The Pet Project: Unnatural Selection--a Kept In Alien Captivity Romance

by Amanda Milo

  His eyes are sad. “He can’t communicate with you.” He shakes his head and catches my nape, angling me for a kiss. Before he bestows it, he imparts, “Don’t get your hopes up, and don’t kid yourself either. He has no idea what we want, and at the end of the day, I know you like him because he treats you pretty well, but I’m here to tell you, he probably doesn’t even care.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Keeper arrives in the garden a little earlier than his usual time, and I know that this is so he can get me cleaned and set to rights before the girls wake up.

  He takes one look at my hair—and his face, which can be next to inscrutable sometimes—is a perfect capture of an alien utterly appalled.

  “That bad?” I ask him with a sleepy smile.

  He trills a high-pitched affirmative. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he motions for Kory to let me up so that he can tackle his morning makeover project.

  Kory’s arms loosen, but when I sit up, he throws himself around me and hugs me like he never wants to let me go.

  I wrap my arms as tightly around him as I can, whispering, “I’m going to talk to him.”

  To this, Kory doesn’t say anything.

  To me, Keeper whistles and says, “The girls will be awake soon. Let’s go.”

  I’m led to Keeper’s house for a bath, and I stifle a laugh at the dubious look he casts at the dried sweat (and other things) and moss bits coating my body as I enter his extremely clean domicile. I take the solar system’s quickest clean-up, and Keeper does his best to be gentle as he combs out the knots from my fist-tangled hair.

  As he works, I try to think of a way to relay the wants and needs of Kory—and me—when what Kory said is absolutely true: I can’t exactly talk things out with Keeper, especially not such a complex issue.

  Keeper is absently handing me a dress as he gathers the supplies he needs for the girls’ morning grooming sessions, but I catch his hand, startling his eyes down to mine.

  “Kory,” I say, and point in the vague direction of Kory’s pen on the grounds. Then I point to my stomach. “I could be pregnant with his baby, right here.”

  Keeper’s eyes drop to the area of my womb, and he nods slightly, indicating he got what I said, at least the general idea, and I should continue.

  I hold my hand slightly away from my face, spreading my fingers like a mask. Then I point to my face, and down to my stomach. “Kory doesn’t want to pass this on.”

  And I swear I see a glimmer of understanding in Keeper’s deep, dark eyes.

  “He doesn’t want to curse babies with his,” I make a mask-face again and shake my head. And then I clutch Keeper’s hand in both of mine. “And Kory doesn’t want to leave. Everyone sells him once they have his babies—but he can be happy here. He’s finally learning what being happy is like.” I implore Keeper to understand me. “He wants to stay for good.”

  Keeper’s wrist device beeps, and I lose his eyes as he checks it. He tries to draw his hand from mine, but I clutch him tighter, begging, “Please! Do you understand?”

  Keeper pauses, seeing my distress and clearly not liking it. He gathers me into a hug, whistling tunes I’m not familiar with—but his hug and assurance is quick, maybe only meant to comfort me into releasing him, like he does with the girls when they want him to stay and play even though he has to leave for work.

  With a heavy sigh, and an even heavier heart, I trod after him when he beckons me to follow him so that he can begin the morning rounds.

  CHAPTER 16

  It isn’t two days later when Keeper ushers a new Whistler into the garden, right to Kory’s cage.

  “NO!” I shout—scaring Quinn, Molly, and Ava, who had been playing hopscotch in the soft sand Keeper had installed when he saw that they were playing and falling on the woodchip substrate our pen had formerly sported on half of it. Then, like always, Keeper was thoughtful and swift to action in changing things for us for the better.

  I know, I know he’ll always do what he can to make sure his humans are given the best he can offer, and keeping this new member of our herd would be no hardship for him—he just has to understand what we’re asking for first.

  “Please, don’t take Kory!” I beg, and Keeper is frowning. He says a few words to the other Whistler, whose brows are raised and his mouthparts are showing because his mouth is hanging open.

  “Ack.” I spare a shiver, then buckle down. “Keeper, please!” Keeper is already on his way to me. “Kory wants to stay here, just—”

  “Theresa,” Kory calls sadly. “Give up.”

  “No—no,” I argue, shaking my head even as Keeper trills at me to come up to the bars. I do come, and I reach for him, gripping his arm.

  Before I can say more, Keeper lays a long finger against my lips and lets loose with a series of flute-like sounds that I only half understand.

  Meanwhile, the other Whistler has opened Kory’s pen, and Kory has flattened himself against his sleeping box, keeping his back glued to the box defensively.

  The Whistler calls Kory out.

  “Stop him!” I snarl—and Keeper’s chin drops by the minutest of degrees. I think I’ve shocked him.

  The other Whistler moves closer to Kory and crouches, calling to him in a pleasant tone.

  Kory attacks.

  CHAPTER 17

  “Are you wearing a diaper?” Avox asks in horror.

  “Fffuuk awff,” Kory replies with a bizarrely lazy drawl.

  “You’re back!” I cry, tears springing to my eyes.

  Kory is walking between Keeper and the other Whistler, who has an odd sort of paper smock around his midsection, like the type our dental-keeper wears when we have our teeth cleaned.

  I try to peer at Kory. “What did they do to your mouth? And… why are you wearing a diaper?” I ask, concerned.

  “I bit the doctor,” Kory explains, sounding out of it. “I bit the doctor a lot. They tied my jaws apart.”

  I gasp and clutch at my collar. (A new one, given to me with a larger jewel than my Kory-damaged one that Keeper had to replace.) I’m glad the girls are down for their afternoon nap. They actually went to sleep easier than ever today, unsettled all morning because I’ve been upset ever since Keeper and the other Whistler took Kory away.

  “And the diaper…?” Avox prompts, sounding flummoxed.

  Kory tries to gaze down at himself but stumbles, requiring Keeper’s quick reflexes to keep him on his feet. “I think they used to call them vasectomies,” he says with an unworried wave of his hand. “I think they fixed me.”

  “They chopped off your nuts?” Avox half-shouts.

  “Hey, could you bro-panic a little quieter?” Tranq calls from his side. “Otherwise, we’re going to have three little girls waking up and asking what nuts are in about five minutes.”

  “Sorry,” Avox mutters quickly.

  “I still have both my balls,” Kory assures. “I checked. My dick still works too.”

  “You… checked?” Tranq repeats, sounding stymied.

  “Enough,” Kory confirms. “They stopped me before I could do much testing, but I think they just snipped a cord or two so that my swimmers don’t knock up Reesa, if she’s not knocked up already.”

  My gaze flies to Keeper, and I don’t know if he’s caught any of our conversation, but I’d swear he knows exactly what’s going on—and I really know that he has to grasp enough when he tilts his head to me. It’s sort of like the alien version of a ‘You’re welcome’ nod—but characteristic of Keeper, it’s lacking in any sort of smugness or arrogance.

  “You fixed him,” I breathe.

  Keeper’s smile is slight—but it’s a yes.

  “You’re going to keep him,” I keep breathing.

  Keeper’s smile grows.

  “Yeaawp,” Kory agrees, throwing his arm out to catch Keeper’s shoulder, but missing and knocking his chest instead. “I’ve heard it’s important to tell your woman that she’s right, and Reesa—guess what? You were right! This alien’s not al
l bad. Normally, I wouldn’t want his friend’s hands anywhere near my junk, but this is good.” He nods slowly, too many times. “Thanks, guys.”

  The Whistler helping Kory back to his cage starts snickering—making my jaw drop open—and Keeper starts chuckling too.

  The pair gets Kory to lie down in his sleeping box, and then they dose his water with something from a small pipette and leave him some (probably drugged) treats for when he wakes up.

  When Keeper and the other Whistler exit Kory’s pen, Keeper makes his way right to me. He reaches his hand through the bars and cups my face, his thumb brushing stray tears off of my cheek. “He’s all yours, Fee-bee,” he tells me.

  And then, he adds something that puzzles me. “I knew you could make him happy.”

  CHAPTER 18

  More Whistlers arrive in our garden to rearrange our enclosures, expanding each of them, but really focusing on mine and the girls’ pen.

  By the time they’re done, our cage is almost triple the size that it was—and there are now two separate sleeping dens.

  “Please, please tell me that’s for me and you,” Avox whoops.

  “You are such a dreamer,” Tranq responds, shaking his head, his arms through the bars of the cage wall we share, his hands crossed at the wrists, relaxed.

  Keeper ushers the worker-Whistlers out, and when he comes back to the garden, he leads Kory to my pen.

  Tranq snorts. “Told you.”

  “You lucky bastard,” grouses Avox.

  “Hey, you both could volunteer to get snipped,” Kory offers, grinning. He doesn’t look at Avox when he suggests this; his gaze is all for me.

  Avox grumbles and sighs and eyes Kory like he’s considering exactly that request.

  “But the follow-up visit was pretty awkward,” Kory warns. Then he grins at me. “Has Reesa told you about it?”

  My face heats to the temperature of live flames.

  Because over the last week and a half, Kory and I have been ushered to the medical room where I’m to dress in a full bodysuit with no genital opening, and I’m instructed to bring Kory to release again and again and again.

  Then Kory gets examined for any issues from… well, issuing—and all told, he must have ejaculated with me nearly twenty spends since his recovery.

  Kory and I figure that Keeper wants to be sure that Kory’s system is empty of sperm.

  Kory declared after our last session: “You’ve been very thorough.” Ass-squeeze. “You’ve sucked and humped my balls bone dry.”

  I wasn’t without rewards. Kory pleasured me thoroughly and creatively, on account of him not being trusted with actual access to my genitalia.

  Kory’s hand wraps around the back of my neck, bringing me into him for a kiss. When he pulls away, he keeps his eyes glued to mine, sharing his sincerity with me. “I think this is where I tell you that you were so fucking right.”

  “Cursing,” Tranq reminds him, voice low.

  “Sorry,” Kory says with a grimace, glancing towards the girls, who are curious about having this man they’ve seen but don’t really know now living with us.

  I take his hand.

  Kory gives me a squeeze, then looks over his shoulder, at Keeper, and he utters a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

  Keeper reaches forward and catches him unexpectedly by the collar and makes his most serious Whistler-faced direct eye contact. He instructs Kory, “Be gentle with the babies.”

  Kory nods once, a vehement movement. “I will. You can trust me.”

  Keeper doesn’t let him go. “Don’t fight with Avox or Tranq.”

  Kory, eyes solemn, vows, “I’ll be good. I won’t give you a reason to regret this… Keeper,” he adds.

  Keeper’s expression softens, and he smiles. “Very good, Schweet.”

  Kory sighs. Keeper lowers his hand from his collar. “You know what? Fine. You can call me whatever you want. Thanks, man.”

  “Awww,” Avox teases. “Aren’t you schweet?”

  “Shut up!” Kory tells him.

  “Little ears,” Tranq reminds them with so much emphasis it's nearly an exclamation.

  I duck from under Kory’s arm and leap into Keeper’s, hugging him hard around his neck and sighing deeply when his hand pats me gently on the back.

  CHAPTER 19

  MANY MONTHS BEFORE…

  KEEDEEL (a.k.a. Keeper)

  The creature stares back at me, looking utterly proud—as it should. It’s magnificent.

  “Have you seen these?” I call.

  My friend Uteep is walking up from another row of Y-Dax for sale. He’s a fellow enthusiast of the Y-Dax creatures our planet adores. While some quadrants of the galaxy are arguing about the morality of keeping these sentient creatures, our section of the universe takes them at face value: these aliens are intelligent, but they can’t talk. (No matter that some of us have seen evidence enough to believe otherwise.) Therefore, they are our beloved pets.

  We call them Y-Dax because that’s the name of the far-flung quadrant where the creatures were collected. We Zweynolarphians didn’t do the original collecting, but we purchased as many of them as we could from the Cryptops who did. We were instantly enamored; the new aliens are like nothing anyone has ever seen before, or since.

  It’s been two hundred solars since our planet began breeding and raising the creatures, with new morphs being selectively bred for all the time. The stock we’re currently perusing, for example. “They’re lovely,” I say, reaching out my hand to stroke a flank, making the creature shift and toss its mane of hair. “And rather interesting-looking. If it weren’t for the length of its mane and the slight prominence of its mammary tissue, I wouldn’t immediately know that it was female,” I confess to Uteep.

  “Racing types,” he says with confidence. “They’re built slim but muscled. And when they’re young like this, the females are fast.” He turns to me, expression stern. “If you get a female, you can’t breed her until she retires.”

  “Why not?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  “Because once you breed a race-type female, her career is over. She’ll never run the same.”

  I’ve not heard that, but then again, I’ve done no research on the variety, either. “That’s a shame,” I say with a little sadness, because my own pets love to run, be they female or male.

  “Even after she’s produced offspring, she’ll still run and play,” Uteep answers, correctly diagnosing the origin of my dismay. “She just won’t be able to achieve the speed to compete anymore.” His mouth sets. “You know what I like most about this variety?”

  It doesn’t look like he likes whatever he’s thinking at all right now, but I don’t say so. “No. What?”

  He crosses his arms. “There’s the unexpected benefit that, when you buy a racing female, you can almost be certain the breeder took care never to let her sire—or any other male—ever force-breed her.”

  I grimace. Uteep had been thrilled to purchase a family unit of Y-dax who displayed a congenital physical anomaly which caused them to be born with additional fingers on each hand. They were very interesting-looking.

  Then one night, Uteep was passing the herd’s monitors and found something strange. The sire of the unit was not with his mate. She was sitting up, alone. When Uteep went out to their enclosure to investigate, he found the sire breeding one of the juveniles—his own daughter. Genetically, this might at first appear to be a sound decision, because this would perpetuate more of the same anomaly should the pairing produce offspring, but Uteep shares the same sense of disquiet with the idea of pairing too-close relations that I and many other Y-Dax owners do. And no matter what, the juvenile female was too young to be bred, too young to have possibly been interested in being covered—and she certainly wasn’t finding pleasure with her sire.

  That the sire left his mate at all is odd. That he wanted to couple with such a young female, let alone when she was his own get… It’s markedly unnatural.

  It haunts Uteep to this day, but he
killed the sire in a rage, right in the sleeping box of the children, right in front of the depraved male’s offspring.

  Thankfully, JoAyyn, along with the rest of her litter, has grown into a confident adult who doesn’t seem to suffer any ill effects from witnessing his execution. She did, however, have difficulty accepting a mate. Uteep thought she’d never take one, but she surprised the entire herdmaster community by taking a Hunter-line Y-Dax. Uteep still marvels at the patience of the male’s pursuit. He kept all the recordings of their interactions and likes to replay them, because the dance was subtle and so intricate that Uteep didn’t know the male had marked JoAyyn for his own until he went back to watch for clues on how the male managed to win her at all.

  Since we’re stopped by them, and they do look so very nice, Uteep motions for one of the racing Y-Dax’s mouths, asking it to show him its teeth. “Anyway, back to the original topic.” He shakes out his shoulders and forcefully draws his maxillae back into his mouth where they belong. His voice still contains a strong thread of tension though. Just the mention of a case of a juvenile being introduced to mating too early can set him into a fury for days. “If you’re making an investment in a running-line tender,” he says as he clears his throat, patting the creature on the shoulder when he’s finished examining it, “then you ought to have them perform how they were bred. It’s in their blood. They love what they were born to do.”

  “Hmm,” I say. And it’s possible that he’s onto something. My male from the aptly named ‘Rage’ line loves to fight. Everything he does is more aggressive, even down to his breedings. It’s simply his nature.

  I check my wristport. “Well, Uteep, it was nice visiting you, but I should return home.”

  “You didn’t come here with the intention to buy any of these, did you?”

  I smile because my old friend knows me well. “I came for you. And if I may point out, you haven’t purchased anything either.”

  “My garden is too full,” he claims.