"Please," I whimpered. "Please, PLEASE break!"

The harness that held me in position creaked and groaned under my considerable weight, my two-thousand plus pound obese form. But it held. I begged. I pleaded. But still it wouldn't give. But I so needed it to. Daddy had shown me, he'd let me see; a slot in the decorative crate around me, its light projected in a small, bleak rectangle across my bulbous, fat face. My lard-sunken face buried beneath watermelon-sized cheeks and a set of flabby, rolling chins. I'd watched what Hercules had done to the previous contestant, that poor girl.

When I'd asked to quit the show, sobbing in dreading horror, my daddy had simply said that, well, if the harness happened to break between now and my celebration ceremony, then the ceremony simply wouldn't be able to continue. So I prayed for salvation. Because the poor, nice girl had come in second place. And Hercules was the second most prolific breeding stud the ranch kept. 

I still wore my identification badge - nobody had bothered to remove it, and it remained pinned to my shirt above my swollen, throw-pillow boy boobs. My name wasn't on it, just my ID number - contestant 426/500. It was a big ranch. Breed - golden retriever. Weight - 2157lbs. Qualification - breeding stock. I hadn't known what that had meant, but I sure did now.

I knew what it meant and I dreaded it, Because I'd come in first place, and I'd been paired with Goliath. Daddy told me as he tugged my tent-sized briefs down my enormous, globular buttcheeks that old Backbreaker Goliath was hung like a Roman pillar. Then he'd sent the forklift hauling my crate out into the amphitheater. So I whimpered to whatever god would listen as my body rocked and swayed in the harness, as I sweated profusely - it was hot in the crate, and I was enormously obese.

My belly, an overinflated waterbed of lard, glistened with sweat as it sagged beneath my stretched-taut t-shirt. I straddled that wobbling sack of fat, my arms and legs uselessly encircled by orbs of flesh. I weighed more than a ton. I know that because Daddy has reminded me every day since I'd reached that goal. He likes to remind me how fat I am. He likes Me to tell HIM how fat I am, usually while he wrestles with my huge belly or gigantic backside.

Here and now, the walls fall away from my crate. My time has come. My breeding ceremony has begun.

"Please break!" I can hear Him behind me. His short, huffed, snorting breath feels hot at the back of my neck. "Please! PLEASE!" His hooves dig into the fat folds over my shoulders; my entire fat body shudders and wobbles at his shuffling-hooved assault. His rear horseshoes scrape and slide over the deck boards behind me as his huge, steaming member drags and slides across the mountainous and quivering folds of my back. "PLEASE! PLEEEEASE BREAK! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE PLEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAASE!" 

And Daddy shouts from his front-row seat; he's telling me not to worry. Goliath gives a vigorous and virulent buck, and heaves his spearing horsecock between my great asscheeks. What Daddy's telling me as that battering ram crashes against me, smashes me wide open and reams me like a machine, what he's saying is that I shouldn't worry, because Goliath's 'bout to break me like the bitch I am. So I'm squealing like a stuck pig, a most apt comparison because I am in fact a gargantuounly fucking fat pig and I am also, in fact, squealing.

I'm being violently bred by a fucking monster of a stud, and I'm sob-shrieking on both strokes of the Backbreaker's entire three meters; and he's pumping it into me from tip to base on every. Single. Stroke. A fuck-starved locomotive literally slamming into me twice a second. I'd seen what had happened to the girl in second place, and I still wished to god that I'd gotten Hercules instead. Even though I remember, as Goliath is crashing like a drillpress on jackhammer mode against my bouncing rump, that I had watched the girl in second's ceremony and it had lasted for over three hours.

Goliath bred me relentlessly for twelve; I spent twelve hours of my life being battered and beaten by a fuck-crazed, pent-up stallion with a cock as big around as a telephone pole and longer than Daddy was tall by half. I squealed and shrieked and howled for the first hour before my tortured voice finally gave. I spent the rest of my ceremony effectively silenced aside from my heaving breaths and the sound of Goliath's hips battering my supple, giving, double-beachball ass, which was so huge the tip of my doggy tail barely peeked out the top of my breedingstock buttocks.

At the end of the ceremony I was left panting for breath, sweat pouring over the great contours of my fat face. Goliath huffed and puffed, whinnied one last time, and keeled over beside me; he'd fucked me and bred me and ridden me so hard and for so long that his endurance had run down. They dragged the poor, spent stud out of the arena to some place of rest and recovery - he was their prized breeding stallion after all. And for me they all cheered, my audeince, who had remained rapt for every second of my ceremony. Even my Daddy, who had been wrong about me breaking, who had taken the time to get himself off every hour on the hour while he watched me getting bred.

I couldn't help but feel a mounting wave of pride - Golliath had claimed me most brutally and for so long, filled me several dozen times with his virulent stud-seed. But in the end I had bested the Backbreaker. I could hear the harness creaking still - even after Goliath's assault, it held. But it was over. Thank the gods, it was finally over.

Except then I heard footsteps - great, shuddering, ground-shaking footsteps. The force of those footfalls sent my morbidly obese body wobbling as It neared. It trumpeted right behind me, and then its trunk slithered across the fat rolls that enveloped my lard-sunken head. Its weight was unbearable as it mounted me, and I couldn't even scream any longer. My throat was raw and spent, incapable of articulating even the most basic, horrified fear-noise. So as this immense beast claimed my spent rump in a single stroke and plowed me like a fertile field, the only sound that escaped my lips was a naked, trumpeting honk. Dull. Pitiful. Breath whistled into my lungs and my spent, paralyzed throat simply couldn't form any other sound.

I understood finally - the horrible contest, the insane hose-fed meals, the grotesque weight piled upon my growing body. They had needed a compatible brood bitch to keep this hypercocked animal calm and his wrecking-ball nuts drained, and Daddy had bred and fed and prepared me for this and only this purpose. Goliath had been a warmup, a preemptive ceremony to prepare me for my REAL breeding stud. And now my African bull elephant mate took what was rightfully His. The elephant's absurdly gargantuan cockpillar speared into my depths, displacing my wobbling fat with its elephantine girth, in and out, relentless and dominating. It flattened my prostate, and my meager little thing sputtered somewhere below, buried in flab and fat, my own pitiful release. My last coherent thought as I immediately and finally broke was that I AM a willing little breeding bitch, and this is exactly where I belong.