Chapter One
Blythe Wainwright never thought she’d become a mother, actually having a child of her own. Having had leukemia as a young child, she’d been told for years that she was infertile, but having an alien captor who was also a doctor had its benefits.
Who knew?
Now, she and Dr. Xan Breckett, judge for the Council of Nine, would be parents to the first child from a human and alien. “A Baby for Pra’kir” is what the headlines had said. Every news channel had a story about them regularly.
Walking down the stairs wearing a nightie even though it was typically against the rules, Blythe had woken up cold and didn’t want to shiver getting her coffee and decided that it was worth the risk of punishment.
Xan’s deep voice could be heard booming from the den.
“Rowth, you know that I can’t do that. What we have going with this experiment cannot be compromised. At all. And if you think you’re inserting your agenda into my data, you’re dead wrong.” Xan pounded his fist on the desk, scowling at the dark haired commander.
“Damn you, Breckett! We could merge some of our testing and data if you’d stop being so bull-headed.”
Xan looked up at Blythe. He smiled at her briefly, before returning his attention to Commander Rowth Lashat on the comm screen. “The end goals for our tests are completely different. It’ll skew the results and the thought of starting over after you’ve sullied the water won’t help either of us in our endeavors.”
Blythe sauntered around Xan’s chair, twirling her fingers through the black curls on his head, kissing him lightly on the neck. Looking at the screen without his knowledge, she almost gasped when she saw Brinley walking behind Rowth.
The women caught each other’s eyes, staring quietly. Blythe straightening behind Xan, waiting until Rowth looked away before she then signed with her fingers to Brinley, displaying two fingers hoping she understood that she was communicating two o’clock. As an afterthought, Blythe tapped her wrist on an imaginary watch. Brinley gave a slow nod.
Both women quickly moved away, not wanting to draw attention to their brief conversation.
“Would you like some tea, Master?” Blythe stared into Xan’s dark-as-coal eyes.
“Yes, please.” Slipping a hand under her short nightie, he cupped her left buttock, squeezing it painfully before loudly slapping the offended area.
Scurrying to the kitchen, she heard Rowth’s low chuckle, and the two men quickly said goodbye.
“Ganza, I have a meeting with Rowth at two o’clock today, and then I’ll be heading to the office to meet with the Council of Nine at three o’clock.”
Her heart leaped within her chest. That would give her a window of time to talk to Brinley.
Since their spaceship plummeted to the water several months ago on the coast of Endermere onto the Planet Pra’kir, all the women on the Reconnaissance had been put into “foster care” as part of their punishment. The Council of Nine assigned them to high-ranking individuals or families in Endermere.
Dr. Xan Breckett, a respected medical doctor in their community, had taken Blythe for her intelligence and healthy body regardless of her injuries from the crash. He wished to study her mind and her body, publishing his findings in a medical journal. And for his efforts, he’d been promoted to a position on the Council of Nine instead of his hopes for a surgeon general position. The promotion—and Xan’s lack of background or experience with a legal career—had not sat well with Rowth, Xan’s supervisor. At all.
But Rowth had taken on Brinley, the most injured of the women, and from what Blythe had overheard during her short time at Xan’s house, the commander was finding a cure for the Mekron with Brinley’s DNA—which should assure him of a position on the council himself. But, with Xan’s unexpected promotion, Rowth’s own promotion had been delayed.
The Mekron was another alien species Pra’kir had taken in, but over time, their bodies had deteriorated, and without medical intervention, they would soon die. Their only hope was that the DNA from these Terra women would save them.
Although Blythe had attempted very early in her fostering to run away, hoping to find her shipmates, it had been an unsuccessful adventure—and one that had ended poorly for her backside. But, in many respects, she and Xan bonded after that escapade and realized their love for each other.
Amshal Thanius, a wizened old Council of Nine judge, had informed both she and Xan that a monitor bug had spotted her running through the adjacent woods seeking shelter in Xan Breckett’s cabin. Blythe had vowed that if she were to venture outside of this huge old house again, she’d have a weapon to shoot down the blasted monitor bugs.
But she didn’t want to get ahead of herself…First, she needed to talk to Brinley.
Brinley is safe, and walking. She’s alive. Now to find the rest of the women.
Looking up at the ceiling, the blue holo told her it was ten in the morning. It had taken some work to teach her the alphabet and numbering system on Pra’kir, but she at least could read basic labels now and tell time. She had four hours, which would give her enough time to eat, have her lactation training, visit Tegan, and then Xan would shuffle off to his meetings.
Billex, Xan’s assistant and butler, would drive him to the different locations and, knowing Ganza, the nanny would nap while Xan was away. The woman was getting on in years, and, truthfully, would be retiring soon.
It galled Blythe to no end that Xan felt she needed a nanny.
A nanny, for Chrissake.
Between Ganza and Xan, these aliens had taken more liberties with her body than she ever thought possible.
No doubt Ganza would put Blythe down for a nap, and once assured that her charge was asleep, the older woman would recline on her bed, snoring up a storm within minutes, giving Blythe the time she needed to communicate with Brinley.
Pushing the metal cup into the opening in the wall, she pressed one of the several buttons near the cozy pocket, watching the tea leaves drop into the cup before hot water slowly trickled, steeping the tea. Defas is what they called it here, but it resembled a mixture of coffee and tea, and although Blythe drank it, she still hadn’t determined if she liked the taste or not, but she needed the caffeine. And defas did that for her.
Xan’s bare feet padded on the floor behind her, alerting her to his presence before his long muscled arms encased her in his embrace. He nuzzled his nose into her neck, inhaling deeply, taking in her scent. “You smell sweet—your natural scent is like the berries you eat for breakfast, but today you have the added scent of…arousal…and my seed.”
Her sex throbbed in response to his words. She twirled in his arms, facing him for only a moment before she dropped her gaze, tracing her finger along the tattoo on his arm saying, “Can we visit the baby this morning?” Blythe ventured a quick peep of his face, his dark eyebrows furrowed, causing her to shutter her eyes quickly.
“Pet, what are the rules about visiting Tegan Denisse?” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his stern countenance.
“Uhm…You decide when we visit. Not me.”
He nodded solemnly. “Continue.”
“I must service you first, and then practice feeding.” Her clit thrummed, the whole of her body tingling…especially one certain area of her body.
Crossing his large arms over his chest, he nodded again. “Then why did you ask?”
“I just…I miss her and I thought it would be nice to change it up a little today.”
“Change it up—what does that mean?”
“To change the routine, or do something different.” She pulled her lip between her teeth, unsure how all of this would work out for her…and her bottom.
Xan shook his head, pushing back the shock of curls on his forehead. Grasping her arm above the elbow, he walked Blythe to the kitchen table before bending her over it, pushing her nightie onto her back. With a low growl, he yanked on the material wadded up in his fist, jerking her to a standing position again. “Get this thing off. I’ve been way too lenient lately. You’re not supposed to be wearing clothes unless I order it.”
Grabbing the hem, she swooped the nighty over her head, letting it flutter to the floor. She resisted the urge to cover herself, clasping her elbows behind her.
“You’re such a good girl when you have a mind to be.” He walked around her, brushing his finger along her skin, her body trembling. Holding her breath when he stood behind her, her mind raced with the phrase stay still, stay still.
“Good girl.” Xan slapped each buttock, the force making her rise up onto her tiptoes.
“Oh,” she quietly muttered, struggling not to lose formation, digging her nails into the skin of her forearms.
“Hurts, yes?” His evil grin made her belly flip. Blythe had learned more about the kinder, gentler side of Xan in these few months since becoming a captive of Pra’kir, but it didn’t lessen the healthy fear she had of his stern, harsh side. He expected abject obedience; excuses had no place in his household. You obeyed, or you were punished until you chose to obey. Period.
“Yes, Master.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, and although the spanks stung, the tears were more in anticipation of what was coming than what had just occurred.
“Back over the table, girl.”
She squeaked a low whine as she laid her now sweaty body over the cool, hard table.
“No commentary.” He swatted her ass hard, her groin slamming into the edge of the table. She gripped the opposite edge, pulling herself tightly to the table to keep from moving.
“You’re not in control. I am. I should think that had been made perfectly clear—on several occasions. We’ll rectify that now.”
Xan had rules for her behavior during a punishment. No movement. No hands reaching back to protect her ass. No swearing. No clenching.
Before becoming a captive on Pra’kir, Blythe would have sworn most of those rules were impossible during a punishment, but it was amazing the feats one could master with incentive and a bit of trepidation.
Xan’s large, paddle-like hand slammed into her bottom, the smacks taking her breath away. Thankfully he never forbade her from shouting or crying out, because the yelps began immediately. Her fingers clung to the table, her knuckles turning white with the strain of obeying.
She would like to say Xan’s bark was more than his bite, but that wasn’t the case at all. His bite was so much harsher than his words ever could be. In reality, his words could be quite gentle and sweet…and loving. Terms of endearment and his protective nurturing nature flowed easily, fostered by her dependence and subservient behavior. But the minute she tried manipulating or cajoling him into doing things her way, she found the sting of his hand or implement on her backside. Like now.
One would think that she would have given up, but independence was a trait that she cherished and didn’t see fading easily. It was the last shred of herself, the one thing that gave her hope…the control over what she thought, felt, and to some extent, whether she obeyed or not. She vowed she’d exert her independence whenever possible.
His hand continued its march up and down her backside, leaving scorched, stinging pain in its wake. She waggled her ass, keeping her hands and feet still. He demanded that she stay perfectly still, but it seemed that his swats were harder today than normal and she hoped he’d give her a bit of leeway since she couldn’t keep her hips still to save her soul. Her face slid in the tears puddling on the table, her cries and his swats filling the otherwise quiet kitchen.
“I decide when we’re seeing our daughter. Tegan Denisse is taken care of and watched at all times.” He spanked her sit spots sharply, the tendrils of pain snaking down her legs.
Proudly she kept her feet still despite the urge to dance away the agony.
After he’d thoroughly punished the area, and she had no doubt that the whole of her buttocks were red, he stopped, leaving her to cry quietly.
Blythe had grown used to a sore bottom and wondered if she’d become accustomed to disciplinary sessions, wondering if she subconsciously set up situations to be spanked. She shook the thought off, as she usually did. It made no sense.
Spankings—especially Xan’s punishments—hurt. A lot! She’d be daft to look for a caning or belt whipping. Did people actually yearn for those things?
Did she? Maybe…
“Okay, get up, girl. That was just a little reminder for you.”
A chair scraped on the floor near her. She slowly rose, swiping at the tears and pushing away the wet pieces of hair stuck to her face. Xan was sitting in a chair and was so tall; his eyes were level with hers. Pra’kirean men were so large; she swore she’d never get used to it.
His large, cold and clammy hand ran over her cheeks. “Look at that naughty backside.” He tsked loudly.
Blythe grinned at him. “You enjoy tsking now that I taught you.”
He gave her a full boyish grin, and she swore she adored him. “I do. It’s a perfect reaction to many things…it’s a shame we as a planet hadn’t learned this years ago.”
“I wish it wasn’t used against me so often.” She pulled in her bottom lip, blushing with embarrassment.
“Pet, all you need to do is behave. Why is it such a struggle for you?”
“I don’t know…I like things to go my way sometimes.”
His eyes widened, and he said with incredulity, “Sometimes? That’s an understatement. Come sit on my lap.”
“But…don’t you want—”
“Sit on my lap. Now.” His large hand patted his thigh. “Are we having one of those days today?”
She shook her head, straddling his lap, making sure her sore skin didn’t touch his thighs.
“I broke from routine a bit today. We’re doing the feeding practice first, and then you can service me. It’ll give your bottom time to cool off first.” Xan’s large hands plumped her breasts, squeezing and pinching the nipples. He released them, the bountiful flesh wobbling. “Just like we’ve practiced, what do you do next?”
She worried that Xan’s knowledge about these things was wrong. What if she didn’t start lactating and wouldn’t be able to feed her baby? He had assured her that her body would indeed produce breast milk, and if she didn’t, Pra’kir breast milk would be fine for Tegan, but she wanted their baby to have her milk—human milk.
Xan swore that forced lactation wasn’t just something on Pra’kir but was commonplace on many planets, including Earth. Since Blythe’s captivity, Xan had studied and learned many things about Earth, reveling in how inferior it was to Pra’kir, but at the same time, he loved pointing out the many customs they had in common.
Cupping her right breast with her left hand, she plumped the nipple and areola between her thumb and fingers. Since becoming pregnant, the nipples had grown large and the areola was darkening and enlarging. Before she could press the full, rounded end into Xan’s mouth, his hand slapped the breast out of her hand, leaving a pink handprint on her white skin.
“You started with that breast last night. It’s imperative that you remember to start with a different breast at every feeding. Yuk—Tegan will suck harder initially. I want both breasts to be of equal size and not lopsided. Clear?”
“Yes, Master. I forgot. And you almost called her Yuki…do you still want that name?” Holding her breath, she waited for the answer before commenting further.
“I do like the name Yuki, but no, I want Tegan Denisse. It’s a good name for a girl—delicate but strong. I forgot for a moment; I’ll do better in the future. No worries. Now, start again.” He tapped her left breast with his forefinger.
“Yuki is what we say when we change a poopy—
They both finished the sentence in unison, “—poopy diaper on Earth.”
“I know, brat. You’ve told me before. Now get that breast up here, or I’ll decide to flip you over my lap and spank you some more for your impertinence.”
She cupped her left breast with her right hand, plumping the nipple and areola between her fingers, drawing it into his mouth. Opening his mouth wide, she pushed the whole of her areola and nipple in, watching him envelop her rounded flesh.
He drew on her nipple, she gasped with the pain, tightly closing her eyes. “Oh…Xan…I mean—”
Instantly, a stinging pain bloomed in her left buttocks for the disrespect, accompanied by a low growl.
“It hurts.” She laced it with as much of a whine as she dared; he didn’t respond well to sniveling either. The occasional mewl brought a sense of satisfaction to him, and that evil grin of his would surface, but anything more than a quiet commentary and it became an indication to him that she required discipline.
Her breast popped out of his mouth, the air cool on the warm, wet nipple. His eyebrows shot up. “Does anything of value and worth occur without work and pain, girl?”
Damn, she hated when he asked questions like that. “Maybe…”
“Care to rephrase?”
She sighed loudly, “No. It always takes work. Are you sure about this?”
“I am. These?” He plumped her breasts one in each hand. “They’re made to produce milk, and they will. In time. Close your eyes.”
She eyed him suspiciously, staring into his dark eyes, looking for clues on what would be happening next. Succumbing to his will, as usual, she shuttered her lids.
His deep voice rumbled through her. “Picture Tegan in your mind. Do you see her?”
Part of her felt confused. Thinking of her baby, or any baby, as well as hearing a baby cry made the breast milk let down in a nursing mother, and yet having Xan suck on her breast had her sexually aroused. She knew logically that this was a normal reaction. Women were used to their breasts being viewed as sexual, and men loved suckling on them, but then to add to the confusion of producing milk, especially milk for a child, made the feelings conflicted. She struggled with the dichotomy of the situation. And as an anthropologist, she understood culture enough to know that women had struggled with this same issue for centuries.
Once a woman becomes a mother, the desire to be sexual is still present, but the need to nourish and meet the needs of a child is just as important.
Blythe smiled, that sweet little face of their daughter appearing at the forefront of her mind, her full, tiny, pouty lips. She had her father’s long thin nose and his curly dark hair. It was still too early to tell exactly how she’d look, but traits were visible already.
His warm, wet lips tightly suctioned her nipple, drawing and pulling. It was at that point that a strong tingle in her breast made her suck air between her teeth, a numbing tingle that caused her womb to contract and her clit to throb.
“Oh…my God. What is that?” Her eyes sprung open to find Xan’s wide eyes looking back at her, the corners crinkled in amusement. It was then that she noticed him swallowing.
“Are you? Is there milk? Am I making milk?”
He nodded slowly, and she swore he sucked harder…and faster.
“Shut. Up! Oh my God! This is fucking amazing!” A sharp pinch to her left cheek had her jumping and remembering her place. She blushed, dropping her gaze, hoping it wouldn’t mean a punishment. Or worse, that he wouldn’t let her see Tegan.
A moan similar to when she sucked him off caught her attention, and with his eyes closed, the alien appeared to be in his ecstasy. He pulled away, her reddened nipple moist with his spit and her milk, a bluish droplet dangling at the tip. His long, cool finger scooped the lonely drop, bringing it to her lips.
“Taste it, girl.”
At first, she hesitated, backing away from it, but curiosity won out. Closing her lips around the digit, the watery liquid coated her tongue. Sweet. It was similar to sugar water.
“It’s sweeter—much sweeter—than the milk of Pra’kir women. Your milk is like nectar from Na.”
It made no sense, but she filled with pride. Her milk. She had made milk…for her daughter. And apparently for her future husband as well.
Xan was eyeing her other breast, plumping it in his hand. “Close your eyes; visualize our daughter.”
As he requested she thought of their daughter, knowing it would help with the training.
Our daughter.
Would she ever get used to that phrase? Or would she always feel an overwhelming sense of awe and pride? The baby she thought she’d never be blessed to have. Her baby. Their baby. Half human and half Pra’kirean.
Her friend Brianna had a baby a year ago and told her that being pregnant and having a baby is the most surreal experience a woman can have. Blythe wouldn’t get to have the thrill of carrying a child, but she never thought she’d hold a baby made from her flesh…and a little girl at that.
The tingle she’d felt moments prior along with a warm heat suffused her breast, and Xan murmured, “That’s my girl.”
She smiled, loving when he praised her.