ve been watching you all day,” she said, her voice low and teasing. “Thought I’d see what all the fuss is about.”
Clara’s lips curved into a sly grin, her body already tingling with anticipation. The woman stepped inside the booth, her movements deliberate as she ***********ed a double-ended strap-on from the array of toys provided. She strapped it on with practiced ease, the silicone glistening faintly under the dim light of the booth. “Ready for me?” she asked, her voice dripping with confidence.
“Always,” Clara purred, her heart racing as the woman positioned herself behind her. The first touch of the strap-on against her slick entrance sent a shiver down her spine. The woman slid into Clara with a slow, deliberate push, both ends of the toy finding their marks—one filling Clara’s pussy while the other pressed into the woman’s own core. Clara gasped as the woman began to move, her hips rolling in a rhythm that was both firm and sensual.
The sensation was intense. Clara could feel every inch of the strap-on as it plunged into her, stretching her deliciously, while the woman behind her moaned softly, lost in her own pleasure. The woman’s hands gripped Clara’s hips, guiding her movements as their bodies moved in perfect sync. Clara’s moans grew louder, her body trembling as the pleasure built, wave after wave crashing over her.
The woman leaned forward, her breath hot against Clara’s ear. “You're so beautiful, so brave,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. Her thrusts became more urgent, driving the strap-on deeper into Clara, each movement sending jolts of ecstasy through them both. Clara clenched around the toy, her own orgasm building rapidly, spurred on by the woman’s relentless pace.
When it finally hit, Clara’s body convulsed, her cry muffled by the wooden stocks. The woman groaned in unison, her own climax washing over her as she hilted the strap-on deep within Clara. For a moment, they stayed like that, suspended in the throes of their shared pleasure, before the woman finally pulled away, leaving Clara trembling and breathless.
“Thank you,” the woman said with a satisfied smirk, unhooking the strap-on and stepping back. “That was… something else.” Clara could only nod, a dopey smile spreading across her face as she watched the woman leave the booth, already anticipating who might come next.
Later, a family approached—a father and his two clearly-of-age sons, all sharing the same hungry eyes. The father, a handsome man with silver streaks at his temples, stacked the money in the box without a word. They arranged themselves wordlessly: one son at her mouth, his youthful eagerness evident in the way he thrust into her throat; the father rolling underneath her on the mechanic's creeper board to slide his girthy cock into her well-used pussy; and the other son taking his place at her ass.
Three cocks filled her simultaneously, claiming her completely. The stretch was immense, overwhelming, a total occupation of her body. She was nothing but a collection of holes for their use, and the degradation was utter bliss. Their groans synced, their hands groping her exposed breasts and ass as they moved in tandem. Clara came again, a silent, seizing orgasm that milked the cocks inside her, triggering their own releases. Hot cum flooded her mouth, her pussy, her ass—a triple offering that left her dripping and utterly, completely full.
By nightfall, Clara was spent but triumphant. Her body felt like a canvas painted in the rawest shades of pleasure and exhaustion—bruised, sticky, and leaking from every orifice. Her ass ached deliciously from being stretched to its limits, her pussy throbbed with the lingering fullness of countless cocks, and her throat was raw from hours of relentless use. Her breasts tingled from the rhythmic pull of hands and mouths milking her, and her skin was sticky with the remnants of offerings left by men and women alike. Yet, despite the physical toll, her heart was fuller than it had ever been.
She glanced at the payment box, now overflowing with cash, a testament to the day’s events. The last customer, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard, had stuffed a wad of bills into the slot with a satisfied grin, tipping her generously before disappearing into the night. Clara’s lips curled into a tired but content smile. She could barely move, her limbs heavy and trembling, but the satisfaction radiating through her was undeniable. She had given herself completely, body and soul, to this wild experiment, and it had been everything she’d hoped for and more.
Her mind drifted to the possibility of what might come next. Had she been bred? The question lingered in the back of her mind, a quiet hope that burned through the exhaustion. She couldn’t know yet, of course, but the thought sent a shiver of anticipation through her. She imagined the swollen belly she might soon carry, the life growing inside her—a permanent reminder of this day, of her surrender to desire and the fulfillment of her deepest longing.
As she began to unlock herself from the stocks, her fingers trembling as they fumbled with the latches, she marveled at how alive she felt. The loneliness that had haunted her for so long was gone, replaced by a sense of purpose and connection she hadn’t known she needed. She had become something more than just Clara—she had become a vessel, a giver of pleasure, and perhaps soon, a creator of life. The thought filled her with a quiet pride that warmed her tired body like a soft blanket.
Finally free from the stocks, Clara stood on unsteady legs, wincing slightly as her body protested the movement. She grabbed a towel from a nearby pile and began to wipe away the layers of sweat and cum that clung to her skin, though she knew traces would remain—marks of her submission, reminders of the day’s wild abandon. She dressed slowly, savoring the ache in her muscles, the tenderness between her legs, and the lingering taste of strangers on her lips.
As she stepped out of the booth and into the cool night air, Clara took one last look back at the structure that had been her stage, her sanctuary, and her salvation. The fairgrounds were quiet now, the crowds gone and the lights dimmed, but the energy of the day still thrummed in her veins. She didn’t know if she’d been bred yet… but she couldn’t wait to find out. And if not? Well, there was always a fair going on somewhere. And Clara was already imagining her next performance.