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ホーム / Werewolf / Breed me Raw, Alpha / Chapter Three

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Chapter Three

作者: Joan E.
last update 最終更新日: 2026-01-14 21:08:18

The pool water had done nothing to cool the ache between my legs.

Chloe was sprawled on the next lounger, eyes closed, music blasting through her AirPods, completely unaware that every few minutes her father was torturing me from afar.

Buzz.

A slow, cruel pulse deep inside.

Buzz-buzz.

Two sharp hits right against my clit.

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, thighs clenched so tight the plastic straps of the lounger creaked. At 1:47 the egg went full throttle for ten merciless seconds. I came silently, hips jerking, sunglasses hiding the way my eyes rolled back, slick pouring out of me so fast it soaked the towel beneath my ass. Chloe never even opened her eyes.

I waited until 1:55 exactly, then slipped inside.

The house was quiet, cool, the marble floor cold against my bare feet. I ducked into the pool-house bathroom, peeled off my wet one-piece, and tied on the red bikini he’d left folded on the counter this morning. Two tiny triangles and strings. Already drenched before I finished the bows.

The hallway to his office felt a mile long. Every step shifted the egg inside me. My nipples were so hard they ached against the thin fabric. I could smell myself, sweet, desperate omega in heat, and I knew he’d smell it the second I crossed the threshold.

The door was cracked open.

He was behind the desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled high, forearms corded and inked. The blinds were drawn. The room smelled like leather, cedar, and the dark promise of ruin.

He didn’t speak. Just crooked one finger.

I dropped to my knees and crawled.

The Persian rug burned my skin, but I didn’t care. I crawled until my cheek rested against his thigh, hands trembling in my lap. He looked down at me like a king surveying new territory.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice velvet and gravel. “Right on time.”

His fingers untied the bikini top with agonizing slowness, letting it fall. Cool air hit my breasts; he hummed approval at every bruise blooming across my skin. He turned my head gently, tongue tracing the bite on the back of my neck like he was tasting his own signature.

Then he reached between my legs, hooked the string of the bikini bottoms aside, and drew the egg out inch by inch. I watched, hypnotized, as he brought the glistening toy to his mouth and licked it clean, eyes locked on mine.

“Who does this pussy belong to, Selena?”

I swallowed. “You.”

His hand cracked across my clit, sharp, perfect pain. I cried out.

“Wrong answer, baby. Try again.”

Tears welled instantly. My voice cracked on the word I’d never said out loud. “It belongs to… Daddy.”

The smile that spread across his face was the most terrifying, beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, bent me over the desk, papers scattering. My cheek pressed to contracts worth millions while he tied my wrists behind my back with his silk tie.

“Ten minutes late over the last two years,” he said conversationally. “Ten for every time you made Daddy wait.”

The first spank stole my breath. By the fifth I was sobbing, by the tenth I was begging, voice raw.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I gasped after each one, exactly like he ordered.

He dropped to his knees behind me and ate me like a starving man, tongue fucking deep, sucking my clit until I tried to crawl away from the intensity. Every time I moved an inch, his hands dragged me back, spread me wider, feasted harder. I came twice on his mouth, screaming into the desk blotter.

Then he stood.

The blunt head of his cock nudged my entrance. He fed himself in slow, letting me feel every thick inch, letting me feel how perfectly I stretched around him.

“Feel that, baby?” he growled. “That’s Daddy’s cock owning you.”

He started slow, long, deep strokes that ended with his hips flush against my ass, forcing me to say it on every thrust.

“Say it.”

“Daddy, please breed me...”

Again.

“Daddy, please...”

Again.

Until the words were the only thing left in my head.

He lost control.

The desk slammed forward with every thrust, wood groaning, my bound wrists jerking against the tie. His hand fisted my hair, arching my back until my breasts scraped the leather inlay.

His knot swelled fast, catching on my rim, stretching me impossibly wide.

I panicked, tried to pull away.

He snarled, arm banding around my throat, anchoring me exactly where he wanted me.

“Take it,” he roared. “Take Daddy’s knot like the good little girl you are.”

He shoved deep and locked.

I screamed as the knot seated fully, as the first hot pulse of his cum flooded my womb. He kept coming and coming, teeth scraping the claiming spot on my neck but not breaking skin, not yet.

Each pulse dragged another orgasm out of me until I was limp, trembling, sobbing his name.

When it was over he untied my wrists, turned me gently, and sat back in his chair with me cradled in his lap, still impaled, still tied to him. He stroked my hair, kissed the tears from my cheeks, whispered filthy praise against my temple.

“You’re perfect, baby. You’re mine. You’re never leaving this house.”

I clung to him, wrecked and floating.

His phone buzzed on the desk. He reached for it with one hand, the other still cupping my ass possessively.

He read the screen and went very, very still.

I felt the shift in his body, the sudden tension.

“Damian?” I whispered.

He turned the phone so I could see.

A text from Chloe.

Hey Dad, change of plans. Coming home early, like right now.

Tell Selena I brought her favorite wine and we’re doing a movie night in the home theater.

Be there in five. Love you!

Five minutes.

I was naked, dripping his cum down my thighs, his knot still buried deep inside me, the taste of my own slick on his lips.

And Chloe was pulling into the driveway.

His eyes met mine, storm-grey, feral, and utterly calm.

“Looks like Daddy’s going to have to figure out how to keep his little girl quiet for the rest of the night,” he murmured, thumb brushing my swollen bottom lip.

He smiled, slow and savage.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got exactly the thing to put in that pretty mouth when she walks in.”

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  • Breed me Raw, Alpha    Chapter thirty seven

    Genesis learned to speak to me in incentives. Not rewards, those implied generosity. Incentives were transactional. Conditional. They were how systems trained behavior without ever admitting they were doing it. Day seventeen of observation, they loosened my schedule. Ten extra minutes in the exercise atrium. A wider food selection. One unsupervised shower per cycle, though cameras still tracked vitals through the walls. It was subtle enough that someone less alert might mistake it for kindness. I didn’t. I catalogued every change. Logged the timing. Noted who authorized it and who pretended not to notice. Compliance yielded comfort. Resistance yielded consequences. They were building a map inside my head and hoping I wouldn’t realize I was doing the same to them. The atrium was the closest thing Genesis had to mercy. A circular room with a simulated sky projected overhead, cycling through gentle blues and soft clouds meant to regulate circadian rhythms. Plants grew along the edges, re

  • Breed me Raw, Alpha    Chapter thirty six

    The first thing Genesis took from me was time. Not in the dramatic way people imagine, no clocks ripped from walls, no endless darkness meant to erase days. They did it gently. Methodically. By making every hour identical. Lights brightened at six. Nutrient checks at six-thirty. Observation scans at seven. Silence from eight until noon, broken only by soft-voiced attendants who never met my eyes. Lunch precisely calibrated to fetal development. Rest periods enforced, not suggested. Movement tracked. Thoughts monitored through questions disguised as concern. “How are you feeling today, Selena?” The same way I felt yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Like a specimen that had learned how to breathe. They called this wing Sanctuary. A word chosen carefully, like everything else Genesis touched. Sanctuary implied safety. Protection. Care. It implied I should be grateful. But sanctuaries didn’t need cameras behind the walls. They didn’t need glass ceilings that darkened

  • Breed me Raw, Alpha    Chapter thirty five

    Observation didn’t begin with needles or restraints. It began with silence. They moved me at dawn, the hour Genesis preferred for transitions. Less resistance. Less attention. The corridors were washed in pale light, the kind that made everything look clean even when it wasn’t. I walked between two escorts who never touched me, never spoke, never looked directly at my face. To them, I was already an abstraction, Subject Vessel, Phase-B Carrier, Asset Pending Review. The observation wing was buried deeper than the living quarters. No windows. No curved walls. Everything straight, sharp, precise. This was where illusion ended and intention showed its teeth. The room they placed me in was white. Not soft white. Surgical white. A narrow bed. A transparent wall facing a control room filled with shadowed silhouettes. Machines hummed gently around me, monitoring breath, pulse, uterine activity, hormone fluctuations. They dressed it up with calming sounds and neutral scents, but my body knew

  • Breed me Raw, Alpha    Chapter thirty four

    I learned very quickly that captivity didn’t always come with chains. Sometimes it came with silk sheets, soundproof walls, and the illusion of choice. The room they kept me in now was nothing like the pit, nothing like the steel corridors soaked in blood and panic. This place was quiet in a way that pressed against my ears. Soft lighting. A bed too large for one person. Walls curved instead of straight, like the inside of a shell. No visible cameras, though I knew better than to believe that. Genesis never wasted space. Or eyes. I sat on the edge of the bed with my hands folded in my lap, breathing slowly, counting each inhale the way the Council therapist had taught me weeks ago. In for four. Hold for two. Out for six. They liked control dressed up as care. The twins shifted inside me, subtle but constant now. A reminder that my body was no longer just mine, and that it never truly had been. Every movement I made was logged. Every hormone spike tracked. Every nightmare analyzed. I w

  • Breed me Raw, Alpha    Chapter thirty three

    They taught obedience like it was kindness. Not with whips or threats or locked doors, but with routines. With gentle voices and predictable days. With the slow erosion of choice until compliance felt like rest. The council understood something fundamental about control: people fought cages they could see, but adapted to ones that looked like care. I woke every morning to the same soft chime. Lights warmed gradually, mimicking sunrise. The air shifted temperature by half a degree, calibrated to my comfort. My schedule appeared on the wall without me asking. Wellness check. Nutrition window. Movement allowance. Rest cycle. Nothing forced. Nothing demanded. I followed it anyway. Because every deviation was noted. Because every refusal earned concern, not punishment. Concern that came with longer evaluations, closer monitoring, more people asking questions while pretending not to interrogate me. So I learned the shape of obedience. I learned how much to give and where to stop. Dr. Kovač

  • Breed me Raw, Alpha    Chapter thirty two

    The council believed silence was mercy. They dressed it in soft lighting, measured voices, and clean corridors that smelled faintly of antiseptic and flowers. They called it stabilization. They called it protection. They told me I was safe now, that the chaos outside these walls was being handled, contained, corrected. What they didn’t understand was that silence can sharpen a person. It gives you time to think. I learned the facility’s rhythm quickly. Morning assessments disguised as wellness checks. Nutrient-dense meals calibrated to my pregnancy. Controlled walks through indoor gardens where the air was too perfect to be real. Every interaction followed a script, and every script had gaps. I watched those gaps. Dr. Kovač came daily. She asked about my sleep, my stress levels, the twins’ movements. She spoke gently, like a friend, but her eyes never stopped calculating. “They’re very active,” she said one afternoon, watching the monitor as I lay back against the cushions. “Strong ne

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