There's a difference between being fucked and being bred.

If you're a bottom, you know what I'm talking about - you know when a man is breeding you, and you know when a man is just fucking you. The question is, how do you know?

How about the way he acts? Oh, no, that's not the way; And you're not listenin' to all I sa - wait a minute, that's Cher...

I mean, part of it is the way he acts, the subtle shift in tone of his voice, the difference in the position and firmness of his grip, the angle of his hips when he mounts you - I'll never forget one anonymous guy at camp who got up behind me without a word, and even though I couldn't see him in the dark, I could tell the exact position of his body, the same position taken by male animals in the wild for pure reproduction. It became a purely instinctual act of two creatures, and he reached forward and gripped me by the back of the neck as his cock pulsed his seed deep inside me. When he had finished, he pulled up his shorts, and paused to look at me long enough for me to just make out his silhouette and the gleam of his eyes in the night. Then he was gone.

Ironically, a comment like "I'm gonna breed your ass, bitch." is not necessarily a prelude to a breeding. It's probably a reliable prelude to a pretty solid fucking, but actual breeding requires a mindset on the part of both the Top and the bottom - although the bottom's mindset is optional (his asset is not). The Top must think of, and by diverse means, convey, that he has Power and is about to convey some essence of that power into the body of the bottom. The Top-As-Breeder must demonstrate that he is in control of the whole setting, that he has intent, that he is going to achieve his goal no matter what, and that he is equipped for the task at hand.

When I say "equipped", I know what you're thinking. And you're not wrong. But the last time a man bred me, he was the most consummate breeder I ever encountered. He had it down to a science. This man arrived at the door of my cabin to look at some gear we had talked about earlier. There had been no discussion of hooking up. He carried with him a small bag, but I didn't pay any attention to it. After I offered him something to drink, we looked over the gear, then he commented, "Nice cabin. Is the bed over there?" It was; I showed him.

He said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to fuck you."

Well, then.

After he got me naked on the bed, he opened the small bag he carried, and brought out a small anal lube shooter (legislation should be passed requiring every Top to carry one of these, loaded for insertion) and a small triangular pillow made of foam, covered in blue cloth.

"I custom-made this for breeding," he said of the pillow. "It elevates your ass to exactly the right height and tilts your hips to just the right angle for me. Raise up."

Height - angle - he must have taken measurements, because true to his word, he had me precisely where he wanted me for the deepest conceivable penetration, the smoothest, longest strokes, the most varied positioning of my legs, the greatest exposure of my hole, my cock and balls, and view of my face.

He took his time about it, too, and when he finally unloaded inside me, packed his kit and left, my legs wouldn't stop shaking and my anus kept clenching.

After my door closed behind him, I realized he must have intended to breed me from the first time he saw me earlier in the day. He had set his sights, moved on me without hesitation, taken complete control, and bred me like I belonged to him.

Hm...I wonder how hard it would be to make an adjustable foam pillow...