Breeders, page 1
Acknowledgements
The truth is most books wouldn't make it into the world without the support of a team of people and Breeders is no exception.
To my phenomenal editor, Rachel Mitchell, THANK YOU for all of your help in elevating Breeders to the piece it is today. I could not have done this without you. My books and my writing are stronger because of you.
To my early readers, you guys are superstars. Thank you for looking past the roughness of my first drafts and seeing the beautiful book Breeders would become. Your insight and encouragement helped shape this book into what it is today.
A special thanks to Alysha Stafford, who, in addition to being an early reader on Breeders, has shown an incredible amount of support for this book as a proofreader and promoter. Alysha, your love and patience with me and my stories has been boundless, and I'm eternally grateful for it. I'm also pretty sure I don't deserve it, but thank you anyways.
To my husband. This is the longest love letter I've ever written. Thank you for being you. Also, can you make me a quesadilla?
To all the people who dreamed of meeting the love of their life while strapped to a hospital bed being railed………..you're sick.
I got you.
Trigger Warning
This story includes a pregnancy loss and an attempted sexual assault. Please protect yourself and either skip these pages or PUT DOWN THE BOOK. Your mental health is important.
Contents
Copyrights
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
About the author
SNEAK PEEK of When the Stars Whisper
Copyright © 2024 by Faye Knightly
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Faye Knightly
Illustration design by Faye Knightly
Editing service by Proofreading with Rachel (proofreadingwithrachel@gmail.com)
1st edition 2024
Chapter 1
“It’s no big deal really. You just breathe this in and lay back on the bed.” The breeding program coordinator sounded almost bored, his voice droning on tonelessly as he informed me about the safety protocols. His thick glasses gave him a bug-eyed appearance further emphasized by the lack of hair on his barren head. He wore a long lab coat that went to his ankles. I guess that made sense—he’d be fully protected from any fluid mishaps.
My fluids.
With a gulp, my eyes drifted to the central feature in the small room—a cramped twin bed with a black waterproof mattress and uncomfortable-looking black straps hanging off the sides. Soon, I’d be strapped to the thing waiting for man after man to come and fuck me for the glory of the pack.
The rest of the small room was surprisingly homey and designed to help the breeder relax, with two nightstands on either side of the bed and a painting of rolling country hills on the wall. But the cozy flower-patterned lamps barely gave off enough light to call the room dim, and I knew it was intentional. Wouldn’t want me to see any details of the would-be-fathers of my children. Or smell them. Wrinkling my nose with disgust, I looked around the room for whatever was pumping out the obnoxious floral scent invading my nostrils and found a white plastic cylinder secured to the ceiling. A pile of water bottles in the corner had me rubbing my bare arms against the chill of the room. Right, that was in case any of the men became thirsty after exerting themselves.
They weren’t for me though. It was said when you went into heat you didn’t get hungry. Or thirsty. Or want anything other than sex, sex, sex. I swallowed hard, trying to imagine being that far gone. Those black straps hanging haphazardly from the bed would be locked onto my ankles soon, helping to keep me from thrashing my way off when the heat madness took hold. Shiny metal rails were slid under the bed right now, but I knew they’d be pulled up and secured in place once we began. Yet another safety measure for poor sex-crazed Cassie.
Sex-crazed Cassie. It was hard to believe I’d soon be reduced to an animal needing to be strapped to a bed lest she harm herself. Coughing nervously, I frowned down at the freckles peppering my fair arms. At five foot four with hardly any breasts to speak of, green eyes, and straight dirty blonde hair with a tendency to frizz— would I measure up to their expectations? And if I did, would I be able to perform my pack duty and go through with this?
Say the heat madness took hold, and I became the lust-filled creature the pack wanted me to be, what of the men? I hadn’t seen a boy my age since they separated girls and boys at puberty. The boys I’d played soccer with and who had helped me jar fireflies at dusk were completely different creatures who watched us from a distance with a predatory gleam in their eyes, their round boyish features replaced with hard angles and gangly limbs teeming with thick muscle. They were enigmas with deep, rumbly voices and broad shoulders.
A new fear emerged. Would they find me attractive enough, or would they see me lying on the bed, and turn to leave—water bottles left without use, my entrance slick, my body desperate?
I wanted to call the whole thing off, to say that the signs of my heat coming must be false. The feverish chills and dry mouth, the restlessness all a part of my imagination, but I couldn’t back out.
Not when this was the only way I would ever be a mother.
I’d always wanted that, always, and my heart had swelled with pride when the scholars had looked into my genealogy and assigned me the role of a breeder instead of a worker. I would be a pack mother, like I’d always dreamed. Younglings had always trailed after me, begging me to tell them more of my stories or to play some of my made-up games, and I wanted to have my own little ones someday to do those things with.
It was in the weeks leading up to my heat when the reality had started to sink in, and all those good feelings had turned into fears and nerves so powerful I could scarcely eat or sleep. I wanted this. I was meant to be a mother, but as much as I told myself it would all be okay, I was a mess by the time my heat started showing signs of starting.
To fulfill my dream of motherhood, I’d have to go through at least one heat cycle with a lineup of men visiting me in this strangely homey room, fucking me senseless in the hopes their seed would take root. Supposedly, I would enjoy it, but maybe I’d be terrible at sex.
I fiddled with the white cotton shift I wore, trying to stretch it over my exposed thighs. Even the coordinator was making me nervous. Was there hint of lust swirling in his hazel eyes? Maybe he was in the breeding program. Shit, shit, shit. For all I knew, he would don a mask and take a turn.
Maybe he was here to get me warmed up. Tension churned in my stomach as I assessed him. He was older, around fifty, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be used as a breeder—not if the record keepers found him to be a good match for the woman. But he was wearing glasses, and the record keepers did hate to tarnish their perfect breeding program with hereditary issues that could impact a wolf’s ability to defend the pack.
They could look past it though, for the right genetic combination.
The air became thin, and I wheezed, nearly jumping when the coordinator reached out a calloused hand to pat my shoulder fondly. I managed to meet his eyes and saw only kindness there.
“You’re going to do fine. You’ve practiced, right?”
Practiced? Oh yeah, I’d practiced. I nodded, lowering my head and fixing my eyes on the hideous black ankle strap. All the breeding females were permitted to take a first when they first started showing signs of their heats starting. We were instructed to choose a man to have protected sex with so we would be prepared for our breeding days. We were supposed to practice with them as much as we wanted. They wanted us as comfortable as possible, but the whole experience had been so sweaty and unsatisfying that I’d only been able to do it twice.
At least the man had been eager enough. I hadn’t dared to ask anyone outright, but my mother had found a gentle older man named Reg who had asked about me when I’d turned twenty-two and started showing signs of my heat. Wildly overweight, sex with Reg had been sticky and loud. I could still feel the slap of his belly against my back when he’d taken me from behind, and the throaty grunts by which he’d made his pleasure known. It hadn’t hurt but it was unappealing, and now I was going to have to put up with that for however long it took for my heat to die down enough to regain my sanity.
“Just climb on up here and get comfy. You’ll need to remove your nightgown. We don’t want to risk you getting tangled up in it.” He smiled, gesturing invitingly at the mattress. Get comfy? Was he serious? His hand remained extended expectantly, and the silence stretched between us until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
With a shaky nod, I climbed up on the bed. The mattress crinkled noisily as I did, and I stripped off my cotton nightgown, dropping it on the nightstand just within reach. A button with a long cord sat on the table just in case I needed to tap out. I stared at the shiny red button longingly then turned my attention to the simple white door where my breeding males would enter once my heat started.
It took me a moment to realize I was trembling. I ran my hands up the gooseflesh of my arms, startling when the coordinator clicked something into place. A handrail. Right. They’d used these beds in hospitals, and the shiny metal grips were integrated into the bed. The coordinator gave me an apologetic look before moving to the next one and securing it.
Almost ready.
Gently, he took my bare foot and lifted it onto the bed, taking the strap and wrapping it around the ankle to secure it with a buckle. He did the same to my other leg, and I felt a stab of panic when I realized I didn’t have enough leeway to close my legs. The cool air of the well-ventilated room tickled and teased at my exposed entrance—no—pussy. If I was going to do this, I needed to get comfortable with the big girl words all the women who went through the breeding program used.
I sat up straight, facing the door. My eyes fixed on the entrance. When the coordinator laughed, I startled. It was all I could do to glare at him where he stood, fully dressed and standing awkwardly beside the bed. So superior.
“We’re not starting just yet. Relax.”
Relax. Yeah, okay, like he could relax if his body was about to be ravished by a group of complete strangers. The coordinator reached into his lab coat and pulled out a small clear vial stoppered with a black plug. Curious, I squinted and was sure I saw a hint of a deep purple bloom within.
“Your heat is on the cusp of starting, but you’re not there yet. One whiff of this, and it’ll start.”
One whiff of the flower in that tiny vial—practically crushed in the coordinator’s meaty hand—and I’d be a mindless sex-obsessed doll for the breeding males to come and fuck. Oh, no. This was really happening.
My breaths came in short gulps that choked more than provided air, and I hugged myself. Stomach clenching, I began rocking back and forth, trying to find some comfort in the familiar motion.
“Hey, now.” There was a pause and a rustle of papers as he checked his clipboard for my name. Oh. My. God. The coordinator didn’t even know my name. My breathing became more erratic. “Cassie, this is all going to go fine. Hell, you’re young and healthy. I bet you get pregnant on your first heat and we don’t see you for a good couple of years, if at all.”
Right, once I was pregnant, I could raise my babies in peace until I decided I was ready to have more children.
I breathed through the panic, fighting to take in air through my nose instead of my mouth.
A mother.
My children.
I was going to be a pack mother—the most sacred, honoured role in the pack. I just had to get through this night. Well, nights depending on when my heat let up. I’d heard about one breeder who had continued in her heat for two straight days and had to be coaxed into drinking water lest she pass out.
The thought of entering a state where I was so mad with lust that I could die of thirst when water was readily available, but too consumed with the heat to save my own life, did not help and my body shook uncontrollably.
Huffing, I caught some motion from the corner of my eye as the coordinator shifted from foot to foot.
“Just sniff the flower, please. I have three other girls to get set up.”
Just sniff the flower.
He was right. I could do this. I had to do this. With a steadiness I didn’t feel, I nodded and stretched out my quaking legs, sitting up and looking over at him.
“I’m ready now.”
Stepping towards me cautiously, he held out the vial for me to see, moving slowly as though I was some cornered animal likely to take flight at the wrong move.
“This will induce you. I want you to empty your lungs of air and take a deep breath of this the second I unstopper it. Fill your lungs and hold it for ten seconds. Your heat will start about five minutes after that. When you’re ready, press the call button twice, and we’ll send in the first breeding male. Ideally, you get through all of them, but if not, we’ll use them next cycle.”
The coordinator shrugged like the potential father of my children wasn’t a big deal, but it was and this was really happening. Once my heat was completed, I’d move in with my breeding males for the rest of my cycle in the hopes of encouraging fornication outside my heat window—a situation I was none too keen on, but two weeks I could do. It was what would happen if I didn’t get pregnant that worried me.
I’d have to repeat my breeding party next cycle and do this whole thing over again. As much as I told myself this was a one-time thing, I’d heard of women taking up to four cycles before a pregnancy was achieved, and the thought made my head spin. I just wanted to get this over with so I could go home.
The coordinator must have seen my growing alarm because he held up one hand. “Don’t worry, lots of women get pregnant in their first cycle, but it’s good to have a plan if you do need to come back. Okay?”
I could do this. I would do this. It was just something I had to bear.
I nodded and the coordinator unstoppered the vial, holding it out for me to take. I thought I could smell it from a distance—a wild tangy scent that tingled on my tongue, like eating raw lemons with sugar caked on them in the summer sun. Tangy but sweet all the same.
“Remember, breathe out first.”
Right. I pushed out the air from my lungs and snatched it from him, bringing the vial under my nose, almost close enough to touch.
I. Could. Do. This.
I breathed it in until my lungs screamed for air and counted out the ten seconds. My lungs burned with the need for release by the time I was done. The sooner I started my heat, the sooner I could get through this terrible ordeal. Only a few seconds after I’d released the breath, there was a burst across my senses, like everything was too bright and too loud, too fuzzy, and too sharp. All at once, the cozy room seemed wonderfully inviting and not as frightening. I felt the knots of muscles that had been squeezing my neck like a vise these past few days loosening.
What had I been so worried about? The coordinator daintily took the vial back and put in the stopper, muttering something about his timeline and beelining for the door. Well, I certainly hadn’t made his job an easy one, fretting as I had.
Fretting. The idea seemed ludicrous. There was no need to worry. I was safe here in the heart of my pack and about to be worshipped. Warmth flooded me from head to toe. I was groggy, so tired and relaxed I could sleep, but also burning with a mad energy that demanded release.
Release. I’d found it myself beneath the covers a few times—not an easy feat when you share the room with your mother—but those had been stolen moments, filled with fear and worry, convinced my mother would hear me and demand I tell her what I was doing.
Now? I was exactly where I needed to be, doing what I needed to do. I leaned back, stretching my arms out luxuriously over my head. I didn’t know how many breeding males were assigned to me, but I hoped a few of them liked freckles.
The burning started in my core and spread upwards until I felt consumed by it. My skin was on fire, and my nipples ached to be touched. Helplessly, I arched into the bed, using my own hands as best I could, but my touch did nothing—not really. I needed—oh, shit—I needed someone else’s hands on me.
I grabbed the remote on the nightstand. What had the coordinator said? Press it twice? I hammered the button, tossed it back on the table and leaned back into the noisy bed, hoping that someone, anyone, had received the message I was ready. Beyond ready.
Burning and panting, it was all I could do to run my hands up and down my feverish skin, squeezing my nipples and trying to find some relief until—at last—I ventured lower, finding my pussy soaked. The last thing I wanted was for a man to walk in and find me spread and fingering myself, but I was quickly realizing what I wanted didn’t matter. My body had other ideas. The physical need tore through me, a deep almost painful sensation that promised heights of pleasure yet unleashed if only I would give in to its call.
