Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Jack was making Iris a nice meal for after her tennis practice. It was slightly warm out, so he had thought something cool would be nice. A light, fruity salad would help her recover and hydrate.
Jack thought as he sliced into the crisp, pale flesh of the fruit. The knife glided through the delicate skin with a soft *shnick*, releasing a sweet, almost floral scent that filled the kitchen. The fruit was perfect—firm but yielding, the flesh a pale blush, glistening with a thin sheen of juice. He could already taste it, the way it would burst on his tongue, cool and refreshing.
He set the knife down and reached for the next piece, his thick, hairy fingers wrapping around the curve of the fruit. He gave it a gentle squeeze, feeling the slight give of the flesh beneath the skin, imagining how it would feel to have something so soft and yielding in his hands.
He hoped that Iris would understand that the salad was to keep her hydrated. He didn't want her thinking he thought she was getting fat. She most assuredly wasn't. She wasn't like he was, soft and plump. He was heavy with pork and lard, muscle and fat. 550 pounds, and strong. Nothing atypical of re-domesticated males. Ferals were large and plump, but once they came back to civilization, they swelled up like balloons. He sighed as he ran his hands over his massive gut. He was fat, yes, but round, and smooth. His hair was silky and soft. His tusks were large, but dull. He couldn't be sure, but he bet his skin wasn't as thick, and his color wasn't as dull and earthen as a typical feral. He was domesticated, and pretty well broken in.
He was a good boy. He was Iris's Good boy.
The manor’s grand foyer was a cavern of polished marble and gilded mirrors, the air thick with the scent of lavender and something richer—something musky and warm. Wren stepped inside, her boots tracking mud across the pristine tiles, and didn’t give a single fuck. Iris would have a fit, but Iris could afford to have a fit. Wren couldn’t afford to care.
Behind her, the extraction cart groaned under its cargo. Five bloated, wheezing spheres of male flesh, their massive bellies straining against the steel cables that bound them. Jack turned and narrowed his vision at the group.
He was a good boy, and he knew he was supposed to be nice to the other girls, but they made it so hard.
"Yeah, sure, just come on in with that muddy attire." Jack mumbled, looking over the mess they made, knowing he'd have to clean it up later.
The girls pushed their bloated, groaning quarries in. Wren pushed past him, slapping his overfed rear on the way in. Wren was sexually fustrated, and she knew she could take a bot of it out on Jack, because he wouldn't do anything about it. And Iris found it funny.
She was always amused by the way Wren and the other girls treated Jack. He was hers, after all. She knew she had a good boy, and she knew he was happy to be hers. She didn’t mind the way they treated him. In fact, she found it kind of hot.
So long as they didn't go to far with him, rather, stay away from his cock, and don't leave any marks.
She came into the kitchen, her tennis outfit clinging to her curves, her hair damp with sweat. She was beautiful, and Jack loved her. He looked up at her, and she smiled at him.
“Hey, baby,” she said, her voice soft and sweet. “You made me a salad?”
Jack nodded, his big, hairy hands still on the counter. "I felt it would be a nice way of keeping you cool and hydrating you. Plenty of fruit and sunflower seeds." His voice was low and rumbling, his belly shaking as he spoke. "I know you like the crunch."
Iris walked over to him, her hips swaying, her white tennis skirt riding up just a little as she moved. She reached out and ran her fingers through the thick hair on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath it. "You’re such a good boy, Jack," she murmured. "Always taking care of me."
Jack let out a contented sigh as she rubbed his belly, her fingers tracing the soft, rounded curve of it. He loved it when she touched him there. It made him feel wanted, needed, loved. He leaned into her touch, his massive frame swaying slightly. She smiled.
"I have some business to attend to, Jack. We'll have a date night tonight, your choice for dinner. I'll let you know when I'm ready." Iris said, cuddling with her massive lover. Jack nodded and left to get supplies for cleaning the entry way.
The girls had already started to drag the ferals into the manor's holding cells, their massive, bloated bodies rolling and sliding across the marble floors, leaving trails of mud and river water behind them. Wren watched them go, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She was always so controlled, so in command. But Skye noticed the way her eyes flicked to the girls' asses as they bent over to adjust the restraints, the way her fingers twitched at her sides.
"Fuck," Skye muttered under her breath, her own body reacting to the sight. She was always so fucking horny after a hunt.
The adrenaline, the filth, the raw, animalistic nature of it all—it got under her skin, made her blood hot, her cunt slick. Wren could feel it now, the throb between her legs, the dampness soaking into her pants. She needed release. She needed to fuck something, or someone, and she needed it *now*.
Skye was already moving before she could stop herself. She grabbed Wren’s wrist, her fingers digging in, her breath hot against Wren’s ear. “Come on,” she hissed. “We’ve got time before Iris starts the breaking. You know you want to.”
"No, you don't." Iris said, her tennis whites showing off her generous form. Iris had grown very wealthy off of domestication of feral males. While males weren't overly dangerous on their own, without proper guidance, they were destructive and filthy. Habits that needed to be broken in them. Powerful women paid top dollar for broken males. Males that would cook, clean and take care of the kids, after providing them of course.
Males that would be loyal, obedient, and strong. And FAT.
Males that would be *broken in*. Iris had made a fortune off of it, and she had made it look easy. But the process was anything but. And nothing could be done with males until they deflated. But the inflation was necessary, because they wouldn't be a threat to themselves or huntresses when they were helpless spheres. They had tried other methods, but they often left marks or took out eyes or limbs or huntresses.
The inflation was the most efficient, and the safest way of subduing feral males. The only way to get them to the manor without risking the lives of the huntresses. or the males themselves.
Wren's body was tense with the need to be fucked. She had been so close to the feral males, and now she was so close to Skye. She could feel the heat radiating off of her, and she could smell the musky scent of her arousal. She could see the way her nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt, and she could see the way her hips swayed as she walked.
Iris frowned at the sight.
"Wren, you know better than to attempt to fuck a non broken male." Iris said, her voice stern and commanding. "You know the rules. You know the rules for a reason. You do not want to end up like the other girls who got too close to the males before they were broken in. You don't want to end up like *her*." Iris said, her voice trailing off, her eyes darkening with a memory that she didn't want to share.
Wren knew what Iris was talking about. She had heard the stories, the warnings. The girls who got too close, who thought they could handle it, who thought they could play with the ferals before they were broken. Part of the breaking process involved getting the males to understand their size and strength, and what they could do to a woman.
Males that used too much of their size and strength often turned women into puddles of blood and bone. Death always followed.
The girls knew it. They lived with it, breathed it, carried it in the hollows of their bones like a second heartbeat. But this time, it wasn’t just the threat of ferals or rival crews or the slow rot of starvation that hung in the air. This time, it was the scent of *sex*—thick, cloying, the musk of need and the sharp tang of sweat-soaked desire.
"Alright, 5 males at 750 each. I just need to inspect quick. Not that I don't trust you, it's just that a male rendered castrati would be worth less to buyers. Many of the powerful's biological clocks are ticking away." Iris said without enthusiasm. She had said this multiple times.
It was the same thing she said every time they brought in a new batch of ferals. If they had been castrated, it would be a problem. Iris would have to pay for the damage, and she wouldn’t be happy about it.
Oh, how embarrassed when the Queen's cousin had bought a male off of her only to find his nuts had been ripped off, probably by another male, thus denying the queen's cousin the one thing she had bought a male for.
The queen's cousin was not happy, and Iris had to pay her back. She didn't like to do that. Iris also worried for that poor male. The Queen's Cousin poured all her aggression into that male. She stuffed his belly so full of food he couldn't move. He bloated up like a blimp.
He was immobilized by his own fat the last time Iris saw him. She hasn't seen or heard about him in 7 months, and the Queen's Cousin has been asking about another one, so the odds that he's still alive are low.
Iris thought as she watched the girls drag the bloated males into the holding cells.
Iris walked over to the first male, the one that had been caught in the act. She knelt down, her skirt riding up her thighs, and looked at the massive, bloated sphere before her. The male's eyes were wide with fear, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She could see the outline of his cock, still half-hard, pressing against the taut skin of his belly. She reached out and ran her fingers over the smooth, stretched flesh, feeling the heat radiating from it. She could feel the male's heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her touch. Wren exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She knew Iris was right. She knew the rules. She knew the risks. But fuck, she was *aching*. The hunt had left her raw, her nerves frayed, her body humming with a need that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the slick, desperate heat between her thighs.
"Oh, relax you coward, You're not going to be harmed, fat boy." Iris said, her voice dripping with condescension as she slapped the male's massive belly. The male's eyes widened in shock, his breath hitching as he struggled to process the sudden pain. Iris smirked, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of his belly, her nails leaving deep red marks on the pale, stretched skin. She could feel the male's heart pounding beneath her touch, his fear palpable. She leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. "You're going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. The male's eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling as he struggled to hold back a whimper. She rolled him back slightly, as he flapped his hands and feet weakly. She looked over his goods. Sure enough, his balls were there, and presumably functional.
Iris had learned her lesson about checking after the Queen’s cousin incident. She ran her fingers over the swollen, hairy sac, feeling the heavy weight of them. The male let out a low, pained groan, his body shuddering beneath her touch. She squeezed gently, testing their fullness, and the male’s cock twitched against his belly, a thick, dark vein pulsing along its length.
“Good boy,” Iris murmured, her voice a low purr. “Nice and full. Just how we like them.” She gave his balls a final, firm squeeze before releasing them, watching as they settled back against his thighs, heavy and pendulous. He whimpered quietly.
"Got a name, tubby?" She asked, gently running her hand over his gut.
The male's eyes rolled helplessly in their sockets, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. His massive belly quivered under her touch, the taut skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Iris smirked, her fingers tracing the outline of his cock, still impressively thick despite the inflation. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the raw, animalistic need that pulsed through his veins.
"I asked you a question, fat boy." Iris said sternly.
She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. she repeated, her voice a low purr.
"D-Daryl." He said with a tremble.
His voice was thick, muffled by the strain of his inflated body. His cock, still half-hard, twitched against the taut skin of his belly, a dark vein pulsing along its length. Iris smirked, her fingers tracing the outline of his swollen shaft, feeling the heat radiating off of him.
"Daryl," she repeated, her voice a low purr. "Such a strong name for such a pathetic little thing." She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "But don't worry, Daryl. You won't be pathetic for long.
You'll be *useful*." Iris's voice was a velvet whip, cracking against the male's inflamed pride. She straightened up, her fingers trailing down the curve of his belly, feeling the way his skin trembled under her touch. The other girls had stopped working, their eyes locked on the scene. Skye's breath hitched, her fingers twitching at her sides. Elara looked away, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes kept darting back, drawn by the raw, animalistic power of the moment.
Wren stood like a statue, her jaw clenched, her body coiled with tension. She could feel the heat radiating off Skye, the way her body leaned in, hungry.
Iris moved to another inflated male, and repeated the ritual. Making sure they were of breeding quality, checking for damage, anything that could lower their price. After she was satisfied that they were worth the 750 she was to pay, she moved to Wren.
She placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Wren, I have decided that the price of 750 is correct for these you have brought to me. Come, lets go get you paid, while these males deflate so I can work with them." Iris said with a smile.
"You did good work today, girls. Come on, let's get you paid and then you can celebrate."
Wren's breath hitched as Iris' fingers trailed down her arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The scent of the inflated males, the musk of their fear and arousal, still clung to the air, thick and intoxicating. Her cunt ached, her clit throbbing with every beat of her pulse. She needed release, and she needed it *now*.
"How much for a broken male!?!" Wren blurted out, her need overtaking her discretion . Her eyes flicked to Skye, who was already licking her lips, her fingers twitching at her sides.
Iris raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across her lips. "Oh? That eager, are we?" she purred, her voice dripping with amusement.
"You know perfectly well the price, Wren. But if you're asking for a *personal* discount..." Iris trailed off, her gaze flicking between Wren and Skye, who was now openly groping herself through her pants. "I think we can arrange something."
Wren's breath hitched. The air between them was thick with tension, the scent of sweat and arousal mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood from the hunt. She could feel Skye's heat behind her, the other girl's fingers digging into her hips as she pressed close.
"Fuck," Wren muttered, her voice rough.
"You know I can't afford that."
Iris smirked, her fingers tracing the curve of Wren's jaw. "Oh, I think you can afford *something*." Her gaze flicked to Skye, who was practically vibrating with need. "And I think *she* can too."
Wren's breath hitched as Skye's hands slid up her sides, fingers digging into her ribs. "Come on, Wren," Skye whispered, her lips brushing against the shell of Wren's ear. "You know you want this. We both do."
Wren's body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened beneath her shirt, her thighs pressing together as a rush of wetness soaked her panties.
"Humph. Well, I have a male who's buyer is late on the payment. I'm sure he could handle a test run or two. Or should I make that three?" Iris purred, her voice dripping with wicked amusement as she glanced at Elara, who stood frozen in the doorway, her long braids trembling slightly as she clenched her fists.
The air in the manor’s grand foyer was thick with the scent of sweat, musk, and something darker—something primal. The inflated males groaned in their restraints, their massive, bloated bellies heaving with each labored breath. The sound of their muffled whimpers only made the tension between the women tighter, sharper.
Wren’s jaw clenched. She could feel the heat of Skye’s body pressed against her back, the other girl’s breath hot against her neck.