The Monster Keeper: The Orc [F/orc] [monster fucking] [non-con] [fantasy] [breeding]

>All characters are 18+.

There would be war, and war called for monsters.

Luckily, monsters were the Keeper’s business.

The large man sighed, shuffling his ledgers and contracts over his desk. Demand was simply too high for his pedigreed beasts, and although he was on track to make a record profit this season, still he risked losing precious clients. One thing was certain: he needed more nubile, healthy wombs for monster young.

There was his precious apprentice, but she was set to bear her third litter of pups with the direwolf and would need time to recover afterwards. Besides, she had grown attached to the snarling beast and was unlikely to take kindly to the offer of another mate. The slave girl he had purchased a season back was equally occupied, keeping the tempermental sea-beast satiated while feeding his young. There was a time when he had thought two wombs would be plenty, and yet his business had been growing steadily.

[F] Bred on the Farm pt. 4 [hucow] [F/machine] [non-con]

>You don’t have to read the previous entries to understand this one, but there is a recurring character at the end and the same setting. All characters are 18+.

Mary had nearly completed her inspection of Forrest Nursery and Farms, her clipboard of forms in duplicate neatly marked and signed, when she noticed the crack in the south barn wall. It was intriguing to her; Wade Forrest was known for having an impeccable record of inspections and safety. Although the rancher had seemed exceedingly forthcoming with her, Mary was nothing if not thorough at her job.

Slipping her fingers into the crack between the weathered wood, Mary raised an eyebrow as the wall slid smoothly along to nestle into the barn wall, but what greeted her was even more surprising. It was a cream-coloured room, small and windowless, with no discernible features along the walls, lit by dim lights on the ceiling. On the floor there was a vague outline of two feet, spread slightly wider than shoulder width, facing one of the walls.A scent of lemon cleaner washed over her, and Mary frowned.

*Well, this won’t do. I’ll have to speak with Mr. Forest about hiding things from the health inspector and write up* –

The Naturalist [M/Femboy] [fantasy]

It was a humid summer morning as the Naturalist trekked down towards the valley’s floor in search of a fae. It was perhaps late in the season for such an encounter, but it was to be his last day in the region, and he felt lucky – and the Naturalist had learned long ago not to ignore such premonitions. The air was heavy of the richness of gardenia, and birdsong echoed from one of the numerous trees.
Resting his travel pack against the trunk of the willow, the Naturalist settled himself between the roots and freed his swelling shaft from his trousers. His fist closed around his member, slowly stroking himself to hardness. The Naturalist was thick, with dark, curling hair nestled around two heavy balls. His eyes flickered shut, relaxing into the sensation of rising pleasure.
Within moments, the Naturalist felt a cool breeze against his face. He sensed their presence before he opened his eyes, the familiar electricity that hung in the air wherever a fae was present.
“Hello, there,” the Naturalist said, and opened his eyes.
A few feet away, the fae blinked long eyelashes at him, curiosity plain across his youthful features. He was slender, blonde hair messily trussed into two braids, each interwoven with flora, although the rest of his body was quite hairless. His minimal coverings were made of woven summer grasses, a quiver of arrows hanging at the back of his thighs. Rising from between his shoulder blades were a pair of glimmering wings, catching the sunlight that shone through the willow’s hanging greenery. Like a church’s window, the limbs casting jewel-tone blues, reds, and yellow hues over the ground. Between his legs, there was a slender and uncut cock. As the Naturalist’s eyes roved over the creature, he assessed that the fae was certainly an adult, fully-grown to the size of a young human man, although certainly within his first century.
As always, the Naturalist’s breath caught in his throat at the remarkable sight. His hands twitched for his sketchbook to capture the fae’s extraordinary likeness, but he knew refraining from sudden movement was critical in the first few moments.
The Naturalist continued to stroke himself as the creature’s gaze wandered over his body. The corner of a pink tongue dragged across the fae’s full lips, and the Naturalist’s lips twitched in a smile as the young man’s member rose in arousal. He had been measured, and found agreeable.
On silent feet, the fae approached, watching the Naturalist in wary caution, until he straddled him at the waist. Their eyes held, and the Naturalist was delighted to see the shimmering colours of the fae’s wings echoed in his eyes.
“Easy there,” he rumbled.
The fae lowered himself onto the Naturalist, who grunted as he felt the head of his cock bump against the fae’s opening.
His entrance was slick, a feature of fae anatomy in which the Naturalist found utterly superior to human males. He bit back a moan as the fae lowered himself – the heat and tightness of the fae’s innards as equisiate as he remembered from previous encounters. And yet each was incomparable, like different vintages of perfectly aged wine.
The fae placed a slender hand against the Naturalist’s shoulder, bracing himself as he began to pump up and down. His pink mouth opened, a whimper escaping. The Naturalist, moving slowly, rested his gloved hands against the creature’s thighs, even though he was eager to thrust his pelvis upward and take what his body demanded. It was always best to let the wild creature lead.
Even so, there was nothing to complain about, and the Naturalist’s eyes rolled in their sockets, pleasure rushing through him.
In due time, blue, luminescent cum began to leak from the fae’s cockhead, evidence of his own arousal. With a wordless cry from the fae, it spilt across the Naturalist’s tunic in thick, glowing droplets.
“Good boy,” the Naturalist gasped. The praise earned him a tired, honest smile that reminded him that although languages may be a barrier, fae had been theorized to sense the emotions of a human. The Naturalist could only guess that was the reason the fae began again in eagerness, watching him closely with his bright eyes. His head dropped against the roots of the willow tree, the heat swallowing him.
“I’m – I’m going to…” The Naturalist struggled to form coherent words as the liquid heat built to a point in his gut.
Dark spots burst before the Naturalist’s eyes as he came, his pulse thundering in his ears as his cock twitched inside the creature. Without thought, he seized the fae’s cock, sliding his palm across the slick shape – and with a whimpering cry, the fae came again. More cum splattered across the Naturalist’s gloves and jerkin as the creature’s pale thighs quivered. He collapsed against the Naturalist’s chest, glimmering wings fluttering behind him with each shuddering breath.
After he had awoken, the Naturalist had carefully collected samples of the fluid in his jars, knowing the high price it would fetch in the nearby town – although he would keep at least one for his private collection. Although the fae had long since vanished, he was certain he could feel bright eyes watching him as he shouldered his pack and began the long trek out of the valley.

[MF] South Peltagow In the Spring, a First-Hand Account [fantasy] [non/dub-con] [nymph]

I write this account for posterity after witnessing a most extraordinary country tradition upon my visit to South Peltagow this spring season. The information here is garnered from my own first hand account, and as told to me by the local folk.

South Peltagow and the surrounding villages are rather unremarkable otherwise, pockmarked with squat country homes and rambling fields with nary much more than a baker, a crumbling church, and a pub with an offensive watery ale surrounding the town square. Little can be said about the place, other than at the spring equinox.

The gentleman’s garden parties, as they are rather coyly known, are held when the blooms are at their greenest, bursting to blossom, pollen thick upon the air. The local menfolk gather at daybreak in meadows, pastures and at river banks, nearly giddy with excitement of the day. Each has his own recommended locale, and there is quite a bit of territorial jockeying in the days prior to the garden party.

For emerging from the greenery, their minds and muscles still-dozed with the sleep of deep winter, spring nymphs in all varieties of pastel-colours – blushing pinks, lilac and lavenders, robin egg blue – could be found, blinking their wide, pupil-less eyes. The sap in their veins was slowed, their reactions dulled. They stretched slender limbs and turned their round faces toward the sun.

[MF] Bred on the Farm pt. 3 [hucow] [lactation] [exhibition]

>You don’t have to read the previous entries to understand this one, but they feature a recurring character and setting. All characters are 18+.

The 32nd Bi-Annual Human-Cow & Agriculture Fair took place on an autumn weekend, when the maple leaves were changing colour yet the sun was still bright and warm.

Penny blinked at the hustle and bustle of the various stalls, vendors, and tents assembled on the stretch fairgrounds. After the past year spent at the quiet refuge of Forrest Nursery and Farms, the noise and sheer number of strangers was unsettling to her, and she rested a hand protectively against the curve of her pregnant stomach. If not for the calming presence of Buck at her side, she might have slunk back into the truck.

It was a few months ago that the young farmer had asked, after one of their daily feeding sessions as she wiped the remnants of his cum off her lips, if she would be interested in entering the competition at the fair. If she won, half of the prize money would be added to her payment at her contract’s end. The preparation had been rigorous, but Buck’s father had won in numerous years past and there was a reputation to uphold.

[MF] Bred on the Farm pt. 3 [hucow] [lactation] [preg] [exhibition]

>[Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/flowerchildwithchild/comments/fi6sr0/sexy_story_bred_on_the_farm_hucow_breeding/) and [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/flowerchildwithchild/comments/g7ykm5/sexy_story_bred_on_the_farm_pt_2_hucow_breeding/) of this series. You don’t have to read the previous entries to understand this one, but they feature recurring characters. All characters are 18+.

The 32nd Bi-Annual Human-Cow & Agriculture Fair took place on an autumn weekend, when the maple leaves were changing colour yet the sun was still bright and warm.

Penny blinked at the hustle and bustle of the various stalls, vendors, and tents assembled on the stretch fairgrounds. After the past year spent at the quiet refuge of Forrest Nursery and Farms, the noise and sheer number of strangers was unsettling to her, and she rested a hand protectively against the curve of her pregnant stomach. If not for the calming presence of Buck at her side, she might have slunk back into the truck.

It was a few months ago that the young farmer had asked, after one of their daily feeding sessions as she wiped the remnants of his cum off her lips, if she would be interested in entering the competition at the fair. If she won, half of the prize money would be added to her payment at her contract’s end. The preparation had been rigorous, but Buck’s father had won in numerous years past and there was a reputation to uphold.

The God’s Favour [fM] [fantasy] [size difference]

>*All characters 18+.*

The boy had wanted to stay safely in the car, in the parking lot, where other couples were locked in the sweatiest of youthful embraces.

“What, are you scared?” Abigail teased, and that was all it had taken for him to follow her out into the night. They had stumbled through the woods, her steps more assured than his, until the moonlit glen opened up before them. A large rock, draped in moss and fallen leaves, occupied much of the clearing, and the branches rose overhead like the ceiling of a cathedral.

“Here?” The boy squeaked. Everyone had heard the same warnings from their grandmothers about the glen.

But Abigail was already tugging at his belt, palms pressing against the shape of his bulge, and his protests fell away as her mouth closed around his half-hardened cock. The boy groaned, leaning against the large rock, hands clenching against the moss as Abigail worked diligently.

It did not take long.

The boy shuddered and came, crying out into the darkness, and the salty taste of his seed flooded Abigail’s mouth.

She stood – and spat her reward over the mossy stone.

Earthly Delights [Mf] [fantasy] [angel/demon] [non-con] [impreg]

I tried to flee, at first.

The demon’s clawed hand closed around my ankle as my wings furiously beat the air. I cried out, straining for the sky, but he yanked me downwards. I could feel the heat of his touch against my calf, then thigh, then waist, until he held me to his bare lap. I squirmed with all my strength, but his arms held me fast.

He murmured such forbidden words into my ear, naming desires that I had never known existed. His fingers brushed over the joints of my gossamer wings, and I shuddered at the delicate touch.

“Little seraph.” He said, voice like the rumble of a boulder down a mountain. “You strayed too far from the clouds.”

“*Please*, let me go,” I whimpered, and his answer was lips tracing the shape of my jaw, the hollow of my throat.

As I squirmed, my stomach brushed against something warm, hot with blood. I glanced downward and gasped – the purple-tinged head of his cock glimmered in the faint light, it’s length and girth as considerable as the rest of the demon’s frame. It bulged slightly in the middle as it stiffened to it’s true size.

Rare and Special Editions [MF] [gloryhole] [oral]

The bell above the door chimed cheerily as you stepped into the bookstore. It’s a cozy place, with faded carpeting, books stacked beside overflowing shelves, handmade signs noting genres. You glimpse an orange tail of a cat disappear behind the Mystery shelf. Every inch of the small store seems infused with care and love.

You’ve always liked bookstores, and this is a particularly nice one.

“Can I help you?”

You startle, glancing to your right and seeing a young woman perched on a stool, tucked behind an outdated cash register and precarious stacks of used books. There’s an obscenely large book open on her knees, more a door stopper than a novel. She has a smattering of freckles splashed across her nose, and offers you a polite smile.

“The, uh, rare and special editions section?” You asked, like you had been told.

The clerk blinked, bright eyes looked you up and down, and her smile widened.

“In the back, to your left,” she said, and nodded through the narrow aisles. “First door past the bathroom.”

The Woodsman [M/f] [fantasy] [nymph] [con]

At midsummer, the nymphs were in heat.

The woodsman knew this from the sweet smell of lilacs that seemed ever present in the forest, but even more so from the incessant giggling as the nymphs followed him on his chores. They left gifts at his cabin, fistfuls of berries and mushrooms, eager for his attention and allowing him glimpses of their ever-bare and youthful bodies. When he ignored them, they plucked at his hair with brambles and scattered his laundry in the mud.

When frustrated with their teasing, he obliged, seizing their thin hips in his hands. They made a show of whimpering and squirming, but he spoke enough of their language to know that they cried out for their god in ecstasy as his cock plunged in and out of their bodies. When he was done and panting, they scurried into the brush without glancing backwards, inevitably returning the following day.

It was a hot day when the woodsman was bathing in the stream. He climbed from the water, the water drying rapidly on his skin. When he reached for his clothes, they were gone.

He glanced into the trees, and rolled his eyes.