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Haitian Breeding
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This story begins when my wife, Barbara, was 26 and I, Dean, was 35. We Our love hadn't suffered, and it still hasn't, although some things weren't right.
Apparently, I was infertile, as our desire to have children remained unfulfilled, even though Barbara had never used contraception in our entire history.
An urologist had given me a diagnosis. Sperm were present, albeit in very small numbers. The total volume of my ejaculate was also well below the norm. About 5 ml would have been normal, but in my case, it was less than 1/20 of that.
Another reason was my rather short penis. When fully erect, it measured 3 ½ inches. That was just enough for my wife's anterior vaginal canal. The few drops landed in the anterior vaginal area. The diameter was even worse: only about 1 inch!
The result, according to the urologist, was that Barbara wasn't fully aroused. We had what was known as "dry" intercourse. Due to a lack of arousal, Barbara wasn't producing enough vaginal secretions, which contribute to sperm transport. My urologist considered pregnancy through me highly unlikely.
This was all the more regrettable because Barbara is a very sexually active and frivolous woman, I, too, was constantly in the mood. We indulged ourselves extensively in erotic content online. And in our imaginations, we had already done the most unbelievable debauchery.
Barbara came across a link that never left our imaginations. It was an offer from a small website in Haiti. An Haitian man runs a breeding farm there. At first, we had difficulty understanding what was going on there and tried to find out more about the topic. But everywhere there was just some fantasy stuff we already knew.
Barbara then wrote an email to the address. I was amazed at her courage. But we were both even more surprised when a reply came in English. I must say at this point that we had already read a lot about "infertility by someone else" and that it had long been a topic for us.
Barbara kept whispering in my ear how cute mixed-race children were and repeatedly showed me photos of black and dark-skinned babies. I couldn't get used to the idea at all. Just thinking about my relatives and my colleagues made me feel sick. But after all, we were on a kind of "playground." We played with thoughts and fantasies.
The email was sent to us by Mansa, a 40-year-old Haitian. He knew America well, as he had studied and worked here for several years. He had used his money to buy a fairly large piece of farmland in Haiti. He had already come up with the idea of a breeding farm. The idea was a "whim" of his. Besides, it would be financially viable.
We learned a few basic things, but many questions remained unanswered. Nevertheless, an email exchange developed. Barbara, in any case, was becoming increasingly excited, because the thought of what was probably going on there was getting her excited, and strangely enough, me too. Three weeks after our initial contact, we received an invitation. We would find out more on site. The flight would be at our expense, and we could stay for free. Curiosity and a sense of adventure seized us. Seven weeks after the first email, we stood at the airport in Haiti and were greeted by Mansa. I immediately looked him up and down, this powerfully built, jet-black man.
I already had a lump in my stomach when he unashamedly took Reneara in his arms and kissed her on the mouth. He didn't even know her, let alone ask me. But I thought it might be common practice here. We drove two hours to his farm in his white Land Rover. It was a gently rolling country with lush green vegetation. I saw several wooden huts and a beautiful white country house, the kind you'd only expect to find in America.
When we stopped in front of the entrance porch, we were shocked for the first time. About 40 meters away, a white woman was lying on her back on some kind of mattress, being fucked "missionary style" by a fairly young black man.
I'll never forget the sounds this woman made.
Mansa led us into the house, a black woman took our luggage, "She'll bring it to your room, please come to my office first,"
He looked pretty good, even though he was much older than us. I noticed his arms sticking out of his T-shirt. His forearms were almost as thick as my calves. And his upper arms resembled my thighs. No matter, we wanted to talk to him now, because our curiosity was very great.
Of course, we wanted to learn more about whether we could possibly fulfill our wish to have children here. Mansa questioned our situation very precisely. He inspired confidence, although I sometimes shuddered because of his ambiguously grinning.
"No...it's not like that... We're don't give an American couple a child. We're a breeding farm. You have the wrong idea of what we do here." I asked cautiously: "Yes, but what exactly is a breeding farm? What are the rules?"
"Yes, exactly, the rules. I want to explain them to you," And he explained, which made my knees go weak, I kept looking at Reneara, but with her glazed-over gaze, she seemed to be somewhere else entirely. I tried to follow what he was saying exactly. Mansa explained that the breeding farm has been in existence for four years now. There are currently three married women here, all from the United States. All of them have never had children before. Currently, eight children conceived here on the farm. The rules are very simple:
Every married couple who decides to sign a contract commits to a "membership for life." The husband leaves his wife here on the farm and returns to his home in the States. He commits to visiting his wife regularly. There must be at least three visits per year and a maximum of six. The husband is allowed to maintain constant written contact with his wife, including by email. Phone calls are not permitted. Lifetime membership means the wife stays here forever.
"Mr. Mansa, I don't want to lose my wife, we only want a mixed-race child."
"You will have a mixed-race child, and you won't lose your wife. However, it won't be just one child,"
It was so dominant the way he said it. Mansa explained that the women who come here are women who desperately want to have children. This wish is fully fulfilled here. His motivation is racial reconciliation and unification. The more white women have children with Black men, the more peaceful this world will be. He recruits American couples who are willing to make a lifelong "deal." The women come here and stay here. They commit to completely submitting to the rules of the breeding farm:
1. The woman is ready for sexual intercourse at any time.
2. The woman opens her thighs for any man wearing the red plastic bracelet with the "Breeding Farm symbol" (a black snake).
3. The woman may not use any contraception.
4. The woman irrevocably agrees to bear as many children as she is physically able to.
5. The woman agrees to continue serving the farm after losing her childbearing ability and to assist in the care and upbringing of the children.
The following rules apply to husbands:
1. The man leaves his wife at the breeding farm without restriction.
2. The man agrees to undergo sterilization. He must either present a certificate to the farm no later than his first visit after signing the contract. The alternative is being castrated here at the farm, prior to his leaving.
3. The man pays $500 per month to the breeding farm, plus an annual increase of 3%. This payment serves as maintenance.
4. The man agrees to visit his wife at least three times a year. The number of visits is limited to six. The maximum length of stay per visit is seven calendar days.
5. For each child born to his wife, the monthly amount increases by $75. After the 10th child, this supplement is waived.
6. From the age of 60, the husband receives lifelong residency. He receives a thatched hut on the farm for himself and his wife.
I couldn't say anything more. I looked at Reneara, who was staring incessantly at Mansa. I touched her shoulders until she finally looked at me. "Come, please, let's go to the room and talk about it calmly." She nodded.
"Speaking of rooms, each woman has her own room in the large farmhouse. There are nine rooms upstairs, three of which are occupied, as I said. Visiting husbands sleep in a communal hut outside the gate."
"Not with their wives?" "No, impossible, should I restrict the black men here just because a husband is visiting?" "How many black men are here?" I tried to find out. "Twenty at the moment, if you mean the ones with our bracelet.
The twenty men are very specifically selected. They are not allowed to have sex except with the white women here."
I became increasingly curious: "Are the men your age, Mr. Mansa?"
"No....they're all younger. Of course, I'm also fucking, but the guys are all between 16 and 25 years old."
I looked Reneara in the eyes. She had lost her mind. I had missed the moment. Was it when she heard that Mansa was fucking, or when she heard that the men here were so young? I don't know.
Mansa wanted to speak to me "in private." I had almost lost my mind anyway and was just hanging on his every word. He wanted to know a lot about my attitude and a lot about BarbarRene. I chattered incessantly.
After two hours of chatting, we went looking for Barbara. We found her in a pile of straw under the pitch-black body of a young man from Haiti. Under her butt, I discovered a slimy trail of male bodily fluid seeping into the hay.
I just wanted to get to the airport. Mansa drove me after I signed. I don't even know exactly what I signed. There was so much small print. I didn't care. All I can see is this image: Barbara in the hay, and on top of her, this concentrated, young, black masculinity.
I tried to keep everything as normal as possible at home. No one noticed what had changed in my private life.
No one noticed that I was practically going crazy. Every night, I woke up drenched in sweat, the thought of a black man lying between Barbara's legs in my head. I had to look at them again and again, those stupid contracts.
I really did it. I had given my wife to a breeding farm and in doing so, I only bought one advantage: When I retire and my wife is no longer fertile, I have a lifelong right to stay on the farm. My retirement plan, so to speak. Great!
I emailed the breeding farm a few times, but I always received only brief, uninformative replies from Mansa. It wasn't until two months later that the first email from Barbara arrived:
"Hello darling, how are you? Everything is so different here. I don't even remember how I lived before. It's so beautiful here, this nature. I'm out in the fresh air every day. It's always so warm, and I don't even want to wear anything anymore. It doesn't make sense to wear anything anyway. The twenty guys with the bracelets are very hard-working. Darling, we are four white women here. The other women have all had children here. Renate has been here for over four years. She's been pregnant here for the fifth time. Claudia is about to give birth to her third child here. Regine had her second Black baby here two weeks ago. But I can't talk to her much at the moment. The men here don't accept it I f a white woman doesn't have a swollen belly. By the way, Mansa is really great. I'm always happy when I have him between my legs. He's so strong and has such a huge cock that you wouldn't believe it. All the cocks here are long, none less than 10 inches, and usually about 2 to 3 inches thick. No, Mansa's is more than thick, more than 3, almost 4! I absolutely love it.
I've never had as many orgasms in my entire life as I constantly get here. Darling, try to imagine what it looks like when such a thick, black member presses through my labia and disappears deep into my stomach. When he puts his glans in my cunt, he always asks me your first name, darling. I always hesitate because I don't want to hurt you. But at the exact moment I'm about to say your first name, he pushes this jet-black sausage of meat into my crotch with a thrust. I can't finish saying your name because I'm compelled to cry out.
Mansa says he thinks I'm very fertile. He estimates 25 black babies. Do you think he's exaggerating? Oh, I can hear Regine out there on the farm. Honestly, definitely the sounds of her orgasm. You quickly develop a trained ear for noises around here. I asked him what would happen if a child were to wander onto our farm. People are fucking all over the place, all the time.
Mansa says it's not so bad. The children grow up with their mothers constantly being impregnated. However, the offspring are cared for I n the children's home up on the small hill. He has instructed his staff to have a fence built around our area. Because of the small wood in front of the hill, our area is not visible from there anyway. The women usually go to the children's home once a day. It's the only place where they aren't constantly being fucked. I mean, we all really enjoy it. At first, I had to get used to it, but now I can't go long without a cock inside me either. But I don't need to worry. You won't like to hear it, the 20 boys here are different from you. Each of them wants it several times a day. Well, they're all still very young. I don't want to exaggerate, but they want it at least five times a day. Please, that might not sound like much. But think about it, there are only four of us. And if everyone gets an erection five times a day, that's 20 stiff cocks romping around in my crotch, ejaculating their fertile semen into it. Honestly, I try to make my life as relaxed as possible here and sleep eight hours. I manage to get those hours somehow. But the rest of the time, my vagina is the last place without visitors. Sperm is always in there anyway, around the clock. But please don't worry. I've never felt as good as I do now in my life. It's so beautiful here. And the guys are trying really hard. My darling, I love you more than anything. I'm really looking forward to your visit. Especially because then I can look at your penis again. Your Barbara!"
I was completely exhausted. What's going on? Okay, I decided to book a flight. I wanted to be with her in a week. I was so excited, to see what she would look like now. I loved my Barbara. I often doubted whether this decision was the right one. It wasn't normal to imagine Barbara regularly and nonstop popping black babies out of her crotch. I had never imagined such a thing.
Everything wouldn't be the same if I were a "real" man. I couldn't be the only "loser" in America. But I had now enrolled my wife for life as a "breeding machine" on a breeding farm. And here I was, sitting here at home, going to work. What was even worse was everyone was asking about Barbara. If only I'd had the explaining skills of a black baby. But having to explain to everyone that Barbara was on a breeding farm in Haiti for life... Nobody here understood.
My colleagues frowned and stopped taking me seriously. My mother thought I'd lost my mind. And my wife's parents freaked out and tried to get clarification through the American embassy in Haiti, but to no avail. The people in Haiti were completely indifferent to the matter. They also pointed out that my wife's decision was voluntary.
Well, to be honest, I'd gotten used to it a bit. And I must admit that it excited me incredibly. I kept thinking about my wife and imagining what she was doing. And my penis hardened in my pants.
Mansa picked me up at the airport. The first thing I did was give him the certificate showing that had I not only been sterilized, but I had been castrated, with my balls and scrotum removed. He certainly wouldn't have let me see my wife otherwise. He grinned at me the whole way. But still, I like him...he seems like a great guy. "Your wife is probably in her room, up the stairs, just upstairs on the right, the first door," he said curtly as we pulled up in front of the house. My knees were shaking as I climbed the stairs. I knocked and carefully opened the wooden door.
What a sight met my eyes! My beautiful wife was lying stark naked on a large bed. African masks and spears hung on the walls. She opened her eyes and held out a hand to me: "Welcome, darling, welcome to Haiti."
Without a word, I went to her and kissed her. My hands caressed her warm, soft womanly body. I lay down next to her, wearing only a white T-shirt and beige Bermuda shorts.
I was mad with desire. I wanted to sleep with her right then and there. But at that moment, the door opened and a black boy came in.
He stood at the foot of the large bed, looking down at us. I looked him up and down. He was maybe 16, with a very muscular, flat stomach. And a very large black cock pointed stiffly in our direction.
Without a word, he knelt on the bed and grabbed Barbara's knees. He turned my wife away from me onto her back.
Without any resistance, my wife opened her thighs. The young black man slid gently over her body. He took her head in both hands and pressed his thick, black lips against my wife's.
I heard smacking kisses and suddenly a deep, passionate moan from Barbara's throat. Looking at the boy's buttocks, I saw that he had pushed his cock all the way inside her. Very slowly and without any haste, he began to fuck my wife.
At first, I was petrified. I thought, "What audacity! I'm married to her. And this black Haitian boy completely ignores me and, completely unashamedly, sticks his cock in my wife right in front of my eyes."
I stood up and stood next to the bed to get a better look. Somehow, I suddenly admired the scene. I'm not gay, but this boy looked beautiful from behind. He had completely smooth skin, beneath which his muscles rippled. His round ass moved up and down as Barbara wrapped her legs around him.
Sounds I'd never heard before came from her mouth. The boy was fucking her into seventh heaven, because suddenly she grabbed her toes with both hands. Her legs stiffened and began to shake uncontrollably. The sounds from her throat were more like cries of pleasure.
At first, I thought it would never end, but after a while, her body relaxed again. The young Haitian was fucking her wildly into the mattress. He fucked Barbara's limp body with such vehemence, as if she were his own. His black, round cheeks clenched as he moaned several times. I knew he was squirting his pent-up cum deep into her womb.
Then he lay very still on top of her. His hair rested next to Barbara's head on her shoulder. With one hand, she gently stroked the back of his head. Only now did I notice that a large, dark stain had spread across my Bermuda shorts. I had actually ejaculated in my pants without touching them. There couldn't be that much semen, I thought. Well, I certainly hadn't peed.
I had calmed down by now and sat down on the edge of the bed next to them both. My wife held my hand and stroked it. Without a word, the black boy stood up and pulled his semi-hard cock, smeared with semen, out of my wife's vagina. With his black cock dangling, shiny with Barbara's juices, he stood up and...
brought it to my face and mouth... expecting me to clean his cock after the fuck.
I looked at Barbara, and then back to the boy's cock... and realized that Barbara wanted me to do it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I also noticed Mansa watching from the doorway, smiling at me.
“Yes...my white eunuch...you are not a man... and since you are not a man, you are expected... and required to serve the black men here.
Just like the white women here, all whites will be naked, with their mouths and boi-cunts available for use, at any time, by black cocks!”
So, I took the boy's cock in my mouth and licked and sucked it clean, finding that I actually enjoyed doing so.
Mansa then had me bend over, and like Barbara, I took his black cock in my boi-cunt,
knowing that his wouldn't be the only one.... and I knew I would look forward to more.
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Posted on : May 5, 2025
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