Hi! I was wondering if you could do a story about a poor human woman getting forced into her role on a monster’s human farm with the help of the farmhands of course.
The Breaking-In (fem!human!reader x multiple!monsters)
Warnings: NSFT, MDNI, non-con, group-gangbang, throat-fucking, PIV, anal stretching and gaping, orgasms, exploitation, humiliation, fluids, size difference, triple+multiple penetrations, belly bulge, gape.
Detailed pairing: fem!human!reader x multiple!monsters (Minotaur, Werewolf, Horse Hybrid, Centaur, Lizardfolk, Gargoyle) 2nd!POV
Summary: Purchased at auction, you learn exactly what your body was bought for. The farmhands take their time training you...
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The wooden barn doors groan shut behind you, and the lock bolts slam home with a sound that punches through your ribs.
Your wrists are still raw from the ropes they cut off in the cart. You'd screamed yourself hoarse during the ride up the mountain, but the driver—some scaled thing with too many knuckles—had simply reached back and pressed one cold finger to your lips.
Now you're standing in sawdust and straw, naked before you even knew they'd stripped you. Your dress is gone. Your underwea are torn in some corner. All that remains is your skin, prickling in the cold air, and the three shapes that circle you like wolves deciding where to bite first.
"This one's got fight," rumbles the first voice.
The minotaur steps into the lantern light.
His horns curve back from a broad, flat face, nostrils flaring as he breathes you in. Black fur covers his arms, his massive shoulders, the thick column of his neck. He's wearing nothing. His cock hangs half-hidden in a sheath of furred skin, but you see the weight of it.
"Fight's good," says another voice.
The werewolf appears.
His fur is silver-grey, matted across his chest and down his spine. He's leaner than the minotaur but no less dangerous. His snout twitches, nose working, and his eyes are the color of amber. He doesn't bother hiding what's between his legs. The red tip of his cock has already slipped free of its sheath, glistening.
"Mouthy, though," observes the third. "Heard her all the way up the switchbacks. Screaming."
The horse hybrid steps closer.
He has no fur. Just smooth, dark hide stretched over a frame that seems built for endurance. Broad hands. Wide shoulders. And when he turns fully toward you, you see the length of him—not fully erect yet, but the half-hard shaft hangs near his knee. Veins trace blue rivers beneath the skin.
You back up. Your spine hits cold wood. A stall divider.
"No—" The word tears out of you before you can stop it. "Please, I don't—I can't—"
"Shhhh."
The werewolf is in front of you before your next breath. His hand cups your jaw, claws retracted, but the pads of his fingers press hard enough to hurt. "You can. That's the beautiful part, little meat. Your body knows exactly what to do. It's just your mouth that hasn't learned yet."
You try to turn your head. He holds you still.
"Let me hear her," the minotaur says, stepping closer. His shadow swallows you. "Want to know what kind of sounds she makes."
"I told you. Mouthy."
The werewolf's thumb presses against your lower lip. You clamp your mouth shut, jaw grinding. He chuckles and then his fingers find the corners of your mouth and pull.
"Open."
You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.
"Variks Farm doesn't buy closed mouths," the horse hybrid says from somewhere behind you. You feel his heat at your back. His hand lands on your hip, palm calloused, fingers spreading wide to measure the span of your waist. "Variks buys service holes. So you'll open, or we'll open you, and one of those takes a lot longer."
The werewolf's other hand comes up. Two fingers push past your lips before you can bite down. They scrape your tongue. They press toward the back of your throat.
"Ghkk—"
"That's it. That's the sound."
He fucks your mouth with his fingers, pushing in until your eyes water, pulling out to let you gasp, then shoving deeper. Your hands come up to claw at his wrist, but the minotaur catches both your wrists in one massive fist and pins them above your head.
"Let her fight," the minotaur says. "Adds flavor."
The horse hybrid's hands are on your breasts now. No warning. Just palms cupping the weight of you, thumbs finding your nipples already tightened to hard peaks from fear and cold. He circles them, presses down, pinches.
You scream into the werewolf's fingers.
"Good," the horse hybrid breathes against your ear. "Good tits. Look at these, Dorn."
The minotaur—Dorn—leans down. His free hand comes up, and he doesn't just look. He touches. He palms your breast, lifts it, squeezes until you feel the pressure deep in the tissue. His thumb rasps over your areola, then he bends his head and licks.
The wet heat of his tongue shocks a moan out of you. Your hips jerk. The horse hybrid's cock—when did it get hard?—presses against the small of your back, hot, heavy and so long you can feel it riding up between your shoulder blades.
"Pretty nipples," Dorn observes, pulling back. He licks his lips. "Small areolas. Sensitive, look—" He flicks one with his thumb and your whole body twitches. "She's going to be a faucet when we really get going."
"Check the rest of her."
The werewolf's fingers withdraw from your mouth with a wet schlick. You cough, drool stringing from your lower lip to his knuckles, and he wipes it on your cheek. "Turn her around. Want to see the back."
The hands on you rearrange you like livestock.
The horse hybrid grips your hips and spins you, forcing you on your knees. And then the werewolf is behind you, one hand spreading your ass cheeks apart, the other sliding between your thighs from the front.
"No—don't—"
"Shut her up," Dorn says mildly.
The horse hybrid steps in front of you. His cock bobs at eye level—thick, dark, the head already weeping clear fluid. He grips your hair at the crown and tilts your face up. "Open that pretty throat."
You keep your jaw locked. He sighs.
Then he pinches your nose.
You hold out for seven seconds. Maybe eight. Then your lungs force your mouth open and he shoves inside, deep, his cock sliding over your tongue and hitting the back of your throat before you can even process the taste of salt and musk.
"HURK—"
"There she is."
He doesn't move at first. Just lets you choke. Your throat convulses around his shaft, trying to push him out, but that only makes him groan and press deeper. Spit floods your mouth, spills down your chin, drips onto your chest.
"Look at that," the werewolf says behind you. His fingers are at your pussy—you feel them parting your folds, exposing you. "She's already wet. Look. Look."
He spreads you open. You hear the wet sound of it, the schlick of your own arousal betraying you. Dorn leans around to see, and his grunt of approval vibrates through the stall.
"Tight little cunt," the werewolf continues. His fingertip circles your entrance, teasing the wetness gathering there. "But she'll stretch. They always do. And look at this—"
He pulls his hand back. You feel the blunt press of his thumb at your asshole instead.
"MMMMPH—"
"No, no, keep choking," the horse hybrid says pleasantly. He pulls his cock back until just the head rests on your tongue, then shoves forward again.
"Ghhhk!"
"That's perfect. Do that again."
His fingers tighten in your hair. He sets a rhythm; long, lazy thrusts that bury him in your throat each time, your lips stretched around the base of his shaft, your nose pressed to his lower belly. Every push makes you gag. Every gag makes your throat squeeze him tighter. He groans above you, head thrown back, hips rolling.
"She's drooling down her tits," Dorn observes. You feel his hand on your breast again, smearing your spit across your nipple. "And her ass—"
The werewolf's thumb presses harder. Not inside yet. Just rubbing, circling, feeling the tight ring of muscle clench and release and clench again.
"Never been touched here," the werewolf says. You can hear the grin in his voice. "Virgin hole. Dorn, you want first?"
"Tempting. But let's see how many fingers she takes before she comes."
"Before?"
"You think she's not going to come?"
They both laugh. The horse hybrid pulls out of your throat just long enough for you to gasp, "Please, please, I don't want this"—and then he's back, stuffing your mouth full, cutting off your protests with the fat head of his cock.
The werewolf's finger pushes into your pussy.
Just one. Just the first knuckle. But your body reacts like you've been electrocuted; back arching, hips grinding back onto his hand, a moan vibrating around the cock in your throat. He sinks deeper. One finger. Two. Curling them, stroking the spongy spot inside you that makes your knees buckle.
"There it is," he murmurs. "There's her button. Feel that? She's squeezing me like a fist."
"Work her open," Dorn says. "Both ends."
The werewolf's thumb presses against your asshole. And pushes.
The stretch burns. You scream around the horse hybrid's cock, but the sound comes out muffled, choked. The werewolf works his thumb in slow circles, forcing the tight ring to give way, while his other fingers keep pumping your pussy. Two in there now. Maybe three. You've lost count.
And then... betrayal.
Your hips start moving on their own. Rocking back into the werewolf's hand. Grinding down onto his fingers. Your pussy flutters, and that pressure building in your belly isn't pain anymore—
"Ngh... no—"
"Yes," Dorn says. He's moved closer, you feel his furred chest against your side, his hand sliding down your belly to where the werewolf's fingers disappear inside you. His thumb finds your clit. Circles it. "Yes, little bitch. That's the first one of many."
You come screaming.
It rips through you without permission. Your pussy spasms around the werewolf's fingers, clenching so hard he grunts with surprise. Your asshole tightens around his thumb. Your whole body shakes, convulses, and through it all the horse hybrid keeps fucking your throat, forcing you to swallow around his cock, choking on every thrust.
The orgasm goes on too long. Weeps out of you in shuddering waves. When it finally stops, you're limp with rapture.
"Beautiful," Dorn says. He pulls his hand back and sucks his thumb clean. "Now we fuck her."
They position you like a doll.
The werewolf lies on his back in the straw, cock jutting up against his belly—red, ridged, his knot already beginning to swell. He grips your hips and pulls you down onto him, your pussy stretched wide around his shaft.
"Aaaahhnn—"
"Shh. Bottom out. Take it all."
You sink onto him inch by inch. He's not as long as the horse hybrid, but he's thick, and the ridges drag against every nerve inside you. When your ass meets his hips, you feel him pressed against your cervix, and your eyes roll back.
"Good girl," the werewolf breathes. "Now don't move."
You couldn't move if you tried. Your legs are shaking too hard.
But Dorn kneels behind you. You feel his hands on your hips, spreading you wider, and then something cool and wet drips down the crack of your ass: spit, he's spitting on you, working the saliva into your hole with his thumb.
"Ready, sweet little bitch?"
"No—not there—I can't—"
His cock presses against your asshole.
You've never had anything inside there. Never even touched yourself that way. But Dorn doesn't care about your experience. He pushes, and the head of his huge cock stretches the tight ring until you feel like you're splitting in half.
"BREATHE," he commands.
You breathe. And he slides deeper.
The pain whites out for a moment. Then something shifts. Muscles giving up, giving in, and he's inside, his cock filling your ass completely, pressed against the thin wall that separates him from the werewolf's shaft in your pussy.
You can feel both of them. Every ridge. Every vein. The werewolf's cock swelling inside you,the curve of Dorn's shaft pressing forward.
"Look," the horse hybrid says.
He's kneeling in front of you now, cock in hand, stroking slowly. He reaches out and presses his palm flat against your stomach. You glance down.
There's a visible bump. Two of them, pressing against the wall of your belly from the inside.
"There's your purpose," he says. "Just a set of holes for us to use. Now open up."
You don't have the strength to fight. Your jaw drops open and he feeds his cock into your mouth, down your throat, past where you thought your throat ended. The bulge in your neck matches the one in your belly.
And then they start moving.
The werewolf thrusts up into your pussy. Dorn thrusts forward into your ass. The horse hybrid thrusts deep into your throat. Three different rhythms, three different angles, and you're just the meat between them. Bouncing, choking, drooling, moaning despite yourself.
"Ghhhk—glrk—shhlck—"
The sounds are filthy.
Your pussy squelches around the werewolf's cock every time he pulls back. Your ass stretches wide as more spit is rubbed all over your rim. The horse hybrid's balls slap against your chin when he fucks your throat, and his pre-cum mixes with your spit and drips down your chest.
"She's taking it," Dorn growls. His claws dig into your hips hard enough to leave marks. "Taking all of us. Look at her throat—look—"
The horse hybrid pulls out just enough for you to see his cock sliding in and out of your stretched lips. Your throat bulges with each thrust. Your eyes are streaming. Your nose runs.
"Pretty little bitch," the horse hybrid sighs. He shoves back in and you gag, throat convulsing, and he groans.
You climax again.
This one doesn't ask permission. Your pussy squeezes the werewolf's length, your ass clamping down on Dorn's shaft, your throat spasming around the horse hybrid's length. You scream but no sound comes out. Just a wet ghkk around the cock in your mouth.
"That's it," Dorn snarls. "That's it, take it, take it—"
They fuck you through the orgasm. Past it. Into another one that crests before the first one finishes.
The werewolf comes first. You feel his knot lock inside you, swelling until you can't move, and then hot floods of cum pump you full. His hips jerk. His head tips back, and he howls.
The sound triggers Dorn. He slams into your ass one last time, balls deep, and you feel his cock pulse, once, twice, three times, pumping his load into your bowels. His hands crush your hips. His roar drowns out everything else.
The horse hybrid pulls out of your throat just long enough to stroke himself over your face. "Open your eyes."
You do. The first rope of cum hits your left eye. The second paints your lips. The third lands on your chest, and by the time he's done you're wearing him like a mask.
They pull out slowly. You feel every inch, the slide, the emptiness, the rush of fluids that follow. Cum drips from your pussy, your ass, your mouth. It pools in your navel. It runs down your thighs.
You collapse face-first into the straw, shuddering.
"It's over," you whisper. "Please. It's over."
Dorn laughs.
"Poor little one," he says, petting your hair. "The night shift hasn't even clocked in."
The barn doors open again.
More shapes. More shadows.
A centaur, his human chest bare, his horse body gleaming. His cock hangs from his equine sheath, longer than the horse hybrid's.
Behind him, a lizardfolk with rusty scales, his tongue flickering out to taste the air. His cock is different; ridged, barbed, the color of blood.
A gargoyle shambles in last. Stone and power. His cock is carved from the same grey rock, slick with some kind of oil that drips onto the floor.
"First shift did good work," the centaur says, circling you. His hooves click on the wood. "She's loose. Ready."
"No," you try. Your voice comes out broken. "No more—"
The lizardfolk kneels beside your head. His forked tongue licks the cum off your cheek. "More," he says simply. "Always more. You don't stop until morning, little one. That's the point."
The gargoyle crouches between your legs. Stone fingers part your pussy—still dripping, still twitching—and he pushes one huge finger inside. The stone is rough, textured, and you feel every groove scraping your walls.
"Wider," the gargoyle says. "She needs to be wider."
The centaur lowers himself and positions himself at your mouth. His cock is too long, too thick, but you don't have the strength to fight. He pushes past your lips and down your throat without resistance this time. Your throat has learned. It opens for him like a sheath.
The lizardfolk takes your pussy. His barbed ridges catch on every nerve as he slides inside, and you scream around the centaur's cock—but the scream turns into a moan when the barbs drag against that spot inside you. He fucks you slow. Each stroke scrapes you raw and sends lightning up your spine.
The gargoyle takes your ass. Stone stretches you wider than Dorn did, wider than you thought possible, and the oil lubricates but doesn't cushion. You feel every inch of carved rock pressing into your bowels.
Three of them. Three new monsters. Three new rhythms.
You stop fighting after the first hour.
By the second hour, you're on your side, riding the centaur's cock while the lizardfolk fucks your ass from behind and the gargoyle kneels in front of you, your lips stretched around his stone shaft. Your jaw aches. Your throat is raw. But your pussy keeps clenching, and your ass keeps gripping, and you keep coming... over and over, orgasms stacked on orgasms until you can't tell where one ends and another begins.
The centaur paints your pussy with his release. The lizardfolk follows, filling your ass until it overflows. The gargoyle finishes last, pulls out, strokes his stone cock over your face, and unloads grey-white cum across your tongue and cheeks and hair.
You lie in the mess. Unable to move. Unable to close your legs. Your pussy gapes open, leaking. Your ass is similar; a dark, stretched hole that winks. Cum drips from your lips, your chin, your eyelashes.
The lizard cups your face and tilts it toward him. "Look at you," he says softly. "Broken in. Ready."
He kisses your forehead and stands. "The day shift will be here soon. Rest while you can, little one."
The barn doors close.
The lanterns flicker.
And somewhere outside, you hear more hooves approaching.
They are not done.
















