Breeder (2 page)

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.

Chapter Two

Omra waited until Alpha and the director disappeared before she sank onto her mildewed sleeping mat. She drew her knees to her chest, buried her face in her folded arms, and rocked. Her hammering heart had a better chance of bursting out of her chest than she had of escaping the clutches of the director. She didn’t know what would happen now, but it wouldn’t be good.

The woven straw mat abraded her inflamed, throbbing buttocks as she swayed. Her skin burned from the residual venom of the quills, but the paddling had been mild compared to the beatings she’d received at the hands of the director.

She suppressed tears of despair. Crying solved nothing. If anything, it spurred men to harsher action. She closed her eyes, remembering the tender touch of her mother and the occasional affectionate pat of her sire. She’d been treated well in her sire’s home—too well, for the care hadn’t prepared her for the reality of the containment facility.

Like all Parseon female offspring, she’d been sent away for breeding after a blood test confirmed her maturation, which she’d reached on her nineteenth year. The lock-ring, ordered by her sire, had been attached by a technician on the tenth anniversary of her birth, when her vulva had first begun to redden and swell, indicating the onset of puberty. She could still remember the searing pain and her mother’s happy smile.

Without status, breeders often were treated even worse than beasts of burden, but the ring—
telenium
, no less—guaranteed she would be purchased by an alpha of wealth, who would seek to protect his investment by treating her well.

So had been her sire’s intention.

But it hadn’t worked that way. Soon after her arrival last year, the director had discovered she’d been ringed and claimed her for his personal use. Anytime an alpha visited, she’d been ordered to hide. But this time, her sneeze had caught the Commander’s attention. He’d spotted the ring.

The door of the habitation unit grated open. Her bladder released in terror when Sival marched in.

“Get up, breeder.” His voice contained more venom than Alpha’s sudon.

She stumbled to her feet, and urine trickled down her leg. His countenance darkened with choler. “I gave you one simple command. Stay out of sight.”

“I tried.” She had made herself as small as she could. But her nose had itched from the dust and mold in the cell. She’d attempted to suppress the sneeze, but it had escaped anyway. She’d even bitten Alpha to convince him she was feral so he would reject her.

She averted her gaze and bowed her head, praying a subservient manner would defuse the director’s anger.

“I have been negotiating with interplanetary traders to sell you to an alien emperor.”

He’d planned to sell her to a denizen of another planet? She had assumed Sival had thwarted her sale to an alpha because he intended to keep her for himself. She’d heard whispered tales of foreign races needing vast numbers of female incubators because mating often proved fatal, but had assumed they were fable, not fact. Horror curdled in her stomach. Being used by Sival hurt terribly, but it wasn’t going to kill her.

He swung his fist and hit her across the face. She fell to the ground, and her head slammed against the floor

“But you will not spoil my plans. I will find another breeder to satisfy the Commander’s needs. Tomorrow, you will be delivered to the traders as planned.

Omra dug her fingernails into the stone.
Please. Please
. She lifted her head.

“Get up,” he ordered and balled his hands, ready to strike as soon she rose to her feet.

Injury wouldn’t protect her from further assault. She staggered upright. The force of his next blow split her lip and spun her around so that she tripped over the bench. Her stomach hit the edge, and it knocked the wind from her lungs. She lay there gasping and heaving, but covered her head with her arms.

He kicked her twice. Pain splinted through her forearms. “While an Alpha of Parseon may not want a breeder who looks less than perfect, traders won’t care. Your face is not what they’re interested in.”

The metal clasp on his uniform snicked as he released it. He twisted her hair in his fist and struck her with his other hand. Her face and mouth throbbed, and stars danced before her eyes. She wished she could lose consciousness, but she’d only gotten lucky once before.

“After the alien emperor uses you, if you survive, you won’t look anything like yourself anyway.”

He prodded her sphincter with his engorged penis. She tensed, clinging to the memory of Alpha. His austere features had betrayed no softness, but his invasion of her anal passage with his fingers had been gentle, and his physical chastisement measured and restrained, even if painful. Servicing him would not have been horrible. But it wasn’t meant to be. Despair choked her.

She cried out as the director yanked her head back. He adjusted his erection against her and grunted. Omra braced herself for the thrust, the tearing pain. Often she bled—

“Director.”

She couldn’t see to whom the voice belonged, but she heard the cell unlock and two sets of footfalls enter. Her stomach roiled in dread. Would they all take her?

“Not now,” Sival snapped.

“You are under orders to come with us.” A second man spoke.

“By whose orders?” Sival twisted around.

“By Alpha. Commander Dak.”

Sival’s erection withered. Omra didn’t dare take a breath lest he perceive it as a commentary and retaliate with more force. He released her hair to tuck his flaccid member inside his uniform. Fasteners clicked. Sival leaned over her, his rough clothing scraping her backside. She cringed when his hot, rank breath enveloped her.

“I am not done with you. You will be sold as planned,” he hissed into her ear so that only she could hear.

Sival stood up and adjusted his clothing. Omra eased out a silent exhale and peeked at the men. Not containment center personnel, but Alpha’s. His guards.

The director shifted on his heels, glancing from one to the other. “What is this about?”

The two men stood on either side of the door. One of them gestured. “Come with us.”

After shooting a threatening glare her way, the director exited. The guards followed, and the gate slammed shut.

Shuddering, Omra eased to a sitting position beside the bench. Her face hurt, and the stickiness of blood coated her chin, her chest, and her hands. She touched her swollen bottom lip and ran her tongue over her teeth. She hadn’t lost any. Yet.

The summons granted a reprieve, not a pardon. Sival would finish what he had started. He never failed to deliver on his threats.

* * * *

The sound of footsteps doubled Omra’s heart rate, but it was her cell mate, escorted by a BCF worker, who approached the cell. The slight, fleeting smile that touched Anika’s lips before she slipped into the habitation unit revealed volumes—as did the answering crinkle of the guard’s eyes.

He locked them in and strode away.

Anika peered through the bars, looked left and right, then snaked a hand into the front of her shift, tied around her waist. “I brought you some
panna
,” she whispered. She pulled out a piece of baked dough. “And news. Wait until I tell you—Monto! What happened—” She rushed to the straw pallet upon which Omra huddled to escape the cold of the stone. Anika dropped to her knees. “Your face!” She touched Omra’s aching cheek. “Sival did this!” She spat on the stone floor.

Omra’s mouth felt puffy. “Shh. You cannot tell who might be listening,” she cautioned. Breeders often reported misbehavior in exchange for privileges. “You should not endanger yourself for me,” Omra said. Many cell mates had come and gone in the year since Omra had arrived. Anika was one of the few who had befriended her, the only one who had risked her safety to help her.

“Seeing how he beat you makes my news even more satisfying,” Anika said. “The director has been demoted, and he is to be flogged in the quad an hour before sundown.” She glanced at the waning sunlight filtering through the narrow rectangular window high above their heads. “Which should be soon.”

Omra’s heart thundered in her ears. She recalled how the appearance of Alpha’s guards had prevented the director from carrying out his intention to use her. Had Alpha ordered his demotion? The flogging? “Are you sure? How do you know?”