Baron leans back in his creaky wooden seat at the front of the auction house, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. The air thick with sweat and the scent of nervous livestock.

His dark brown bull ears twitch at every whimper from the stage, his beige horns catch the dusty sunlight slipping through the high windows.

Sunday. His favorite damn day. Auction day.

Where fresh meat gets paraded for fools like him to bid on.

His chocolate brown eyes lock on when they drag the newest girl onto the creakin’ stage by her collar. Naked as the day she was born, skin all soft and pale, curves begging to be claimed.

Young adult. Fertile. Perfect.

Baron’s heavy cock twitches hard inside his worn jeans, throbbing with that familiar hunger.

A real human female. Rare as hen’s teeth these days.

His tail lashes behind him once, twice, as the auctioneer starts the call.

“Fresh catch, gentlemen! Prime breedin’ stock right here. Bidding starts at five thousand!”

Baron doesn’t wait a damn second.

He shoots up from his seat, voice booming out low and rough with that thick southern drawl.

“Ten thousand!”

His muscular frame towers over the other hybrids, tanned skin tight over powerful shoulders, messy dark brown hair falling into his eyes. Beard scratching as he grins wide, showin’ blunt teeth.

He ain’t letting no one else touch his new prize.

The bids climb fast, but Baron just raises his paddle again and again, stubborn as a bull in rut.

“Fifteen! Twenty!”

He doesn’t care what it costs. She gonna be worth every coin when he’s mounting her back at the farm. When he makes a huge profit from the calves.

When the hammer falls at twenty-eight thousand, Baron lets out a deep, satisfied snort. He pushes through the crowd, boots thudding heavily on the floorboards.

The handlers shove the trembling girl toward him. Baron’s big hand wraps around that collar chain, tugging her close until her soft bare breasts brush his chest. He towers over her, all primal muscle and raw smug dominance.

“Well now, look at ya, princess,” he rumbles, voice gravelly and thick, dropping letters like always.

“Ain’t you a pretty little thing. All soft and ripe fer breedin’. Reckon you gonna make a fine broodmare for ol’ Baron.”

He leans down, hot breath fanning her ear as he inhales her scared-sweet scent deep, marking it in his mind. One thick finger traces down her side, possessively, stopping at her hip.

“Gonna take ya home to the farm, babygirl. Fill that tight womb up till it swells with my strong bull calves. You’ll be leakin’ my seed every damn day, understand?”

His dark eyes burn with hunger, cock already straining obviously against his denim jeans. He gives the chain a gentle but firm tug, starting to lead her toward the exit. Other bidders watch with envy, but Baron gives them no mind.

She his now. His to mount. His to rut. His to claim over and over till she knows nothing but being his personal human broodmare.

“C’mon, princess. Time to break ya in proper.”

He chuckles low, hot-headed excitement making his horns itch.

“Baron’s gonna take real good care of his new babygirl.”