If not for the sneeze, Dak would have exited the musty, dank corridor. But the muffled sound caught his attention. When he squinted into the darkened cell, he spotted a female crouched on a straw mat in the corner. He hadn’t noticed her on his way into the Breeder Containment Facility; the habitation unit had appeared empty.
Dak turned to the BCF director and sighed. “What about her?”
The beta’s already crooked mouth drooped farther in distaste. “My apologies, Commander. You don’t want that one.”
Sival’s disparagement piqued Dak’s interest. The director’s opinion had proven worthless; none of the breeders he’d preselected for inspection had rated close to satisfactory.
“I would like to see her,” Dak insisted.
“Very well, Commander.” Sival saluted and opened the habitation cell with a master entry card. Dak stepped into the small enclosure. The director followed, and the metal gate clanked shut.
The naked female drew into a tighter ball and tucked her face deeper into the crook of her arm. Other breeders had preened as soon as they’d noticed him and his chest-insignia identification. He wasn’t just an alpha. He was the Alpha.
This breeder’s lack of respect and failure to adhere to Protocol by acknowledging his presence struck him as odd. Dak frowned. “Is she mentally deficient?”
Sival tightened his lips. “No, stubborn, ill behaved. She would not befit an Alpha Commander.” He nudged the female’s hip with the toe of his boot. “Rise to your feet.” She did not respond, and he moved to prod her again. Dak forestalled him with a wave and grasped the female’s arm.
“You will stand.” He hauled her upright. She averted her face, so he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. Tangled hair the color of black heating stones fell back from an oval face to reveal eyes like the Parseon moon. The glimmer of intelligence that sparked within the violet depths aroused his interest more than anything else he’d seen so far. Nature had bestowed the Parseon people with an exceptionally strong immune system so that they rarely required medical intervention, but breeders by nature were weak, and so many of the ones he’d seen had seemed dull or ill or both. This one’s skin, when unsmudged by grime and dirt, probably glowed like the pale sands of the Ospian Sea. He supposed, as breeders went, she wasn’t unattractive, although the stench emanating from her was. His beta would throw a fit if he dragged such a creature into their domicile.
“Why is she so filthy?” he asked.
“She refuses to bathe.”
As Dak scrutinized her facial features for shape and symmetry, he noted little imperfection or dysgenics other than her lack of hygiene and her gender. When cleaned up, she would please the eye, but to bear his sons, it mattered more that she be healthy and strong.
He released her face, stepped back, and assessed her from head to toe. He exceeded the height of most males, alphas included, while she stood smaller than the average female. The top of her head failed to even meet his shoulder. She was thinner than other breeders too, although her chest bore an abundance of fatty breast tissue. In the chill of the cell, her nipples had puckered to hard points. Despite the coolness, he was experiencing a rise in temperature. A dormant lust chose that moment to kindle, causing heat to coil in his abdomen and groin. He could not remember the last time he’d experienced such a spontaneous reaction—if he ever had. With the pads of his fingers, he probed the sides of her neck for swollen areas. The way she trembled under his touch aroused a sliver of sympathy. Breeders lacked courage, and uncertainty frightened them. Not all alphas and their betas treated breeders well. If he chose her, she would be adequately fed and housed. His command consumed his time and energy, which left his beta alone for long stretches. A breeder would relieve Corren of household chores and provide him with a physical outlet as well.
“What is she called?” Dak asked.
“Her sire named her Omra.”
, it meant.
He parted Omra’s lips with his fingers and slipped a digit into her mouth, running it along her upper gum line to check the solidness of her teeth. At a flash in her eyes, he jerked his hand away a centisecond before she snapped her jaws together, so that her incisor only grazed the tip of his finger.
Sival’s face reddened. “Commander, I apologize. I will have her flogged.”
“Unnecessary. I will take care of it.” He unclipped the sudon from his belt. Crafted from the tail of the baronian ilyx, the stiff leather sudon bore the protrusions where the venomous quills had been removed. As he’d not needed to use it before, scant amounts of venom remained in the raised areas, which caused temporary but vicious stinging.
The breeder shrieked when he hauled her slight body over to the stone bench. He sat and yanked her over his lap, raising her buttocks into position. Despite his focus on correcting her behavior, he took notice of the roundness of her backside, plump for such a skinny female. Her natural padding was fortunate. Though the whipping would hurt, it would not injure her.
He brought the sudon down hard on one cheek. She howled, and he smacked again, placing a dimpled red streak next to the first.
“You will not bite,” he said and marked the other side. “You will obey. You will follow Protocol.”
With precision and force, he welted her pale flesh. Her caterwauling drowned out the omnipresent din of the containment center. She flailed her arms and legs in an attempt to escape, but he hung on to her waist with one hand and continued to paddle.
By the time he’d decided her chastisement had been sufficient, her buttocks, marked by inflamed dots caused by the protrusions on the sudon, radiated heat and redness, and her body had gone limp across his lap, although she continued to sob.
He reattached the sudon to his belt, opposite his dagger side, which also bore his holstered LPD, a lasered projectile device. Without the interference of her struggles, he continued his examination. Her legs had fallen open to reveal her sex, and his eyes widened at the sight of the heavy lock-ring piercing her inner labia. Dak jerked his gaze to the director. “She has never been bred.”
“It would appear not.” Sival shifted on spindly legs that supported a torso swollen by gluttony.
“You did not judge this female worthy of mention?”
Sival fluttered his hands. “Her behavior—”
“—can be corrected by discipline and training. But virgin breeding status is a rare commodity.”
“I mean no contradiction or disrespect, Commander, but she is incorrigible.”
Dak glanced at a docile Omra slumped over his lap. Sobs had dwindled to sniffles. “She does not appear to be incorrigible now.” He tugged on the metal locking device. The telenium ring had been fused; it would have to be cut off before breeding. “I am Alpha. I must be 100 percent certain that male offspring be mine and not another’s.”
Sival shifted on his heels and bowed his head in a picture of obeisance. “I apologize, Commander, for my lack of foresight.”
Dak studied Sival. His left eye opened larger than the right, which caused his pockmarked face to appear lopsided. Though not uncommon for men to be nervous in an Alpha’s presence, Sival fidgeted more than the norm, and Dak had begun to question whether respect or subterfuge motivated his lack of eye contact. Dak had assumed the director’s failure to produce quality females for inspection had resulted from a dearth of intelligence, but intuition supported by Sival’s behavior strongly suggested the misunderstandings arose from a willful deception. The director hadn’t overlooked Omra; he’d omitted her. The dishonesty was bad enough, but the egregious neglect in the BCF warranted prompt attention. The beta didn’t realize it, but he would be flogged and demoted from director to habitation unit cleaner. Dak sniffed and resisted the urge to cover his nose. All the cells needed cleaning. And this one was the worst.
No wonder Omra appeared so unkempt, her hair matted and lank, her skin darkened by grime. Had she refused to bathe, or had she been forbidden to? He did not trust the director. Undoubtedly, Omra’s sire would be displeased if he’d been aware of her condition. He’d cared enough to have her purity guaranteed by the piercing, and not with any lock-ring, but one forged from telenium, the hardest, most precious Parseon metal. Its presence increased her value and thereby her purchase price.
Dak’s groin tightened as he examined the pink folds of her sex, the puffier outer ones and her inner pierced labia. That no other alpha had ejaculated his seed into her womb pleased him. If he purchased her, he would remove her sire’s ring and replace it with his own, coded to his genetics so he could remove it but no one else could. He tugged on the ring again and took note of the nub poking out from beneath the hood of flesh at the top of her labia. A clitoris, it was called. A mishap of nature with no function or purpose.
He’d heard ribald snickers that Terran males manipulated—sometimes even licked or sucked—the clitoris of their females to bring them to a rapturous state. The clitoris of a Parseon female brought her no pleasure at all. And even if it did, what would it matter? Males did not concern themselves with pleasing females. A breeder served the male—not the other way around. Protocol decreed it.
But…he pinched Omra’s pink nub experimentally and rubbed the tip with his finger. She jerked, and her body stiffened, but she gave no sign the contact brought her anything close to pleasure.
Nature inexplicably had designed females to be inferior and substandard in mind and body, but they still deserved a certain level of care. Healthy offspring, sons to carry on the genetic lineage, required a healthy incubator. The filth, the lack of nutritious food as well as basic services of the BCF had appalled him, offended his personal sense of decency. He treated his conveyance animals better than this. No creature should be subjected to the conditions in which the breeders had been kept.
He shifted on the stone bench and used Omra’s body to shield his erection from view. Impregnation required a degree of arousal, of course, but to be so easily stirred by a female would be considered deviant and unseemly. An Alpha must maintain the upper hand at all times, so he would not seek his pleasure with a peer, but neither was it appropriate to wallow with a breeder. Only betas and alphas unworthy of their rank availed themselves of females for pleasure. A voice of prudence warned he should pass her up because she had incited his lust so easily, but she was the sole quality female he’d found. Every time he had traveled on official business, he had visited the containment facility in the area, hoping to find an acceptable breeder. He’d found none.
Midway through the third decade of his life, he needed to produce a son, another Alpha who potentially could carry on his legacy in his province. Omra was unbred, untainted by another alpha’s semen, which made her the best incubator. Assuming the rest of her checked out. Dak had to consider Corren’s needs too. When they’d discussed bringing a breeder into their domicile, his beta had requested one with a tight channel.
“Do you have a prophylactic glove?” He glanced at Sival.
The director hesitated but withdrew an elasticene hand cover from his uniform pocket. Dak slipped it on and waited until his body’s warmth activated the lubricant. The ring ensured the purity of her virgin breeding status, but that didn’t mean her anal passage hadn’t been overused by the guards or the director. A female with tight muscle tone would provide Corren with the means to relieve his sexual tension. When beta was happy, everyone was happy.
He parted Omra’s inflamed cheeks and pressed his finger to her puckered opening.
She reared back, twisting, kicking, and flailing her arms. Howling. Monto
, this female could screech.
“Now, Omra, we will have none of that.” He snagged the sudon and slapped it several times against her welted buttocks. She tried to cover herself with her hands, so he secured them against the small of her back. What slender wrists she had. But how she fought! A warrior by training, Dak couldn’t help but admire her fire. It almost would be a shame to break her spirit, but docility in a breeder was a necessity. His erection throbbed. How odd this ill-behaved, filthy female aroused such an immediate, visceral reaction.
When she ceased fighting, he inserted his gloved finger into her anus. She whimpered as he forced the digit past two sphincters into her rectum. “Relax, Omra,” he said to soothe her. “Tensing will cause you more pain.”
But she remained rigid as he added a second digit and pumped both to test muscle tone. Her walls squeezed his fingers. Excellent. She would serve Corren’s needs perfectly. He eyed the lock-ring. And his.
He looked up at the director. “Prepare the paperwork. I will take this one.”
Dak extracted his fingers and set her on her feet. He removed the glove and tossed it to Sival, who shoved it into a portable waste receptacle. He pinched Omra’s right nipple, still beaded from the cold. “Have her tagged with my insignia. I will pick her up at dawn’s light.”
Sival opened the cell gate. “See that she bathes too,” Dak said as he stepped into the corridor. Instinct caused him to halt and peer over his shoulder. All timorousness had vanished from Sival’s demeanor, and the director glowered at Omra. Like a candle softening, his scowl melted into obsequiousness when he noticed Dak’s scrutiny.
Dak drew himself to his full commanding height. “No one, and I mean no one, is to use her for his pleasure. She belongs to me now. Do you understand?”
Sival’s throat worked. “Of course, Commander.” He scooted out of the cell. It locked with a clank.