Interlude: 3 months later

You sit at what is ironically best described as a "dressing table" even if you have no clothes to dress in these days. Your captors have rewarded you and your father's ongoing tryst, furnishing your habitat with a few more artifacts from home. The dressing table is a little too ornate for your tastes, but it is better than nothing. The top is strewn with all your favourite makeup and haircare products. Clothing is out, apparently, but the aliens have no problem with mascara and lip gloss. Indeed, while you were always a fan of trying out new looks and playing with your appearance in front of a mirror, you spend even more time doing it nowadays. You take refuge in the normality of it, pretending at least for a little while that you are sitting in your room back on Earth, just getting ready to go out.

Plus, there's something pretty hot about making yourself up just before your daddy fucks your brains out. You apply some lipstick and smile at the memory of a few weeks ago, when you used this very same dark pink colour and wrapped these lips around his erection. He groaned and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it out of the way so he could stare into your eyeliner and mascara–enhanced eyes. Breathless gasps of, "Daddy's little whore" and "fuck, Nina, don't you fucking stop until you've swallowed my seed" were all he managed as you bobbed up and down his shaft like the dirty creature you're allowing yourself to become.

Just the memory of it is starting to make you wet. Lipstick set aside, you pick up a hairbrush and run it through your dark, chestnut locks. Your arousal deepens, so you take the brush and reverse it, then guide its handle past your pussy lips and into your vagina. You shift your weight back and spread your legs a little wider to make it easier to penetrate yourself.

As you do this, you can't avoid staring down at the one thing reminding you that this is not situation normal. Just below your breasts, themselves larger and more pendulous than they once were, juts an impressive baby bump. Your hand naturally comes to rest on it, fingers splayed over your taut skin. Your once slender, exercised and toned body has started to fill out, curves you never knew you could have appearing all of a sudden. This, combined with the makeup, makes you appear older and more mature.

You look at your naked body in the mirror, surveying it with satisfaction. Young and hot but already bred, made up like a slut and fucking yourself with a brush like the horny one that you are. In a few more months you'll give birth, and then you'll be a horny twenty-something MILF, ready to beg your father to be milked and fucked and bred again.

You know these thoughts should disturb you. You know you should feel disgust, or at least shame. But you don't. You feel lust, yes, but you also feel something you weren't expecting.

You feel love.

You have fallen for your father.

Not as a daughter, obviously; you already loved him like that. As a woman loving a man, a mate. "This male was the one who attracted you best, both physically and emotionally," was what the Keltraxans said when you first awoke here. At the time you had been in shock, too dazed by the abduction to process much of it. But in the subsequent months you've come to recognize that, all else aside, they were right about this one fact.

Maybe back on Earth you never would have realized it, or if you had, would never have acted on it. Certainly, looking back, there had been some indications. Those times you'd seen your father naked when you were a teenager, the heat of arousal radiating from your lower body confusing you. The way you used to seek out "daddy-daughter alone time", cutting your mom out of the picture. The way you sat a little too close to him on the couch while wearing just a nightie or a bikini, certain parts of your body pressing against his in a way that would make any other guy think you were hitting on him.

Oh, yeah, you had been hot for father all right.

You haven't told him this, of course, and you haven't asked him about how he regarded you before this new life. But both of you revel now in the unexpected freedom granted by your captivity. What was taboo and forbidden is now not only allowed but required.

Toby is proving himself not just a capable stud. He's also loving, kind, gentle in all the ways you would hope your man would be. He touches you throughout the day, reassures you, holds you without being asked. Yes, he satisfies all your animal needs, gives you orgasm after orgasm with his cock and hands and tongue … but he also treats you like a person. You talk. He tells you how much he loves you, how happy he is to be having a child with you. As terrible and strange as your situation here is, your father's actions make it all a little more bearable.

So this is what you think about as your brush handle helps you cum—not that you wish it were your dad's cock inside you right now (though you do) or how turned on you are by your descent into depravity (though you are), but that after years of barely-adequate, immature boyfriends and no sign of anyone decent on the horizon, you've finally found a man who can take care of you. A man you're proud to call the father of your children. The fact that he fathered you too, well … that's just a detail.