The Pet Project Read online

  This is suboptimal. It’s been documented that house-kept tenders who pair up of their own choosing often partake in belly-to-belly breeding, with lots of direct eye contact, staring each other right in the face, and mating their mouths as well as their reproductive organs.

  And although it isn’t proven that this is the most effective breeding method, free-range house-kept tenders do have the highest rate of successful births.

  Therefore, I’d prefer it if Pet allowed the belly-to-belly servicing.

  However, I’m so fond of her that even if it’s a slight impediment to this program’s success, I’ll allow her a preference, at least for this first covering.

  This new, lower height will make it more difficult for me to gain a decent view though—I have to lower the height of my chair, and lean down so that I’m nearly folded in half, elbows on my thighs in order to observe properly.

  Prime, looking surprisingly uncomfortable, (but leaving no doubt as to why with the way he’s darting glances at me as I sit beside them, leaning forward so that I’m level with their reproductive-organ areas) approaches Pet slowly. Because she’s facing away from him, he reaches past her face to quietly lay his plucked greenery before her: a mating gift.

  Pet stares at it before whispering two distinct sounds.

  Prime clears his throat and utters one sound in return.

  Fascinating.

  When nothing more happens, I glance at Prime to see he’s hesitating. It’s Pet who turns, making a series of vocalizations, so similar to the way we Cryptops speak to each other it really, really is as if they’re actually conversing. But their sounds are so dissimilar. This may be why Pet adds an ill-spirited wave of her hand—although the irritableness may be for me, because she glares at me next before turning back around.

  She lifts her hips. It’s perfunctory, but this is a clear breeding indicator, and Prime takes it as such, bringing his hand between her legs.

  This is common of tender breedings. The male almost always penetrates the female with his digits first. House-kept tenders are reported to lick their females before breeding—but unfortunately, laboratory-paired tender males who attempt this just as often get kicked in the face by the female.

  And perhaps this has happened to Prime before, because when he draws back his fingers and finds them dry, he doesn’t bend down to lick Pet. With his other hand, he rubs his jaw and moves it side to side, his shoulders dropping with his sigh.

  “Pause,” I tell my study participants.

  Prime backs away from Pet immediately, and I give him an approving look. “Good male.”

  Pet doesn’t even turn her head to acknowledge me.

  I move past them, and collect a breeding gel applicator.

  Pet squeaks and turns on me when I brush the applicator over her outer reproductive area, and she squeaks again when I catch her by the collar so she can’t escape when I search for the erectile organ tucked under the anterior fold of her vulva, and coat it thoroughly.

  When I release her collar, Pet kicks me.

  I allow this, because I’ve read that chemically inducing arousal in an attempt to activate a female’s libido can aggravate them irrationally.

  In the time it takes me to wash and dry my hands, Pet’s begun to pant. Sweat has broken out on her forehead and upper lip, and she squirms.

  I take my seat and gesture for Prime to continue.

  Pet’s fingers have turned into claws, dancing over the table edge instead of gripping it in a dutiful manner. When Prime’s hand strokes her buttock, Pet arches her back hard, tipping her pelvis up in a much more authentic offering than before.

  Prime grasps her hips and gently brings himself close. His glans is bloated to the point that it’s shiny, and leaks excitement. His entire member is so rigid that it’s standing straight up, and he has to grasp it and struggle to angle it down for Pet’s opening.

  When he inserts himself, he makes a harsh noise, gritting his teeth—and Pet goes still, sucking in her breath, dropping her head.

  I’m alarmed and on my feet—unsure if she’s hurting or excited, but about to determine which of the two and ensure she reaches the latter—when Prime throws me a curled lip, and turns back to Pet, whispering to her, stroking her back until she nods her head. She never twists to look back, never raises her head, but as Prime begins to move, the breeding sounds grow wetter and wetter, the sucking and smacking of swollen reproductive equipment frictioning against one another. This is a good sign.

  The breeding doesn’t take long. I am forced to repeatedly punish Ux-47 for hollering to the point that he distracts the pair. I am pleased that Prime reassures Pet with frequent caresses, mostly along her back, but he also reaches beneath her to tease her erectile member.

  Pet’s pleasure-zenith hits her silently, only discernible by the trembling that strikes her limbs before she nearly falls limp.

  Prime catches her up, his hips striking her buttocks loudly as he ejects his semen inside her.

  I give them a moment to recover on their own; it’s best not to interrupt a male and female before they disengage. They’re said to grow quite surly.

  When Prime pulls free of Pet’s sheath, he stares down, watching his reproductive fluid sluice out.

  Pet doesn’t turn to nuzzle with him as some pairs do; instead, she tenses.

  I take this as my cue. I draw Prime away from her, having to add force to incentivize him to leave her—not uncommon of a male after breeding. They all get possessive and territorial, even towards the handler they respect. I don’t take offense. I subdue him and return him to his cage.

  Pet’s recovered enough out of the post-breeding stupor to fully stand.

  But when I return to her side, she refuses to look at me.

  In a smooth movement, I unfold an after-breeding blanket and catch a hissing Pet in it. I retake my seat, offering her water while I take notes and catalog the successful mating.

  Pet falls asleep with her head propped comfortably on my shoulder. When I carry her to her cot and set her down, I feel a draft of air brush oddly along the area between my neck and the upper joint of my arm.

  It’s wet.

  And with discomfort, I realize Pet must have secreted eye-gland fluid after she was bred.

  CHAPTER 8

  Firm, affectionate touch—such as ensconcing a tender in your arms to offer a tender-like clench—or further contact, such as holding a tender on one’s lap, is a method for reducing their anxiety. It also stimulates receptors which are responsible for increasing trust.

  I hold Pet frequently during the next two daycycles of her fertile window. The breeding is only repeated twice more, but Pet grows quiet. She doesn’t display unwillingness (she doesn’t even attempt to kick at me after I apply the arousing gel); she’s simply withdrawn.

  She’s also stopped watching Beastly.

  She no longer even looks at Beastly.

  Beastly watches her though—constantly, with a knit brow. Whenever he looks at me, a muscle in his jaw jumps, and I believe the only reason he doesn’t snarl or bark at me is because sharp sounds might upset Pet.

  She certainly doesn’t respond well to Ux-47’s nearly taunting-sounding vocalizations.

  Thankfully, my request for a tender muzzle was approved, and I fit it on him the moment it arrives to the lab. The instrument works perfectly. It blocks all of his mouth, but he can stay conscious and alive as long as he breathes through his nose.

  Prime’s appearance is constantly grim, especially when he watches Pet. He’s begun to obsessively run his hands through his hair in a perturbed fashion.

  I work hard to repair the rift between Pet and I, holding her more and more, and slowly, the comfort improves her outlook and general well-being.

  To my surprise, Prime calms somewhat whenever I hold Pet—which is good on several levels. I appreciate his concern for her happiness, and I’m also relieved that I have a way to externally comfort him, because male tenders who’ve reached adulthood do not respond fav
orably to the tender-style clench methods from handlers.

  ***

  When Pet’s bleeding arrives, proving the breedings were a failure... I’m not certain who is the most distraught.

  CHAPTER 9

  Recently published research documents concluded that tenders find natural settings to be the most conducive to natural breeding inclinations.

  Thus, for Pet’s next fertile cycle, when examination proves she is once again in a receptive state, I generously apply breeding gel to arouse her reproductive area. And when she’s panting and caught in the effects of the product so much that she’s even rubbing herself on me, I open Prime’s door and encourage Pet to enter Prime’s enclosure for the breeding rather than using the table.

  I feel confident in Prime’s good temper and manners, but I keep tight hold of his stunner controller all the same.

  Which isn’t easy when Pet begins working against my free hand—not to stimulate herself, but trying to back away from Prime’s open cage door.

  When she sets her nails on my arm and twists to—I believe—bite my coaxing arm, I thump her on the nose.

  It’s a light rebuke, with only one of my fingers, but Pet claps her hands over her face and crumples to my feet.

  Prime transforms. Unthinkable rage tightens his features, and he roars and lunges for me.

  I’m forced to administer a shock to keep him from attacking. Which I find most unfortunate, considering I admire his protective streak for Pet.

  I have to admit: I’m also impressed at the ferocity in Beastly’s shout when I reprimanded Pet.

  Pet, who is secreting eye-gland liquid quietly over my feet. I’m about to lift her, to apologize and demand her compliance so that I don’t have to punish her further, when Beastly vocalizes to her in an urgent tone.

  Whatever the vocalization means, Pet whimpers—but she is encouraged to rise to her feet.

  Angrily, she bats away my touch when I attempt to help.

  Feeling unsettled, I take her wrists in one of my hands and swat her on the rump. “I don’t appreciate being forced to punish the others for your actions,” I explain. “I wouldn’t have had to punish you at all if you’d simply obeyed.”

  I say this nearly being drowned out by two of the males, and Ux-47’s muffled breathing is loud, although I doubt he’s concerned for Pet. He gets excited during breedings.

  Resigned, Pet meekly crawls into Prime’s enclosure.

  He guides her to his cot, but she again refuses belly-to-belly clasping and takes a stoic all-fours position.

  Prime kneels behind her, looking equally grave. But although at first Prime spends more time caressing Pet than breeding—just as I suspected, having the female in his own territory is extra satisfactory for him once he begins. His movements are little more dominating with her, his thrusts a little more possessive.

  What I’m unprepared for is for him to drop his mouth to her back, roughly nose her hair from her neck with his snout, and bite her nape.

  Pet cries out, shuddering hard under him.

  At first, I’m alarmed, certain this is a negative reaction to the pain.

  But then I see it’s a signal she’s completed the female pleasure-portion, her zenith making her muscles fire uncontrollably as she writhes under Prime’s fierce mating grip—and I relax.

  Beastly does not. The moment Pet is bitten, he roars, throwing his cot, ripping his feeder bowl from the sliding tray and hurling it across the cage in a rage.

  Ux-47 rowdily mimics him, simply for the opportunity to misbehave, I believe.

  Prime pulls back from Pet, mouth closing, eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritted.

  He’s no more than finished inseminating Pet when she is the one to disengage them—ripping herself out from under him so quickly, he grunts and reaches for her.

  But Pet makes a primal animal noise and ducks under his arm.

  I’m standing at the door—I’d left the cage open in case I needed to intervene at any point—and Pet dodges under my arm too.

  Rather than returning to her soft pillow by my chair, and rather than crawling into my chair where I’ll comfort her, Pet races into her enclosure…

  And she shuts the door, locking herself in, and away.

  CHAPTER 10

  I stayed late, reading. Going over everything I could find about the psychological effects of hand breeding tenders. Pet refused treats, and her evening meal, and bared her teeth at me when I thought to force the issue and carry her out of her self-imposed exile.

  Prime’s teeth did not break her skin, thankfully, and I do manage to drag a sanitizing cloth over the area before Pet begins hollering at a level to rival even Ux-47 at his loudest.

  Prime walks to his outside run and doesn’t return.

  When I leave the lab for the night, I can’t find rest. I turn the situation over and over in my mind. Pet seems to like Prime fine—as long as he doesn’t breed her.

  Pet liked me too, before I made Prime breed her.

  I need Pet bred; for my position’s safety, yes—and for Pet herself. If I don’t succeed at this endeavor, she will be turned over to someone else, or if the program ends, she’ll be sold to a private buyer. She may be happier there. She might not. What if she’s sold alongside Ux-47?

  Trinary stars, NO.

  I need this to work. I also need Pet’s spirits to improve. I don’t like seeing her upset. I can’t stomach her being this unhappy.

  I return to the lab microts before my normal routine, eager to get back to Pet, to fix the damage I’ve caused. The sliding door is quiet as I make my entry, but not soundless. However, due to the raucous noise Ux-47 is making, no one hears me arrive.

  I narrow my eyes in his direction. I was so distraught over Pet’s retreat from me that I didn’t muzzle him after his meal. The scoundrel stayed quiet too, no doubt hoping I was too distracted to notice.

  I’m glaring at him, but he doesn’t see me. He’s too intent on craning his head, trying to watch something happening past the bars of his cage…

  I follow his gaze and find Pet, out of her pen. I’d unlocked the door she’d shut after herself, hoping that at the very least she would take the liberty of walking the lab after I left, perhaps even return to her pillow to sleep.

  She’s not sleeping. She’s backed herself to… to Beastly’s enclosure.

  He’s down on his knees behind her, shoving himself against the bars to reach her, his tongue stretched out.

  He’s licking her.

  His fingers are curled around the wires to keep himself braced, but soon he’s forcing his large hand through the weave of the bars, trying to add his fingers into play also.

  Evidently, his plans are defeated when his progress is prevented by the size of his wrist—he can do no more than barely reach his hand through.

  Pet, panting loudly, hair in disarray, looks over her shoulder and grins at him.

  Then she readjusts herself, sinking down on his upturned fingers.

  I can only play the voyeur to their strange activity.

  And I’m not the only one—Prime and Ux-47 are watching so intently I don’t believe they’ve noticed me. Both are sexually aroused, and Ux-47 is—no surprise—masturbating while he watches Pet simulating a breeding on Beastly’s large hand.

  Prime is so focused on the pair it’s as if he’s studying every move they make. I realize he likely is. Obviously, if he wants to please Pet, this is the way to learn.

  In contrast, Ux-47 is sneering at the frolicking pair, looking as mean as ever, even as he fists his mating member, thrusting himself aggressively as he watches them.

  Pet seems determined to ignore them, not looking in their direction, even when Ux-47 repeatedly, raucously calls out, aiming rough vocalizations in her and Beastly’s direction.

  Beastly seems to be struggling more and more to ignore the other male though, and even with the limited range of movement tender ears have, I note when his ears notch back slightly, and I watch the skin around his cheekbones and t
emples tighten. His jaw flexes also, hardening.

  However, this tension all changes the moment Pet begins to cry out.

  She makes a noise caught somewhere between a scream and a pleased purr—and for a moment, she’s suspended on his hand, her body quivering hard.

  Unlike every zenith she’s experienced with Prime, she’s flushed and grinning with Beastly. When she finishes her trembling dance on his hand, she shakily straightens, raising herself off of his fingers, and turns to nuzzle at the bars.

  Beastly obliges her, rising to his feet and roughly trying to nuzzle her back.

  Then Pet drops to her knees—on her kneeling pillow, that she’s stolen from beside my chair, I see—and rests her chin on the fence wire’s weave. I’m wondering just what she’s doing when she opens her mouth… and receives Beastly’s mating member.

  The mouth-breeding act! Of course I’ve heard of it, but it’s an odd aspect of tender mating not seen in laboratory settings. House-kept tenders are said to engage in this form of sexual gratification if they are fond of the tender they’re paired with.

  I fold my arms over my chest as the two carry on, and I have to say I’m impressed at Beastly’s stamina. Pet works on his length for a long time before he releases into her mouth.

  A waste, because there is no connection between a female’s mouth and her reproductive tube.

  Then again, it wasn’t as if Beastly’s semen was being used for anything anyway.

  That was something I intended to rectify when I came to the lab today. Prior to this, Pet’s made her preference plain. I had decided to acquiesce.

  If I hadn’t, seeing this willing mating-play between the two would have convinced me.

  Because for some inexplicable reason, Pet has a firm partiality to the Beastly male she’s still lapping at. And if he will make her happy, then… then I will be happy for her.

  Beastly’s breathing is ragged as he draws his still-rigid member out of her mouth. His teeth are bared as he stares down at Pet, but he works his hand through the bars to hold her face. The touch is clearly affectionate.