Breeder Read online

  Clutching her shift, Omra crept in. The night chill had hardened her nipples to thick, long peaks. He eyed the ring marking her as his property. His subcommanders cared too little for the welfare of the breeders, but he disgraced himself by expending too much concern for the welfare of this one.

  “You will sleep here.” He swept his arm in an arc. “This will be your room.” He was breaking Protocol. Breeders slept on the floor near their alphas and betas in case their services were required, but given Corren’s animosity, it would be better for domestic harmony if she slept separate from them. Better for him if she wasn’t too close. But he could not exile her to the stable with the animals. She might be female, but Parseon blood ran in her veins.

  As he gazed upon her, he noted her bruises had disappeared, and her smooth, pale skin radiated health, though she was still skinny. Contrary to Sival’s assertion, she’d demonstrated no resistance to bathing. Her eyes resembled the moon itself as she gawked at the sleeping chamber, which contained a round cushioned sleeping platform, restful tapestries of bucolic scenery, and carved armoires to store one’s possessions, not that she owned any. Everything—even the smock she clutched—belonged to the male who owned her. To him.

  She studied the floor beside the bed. “I don’t have a pallet.”

  “You won’t need it. You’ll sleep there.” He pointed to the platform.

  “But…but Corren…”

  “I will speak to him.” He pointed. “Lie down. I want to change lock-rings.” He’d had a new device forged. She belonged to him and would wear his lock-ring. He’d intended to change rings before now, but he’d selected the most senior master craftsman to design, forge, and code the ring. The man did not work quickly—nor cheaply, for that matter. She crawled onto the platform and stretched out in the center like a sacrificial offering. He tugged her so that her buttocks rested at the platform’s edge. Her legs dangled over the side. “Lift your feet,” he ordered.

  She planted her heels on the platform, and he spread her knees. Science considered female genitalia inchoate and hypothesized nature hadn’t completed its work, but as he examined her vulva, the velvety folds—the inner ones locked to sanctify her channel—and her semi-hooded pink nub of a clitoris, Dak wondered if scientific theory wasn’t nonsense. He stroked an outer fold and tugged on the ring to distend her inner labia. Unbidden, a rumble erupted from deep in his chest. His manhood, hard as stone, ached. He retracted the fleshy hood to fully expose Omra’s clitoris. Was it his imagination, or had it swelled? He glanced at her face. A flush tinted her cheeks, and her eyes had dilated. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, which had increased in tenor. His respiration had quickened too. Did Terran men really lick and suck a female’s genitals?

  The idea did not disgust him as much as it should have. Only betas performed fellatio—and on other men only. Alphas did not serve their sexual partners in such a submissive way. And no one on Parseon would perform cunnilingus on a female.

  He withdrew a cutting tool from his pocket along with his ring. Telenium was the strongest of the elements, and he had to bear down on the tool to cut through the metal. Finally it snapped. Her body was producing copious moisture, and the metal was slippery. “Here. You may have this.” He handed it to her.

  She widened her eyes and closed her fingers around it.

  With the ring off, he spread open her sex to examine her. Curiosity almost equaled his lust. He derived his sparse knowledge of female anatomy and physiology from a single Parseon text and some encounters with Terran pornography he’d been subjected to when feted by Terra’s ambassador to Parseon. He discounted most of the latter. One could not extrapolate how a Parseon breeder would react based on the behavior of a dubious entertainer performing for remuneration.

  Omra’s sex glistened, wetter and pinker than any Terran woman’s he’d seen. He did not doubt Omra’s purity, but he dipped a finger into her channel until he encountered her hymen. Intact. His manhood throbbed. Like a motherfucker, as a Terran would say. He adjusted himself in his pants, then ran his finger the length of her slickened slit to her clitoris, which had gotten larger. Engorged, it stuck out from beneath the hood. When he pinched it, Omra jerked and emitted a little moan. Painful. As he had suspected. He let go.

  Alphas did not take their pleasure from mating with females. Impregnation was a perfunctory function for perpetuation of the species and one’s lineage. He should perform his duty and then maintain his distance.

  He eyed the nipple property tag. None of his possessions distracted him as much as this breeder. He cursed silently as he surrendered to impulse to cup and squeeze a breast, to stroke his thumb over the tip. Take it in your mouth. Suck it. He glanced at her moist sex, the labia gaping open, her clitoris swollen. Suck it. Taste her. Only the lowest of the low would even contemplate such an act. Stop looking at her. But he could not. He’d never been with a female. Was it normal for a breeder to become so wet?

  For certain it was abnormal to become aroused by it. To stain the front of his pants with his desire.

  Perhaps the best way to sever the preoccupation would be to eliminate the cause. Complete the unfinished business. Impregnate Omra. Produce three or four male offspring and send her back to the BCF.

  Get it over with. Do it now.

  His breathing rasped as he released his erection from his uniform. It sprang out, the shaft rigid, the head purple and weepy.

  Omra stiffened; her pupils dilated with fear. He wished he could soothe her worries, but he refused to lie. What would be painless for him would be excruciating for her. Grasping her hips, he rolled her onto her stomach and hauled her onto her hands and knees. He guided the knob of his tumescence to her entrance.

  I am sorry. He thrust through the membrane and into her channel.

  Omra cried out and jerked, but he grabbed her hips. Circumstances required he complete the mating. But his emotions went haywire; guilt stabbed at him with a sharpness that tore at his psyche, yet left his lust intact. He found no pleasure in her pain, but in her? Monto. He had not lost his appetite under the avalanche of responsibility as he had assumed. His desire had been no desire at all. One could not compare the tepid flicker he’d nursed to satisfy Corren with this hunger.

  She was so wet, so hot, so…good. Her body’s grip on his cock compelled him to plunge into her fast and hard, but he overrode the urge and stilled himself to lessen her discomfort. He reached under her and curled the flat of his hand against her mound to hold her against him.

  She whimpered, a low-husky murmur his body mistook for encouragement, and his hips countermanded his brain’s directive to remain motionless. He pulled back, then eased forward, sliding though slickness and heat, crossing the threshold to an experience in which a mutinous lust commanded his obedience.

  “Fuck!” he swore, using an epithet he’d heard humans utter in times of desperation. Nothing else seemed to fit except for his hard penis pounding into the tight heat of her slick channel. He growled with the intensity of the pleasure. So depraved, this need for a female.

  Pressure coalesced. Muscles tensed and quivered. He ground his teeth as his body released its seed.

  The sky fell, and Dak collapsed too, flattening Omra on the platform.

  Harsh breathing stirred soft strands of her hair. He did not want to compare his relations with Corren to what had happened with Omra, but he’d never achieved this union of body and spirit with a beta. Breeding and sexual release evolved from different motivations, comprised two different acts, but with Omra, they had merged into one explosive, consuming fire. He should not revel in her softness, her wetness, her tightness, in the indecent satisfaction edged by frissons of disappointment. He rued the joke nature had played upon the Parseon race by designing females incapable of experiencing sexual pleasure.

  What if Omra had been able to experience the peak of ecstasy with him?

  Heresy. Such notions violated Protocol and were inappropriate for any male, let alone an Alpha Commander.
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  He compounded his shame by continuing to lie with her. On top of her. In her. So much heat. Wetness. Sweet musk. His softening member throbbed. Desire stirred anew. Monto.

  Dak pulled out and rolled off. Blood stained the sleeping platform, her inner thighs, his increasing member, and his hands. He’d hurt her.

  Perhaps nature would be merciful and allow his seed to bear fruit so the need to mate would be satisfied until he required another son. She continued to lie facedown, her face averted, so he used the moment to study her, noting the delineation of her ribs, the sharpness of her shoulder blades. He could count vertebrae. But her ass was pert, its roundness kindling an urge to slap it even though she had not misbehaved. Omra’s conduct had been exemplary, except for that single incident when she’d tried to bite him. Her past transgression shouldn’t amuse him, but it did. A smile tickled his mouth. Dogging the heels of that memory came a recollection of the director, and his grin faded. The man had withheld her food, his investigation had discovered. Had he known, he would have ordered the director flogged to death. Rage simmered.

  Sival would pay. In due time. But now he needed to replace the lock-ring.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered. He pivoted and left the chamber.

  THE DOOR SNICKED shut, and Omra released a shuddering breath. Her heart thumped, whisperflies fluttered in her stomach, and a mob of thoughts rampaged.

  Mating hadn’t been nearly as awful as she’d feared. The initial penetration had shocked her with its piercing pain, but the Commander had stilled his thrusts, and she had adapted to his size. What had begun in discomfort had ended in satisfaction, though incomplete. He’d moved in her slowly at first, but then plunged faster and faster, his pace stirring a need, an inexplicable craving for…more…something more.

  In truth, that desire had germinated when he’d discovered her in the stable. She wanted to gaze upon him, to listen to his voice, to touch him. Have him touch her. And he had. The way he’d stroked her sex had increased those sensations. She’d gotten wet again, the moisture seeping out of her body, dampening her inner thighs. That had never happened until she’d met the Commander. Did it have something to do with breeding? Or was there something wrong with her? None of her sire’s biology books had mentioned wetness. Of course, they scarcely mentioned females at all.

  According to science, males could find a modicum of pleasure in breeding, but the act was always unpleasant, if not agonizing for females. Except she hadn’t found it so. She’d relished the Commander’s hard, muscular body moving inside and against hers. His body hair, rasping against her skin, had sent tingles up her spine. His thrusting manhood had evoked a pleasurable tension and generated more embarrassing moisture.

  Some fluid was blood. She should arise before she further soiled the platform, except the Commander had ordered her not to. Did he mean she should not move from the platform or not leave the room? She understood now why he’d brought her into the domicile. Of course Alpha would not mate with her in a stable. But now that he’d completed the deed, would he send her back?

  She pressed her thighs together. She could be carrying Alpha’s son. Or not. If impregnation hadn’t occurred—or if she carried a female—another mating would be required, an idea that was not anathema. Far from it. Omra opened her fist and stared at the telenium ring. She couldn’t believe Alpha had handed it to her, like it was a pebble found alongside the road, instead of a small fortune. The ring had determined her fate, put her in the director’s sights, made Alpha want her.

  He had left his lock-ring on the platform. Warmth curled inside. The Commander did not need the lock-ring or the nipple insignia to announce his claim on her. His spoken word would be enough—though it hadn’t deterred Sival. But Alpha’s guards had.

  She heard the Commander’s footfall in the hall; then he entered with a cleansing cloth. He perched on the edge and nudged her legs apart. Afflicted by a bout of shyness, she spread her knees but averted her gaze. Her pulse raced; she doubted Protocol allowed for any alpha to tend a female’s hygiene in such a manner. Why is he doing this?

  He dabbed the cloth to her flesh, and she was surprised to see how much blood he wiped away. Her sex throbbed, growing achy with every accidental brush of his fingers. He threaded his ring through her labia and snapped it shut with a final-sounding click. Thicker and heavier than her sire’s ring, Alpha’s would remind her of his ownership with every step. She would never be unaware she belonged to him.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She turned her head.

  “You will tell me if you are impregnated. Will you recognize the signs?”

  She nodded. “I think so.”

  He flattened his hand on her abdomen. Heat spread, and she almost moaned. Whisperflies went wild, and she prayed he couldn’t feel the fluttering wings.

  “If a child is formed, it will attach to you, and you will experience a sharp pain. That will be the first sign. Then your breasts will grow larger and more tender. You may feel physically ill, and finally you will swell.” He drew little circles with his thumb on her abdomen. “Tell me at the first sign.”

  “Yes, Alpha.”

  He frowned, silvery blue eyes darkening. Had she somehow displeased him? Her stomach lurched.

  “Do not—when we have mated, when we are like this—do not call me Alpha. Or Commander.”

  She rounded her eyes. “W-what—how should I address you?”

  “Call me Dak.”

  Dak? Speak his given name? Could she choke it past her lips?

  His nostrils flared as he stared at his ring. His earnest contemplation evoked a strange embarrassment, but she knew better than to protest or cover herself. Whatever she might call him, he was still Alpha.

  “If pregnancy does not occur, we will need to mate again. It should not hurt as much the next time, though it won’t be pleasant.” He raised his eyes to her face.

  The slump of his shoulders invited her reassurance. “It was not…unpleasant…this time,” she said.

  Such heat flashed in his eyes, she would not have been surprised if he’d unlocked his ring and forced his manhood inside her that very moment. Not force. She would welcome him. To her shame, she prayed the mating would fail to take so she could experience another breeding. To discover if something more existed beyond the wetness, the tension.

  “Well, then. Good.” He stood and raked his hands through his hair in a vulnerable gesture. As if he realized it, his features hardened. His speech was clipped when he said, “You will sleep here from now on.” He left the room.

  Chapter Six

  Corren shoved into Enyi’s passage, eliciting a grunt from his beta. Pain—pleasure—it mattered not. He was alpha, and Enyi’s duty required him to serve him. But for a single point on the assessment exam, Parseon would have recognized Corren’s rightful status, and he would have walked tall among his peers.

  Instead he bowed and scraped to the Commander, an Alpha not worthy of the title, servicing his needs, domestic and sexual. Not that the latter proved onerous. Corren curled his lip with the irony. If Parseon only knew Alpha was nearly as sexless as a breeder…

  But his fierce drives had led Corren to keep Enyi after the anointment. He feared at first Dak would discover his infidelity, so he’d brought Enyi to the abode once and introduced him as his brother so he’d have a “legitimate” reason to visit. He needn’t have worried. Dak was gone so much he could have installed Enyi in the domicile and Dak wouldn’t have known. Dak was nothing if not conscientious about his command.

  At least he had been until she had arrived. Dak spent more time at home now. With her.

  Had Corren foreseen the outcome, he would never have advocated purchasing a breeder. But he’d wanted a servant to relieve him of the domestic chores. Be careful what you wish for, he thought with rancor.

  He knew Dak had assumed he’d want to use her to relieve his sexual tension. Most betas openly and many alphas surreptitiously found breeders with whom to curb their appetit
es. Though lust mingled with the blood in his veins, the thought of taking a female left him cold. Nay, disgusted him. He was alpha. He would not debase himself to consort with a creature as lowly as a female. He’d sooner lie with one of the conveyance animals.

  But to maintain appearances with Dak, he’d requested a female with a tight anal passage. He knew Dak sensed his concupiscence, and Corren did not want him to begin to question how he might be relieving it. Infidelity was punishable by flogging with a talia.

  He surveyed Enyi, positioned on hands and knees, his buttocks crisscrossed with welted purple streaks seeping blood. A beta through and through. How could the assessment council not have discerned the difference between him and a man like Enyi, who was smaller, receptive, submissive, and weak. But loyal. And for that, Enyi had inspired a modicum of affection. Of course, once Corren had been anointed to Dak, his time with Enyi had been relegated to stolen moments. His beta understood. Never complained. Not that Enyi’s disproval would have changed anything. After Corren had finessed being assigned to the Commander, the outcome had been set. Though every fiber of his being rebelled at serving Dak, Corren focused on his goal: to be designated as alpha. Whatever ignominies he had to endure in the short run would pay off in the long-term. Dak wielded such power that serving as his beta had conferred upon him almost as much status as an alpha, and over the years, Corren had garnered some powerful allies. So far, none of them had been able or willing to have him rightfully redesignated, but he felt certain that one day he’d meet someone who could.

  Corren plunged deep before withdrawing all the way, then drove home again. Enyi’s passage tightened around him, and Corren relished the power he reclaimed with every stroke.

  I—thrust—am—thrust—alpha. Confidence in his supremacy surged, and with a cry, he spilled himself.

  Afterward, Corren lounged on the sleeping platform while his beta dashed for the bathing chamber. Enyi returned to wash Corren; then he settled with cloying nearness next to him. Enyi was so needy, always seeking contact, reassurance. If nothing else, his anointment to Dak allowed Corren respite from Enyi’s smothering affection.