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The General studied her own reflection in the crystal’s facets as she turned it over and over. Amazing to find such a worthless trinket in a Kathoonian junkyard, when so much more of Krypton had been lost, its culture, its priceless antiquities. This—a useless tchotchke made just to prove a point, only a hundred even commissioned—had survived. And more amazing still, she could find a use for it.

Back when Krypton was whole, some high-minded inventor had sought a way to share his children’s dreams, as a way of diagnosing their psyche. Useless worrying, really. But instead of communing with a child’s petty hallucinations, the General would enter her niece’s dreams. Alter the Supergirl’s night. Remind her of her place in the great Kryptonian society.

Closing her eyes, clasping the crystal in either hand, the General began to meditate.

***

The time of the Bar-Hod had arrived.

Kryptonian society was old. Civilization had persisted so long—stagnated for so long—that biology itself had changed with custom, and custom had changed with biology. Genetic modification had only made these micro-evolutions, in both trend and living, happen faster, change more rapidly.

Before, prospective mating pairs could’ve selected each other. Or their houses could’ve chosen a strong pairing. Or one of Krypton’s great machines could’ve selected a proper eugenic match. All these methods had been tried in eons past, and as bacteria grow resistant to medicine in the very hospitals meant to stop them, so these methods had grown unfit for the society that put its faith in them. As it had been a million years before, mates could not be trusted to choose each other. Nor even the combined wisdom of their houses. Even Krypton’s most advanced computers could not discern and calculate the many trillion vagaries of attraction and heredities that would allow the exhausted genetic stocks of Krypton to continue. Biology had to have its say.

Kara’s parents didn’t need to explain this to her. Kara had been taught at a young age the specifics of the Bar-Hod. She had noted her own body’s transition, as if readying for it. Beneath her translucent robe, its glossy contours held around her only by a belt, she was revealed as no longer squat, childish, but lanky, with coltish long limbs of burnished muscles. Her breasts perky and continuously tender, with pink nipples that seemed constantly erect, evidence of her quickening maturation. Even her hair, long and brown, seemed lighter now, bouncier, springing with the same athleticism as her fit body. She had felt ready for the Bar-Hod for ages, grown well-used to her monthly blood, learned the intricacies of adult sexuality even if she’d never partaken.

She looked over her finally ready body again as her mother stripped her, comfortingly, reverently. The long, loose clothing proved no obstacle to being removed, seeming to leap into Alura In-Ze’s hands. Being undressed by others made Kara feel like her body was that of a stranger. She saw her physique and was startled by the maturity of it, the beauty—the power. Her skin had gathered the red sun’s light and channeled it as if through a prism, giving her skin a bronze color that seemed to have a sheen all its own, save for the tanlines of her undergarments, worn almost at all times. Even in the privacy of her own rooms, where her developing body was bathed in concentrated sunlight to empower her growth. Those pale tanlines seemed the last trace of the white, splotchy skin she’d once had, and she resented them as a warrior would resent chinks in his armor.

“You must try to respond,” her mother said, kneading Kara’s ripe breasts as if to force them to further develop, to be better targets for her powerful grip. “This is a good match. We must not allow the genetics of the House of El to fall to outsiders, not when our bloodline can remain pure. Do not allow our family’s matrix to be depredated by outsiders!”

“I know, Mother,” Kara said obediently, wincing as her mother’s hands scored her breasts. Even so, she was excited. Her breasts responded to the touch in gales of sweat, goosepimple hardness, like Kara was willing herself to give into whatever would be offered her. Her mother looked pleased as Kara’s nipples stung at her palms; she pinched them and enjoyed the satisfaction in the biting of Kara’s lip.

When her eyes raked over Kara’s body, they enjoyed the sight of well-sized breasts, narrow hips, all her flesh yearning to go with Kara into womanhood. Kara met her mother’s eyes and knew she found her beautiful. Ready. “Now go, Kara—go…”

Kara proceeded, naked, her father watching her proudly as she and Alura entered the chamber to meet her male, to see if they were compatible, to see if they would be betrothed. As with her, he had been stripped nude—a boy but not a child, burgeoning with adulthood, untested masculinity thrumming in his sparse frame.

He was half-hard and, seeing her, his muscles tensed, his tongue emerged to lick at thin lips. His manhood grew by degrees; Kara hoped that wasn’t her imagination. She held herself still, erect and regal, as he approached with maleness in hand, palm slowly traveling his own soft-hard length.

“Kara Zor-El,” he said respectfully, “I am for you.”

“Kal-El,” she said, with equal respect, a verbal bow conveyed through the complexities of Kryptese linguistics. “I am for you.”

He eyed her as she had and did eye him. The gilded smoothness of her creamy flesh let his eye easily slip over it, even across the slight imperfections of her upper and lower tanlines. Her breasts, small but pert, caught his eye, and he saw the strength in the muscles of her thighs and biceps—indicative of well-honed genetics.

She too observed the somewhat abundant hair marking him a man, whether it be across his cheeks or his chest. The chilled pallor of his eyes, observing her with clever hunger. The somewhat cruel tinge of his mouth, a bead of sweat crossing his lips—thicker than she had first thought. He licked it away and her own eyes, starving, followed its trail. It had slicked off his beaded forehead, down the bridge of his nose. His light blue eyes met her blue-green ones—an embarrassing marring of her family’s dominant genome. Still, he didn’t look away. He came closer. Closer. Kara’s nipples stood out, thrumming with a confused excitement, a need Kara couldn’t voice.

Alura put her hands on Kara’s shoulders, pulling back just a little to make Kara’s breasts thrust out, display their awkward erection of the nipples. Kara felt Kal-El’s eyes scour them further. “Come here,” Alura urged him. “Kara is ready for you. She has thought of you all day—“

“Mother!” Kara hissed, embarrassed, but then Kal-El was too close not to overhear even a whisper.

Gently, the boy lowered his face to them. He kissed her left areola, then her right, Kara’s mouth falling open to say something that wouldn’t come—express something she didn’t know how to express. Her nipples were so hard they stung like cold metal. Kara thought they were meant for him. Kal-El opened his mouth. It was dry and warm. It sweltered around Kara’s left nipple. Then it closed. Sucked.

Instantly, Kara felt a stirring deep in her breast, like Kal-El was pulling a part of it taut, completing a circuit in the flesh of her teat. Genetic modification had made lactation easier and faster for Kryptonians—an adopted mother could begin breast-feeding a babe within hours of first encountering it. But the downside was that the naturalistic biology had been lost. Junk DNA had cluttered the simple intent of the original structure; modifications undermining its clarity. Now, the biology governing lactation would only reply to the proper genetics, in either child or prospective parent.

“Doesn’t it feel good, daughter?” Alura asked, fingers carving with infinitely more skill into the rock-tense muscles of Kara’s back, trying to relax her, to help along her guttering fire. Kara almost wished it was just the two of them, not them and this stranger, this male who made her feel like anything might happen—absolutely anything. “Oh, don’t his lips look nice wrapped around your nipple? It looks like they belong there—his, or his son’s. Your teat feels good and warm now, doesn’t it? Let it get warmer… it won’t hurt you… it’ll be nice…”

Kara tried to will her reluctant body into doing it: producing milk, spilling it into the suction of her mouth. For a moment, she rejoiced—her nipple was bathed in wet heat. But it was only his tongue; fresh saliva coating it with the action of his suckling. Kara placed her hands on his head, the bristly hairs of his shorn head itching her delicate palms. She was so unused to the weight of a man in her arms, at her breast.

The stirrings ran throughout her body, resonating at the ends of her extremities, sinking to the pit of her stomach and lower, into the vestigial functioning of her reproductive system. Her useless womanhood, her obsolete clitoris, they joined in the chorus, the cluster of Kara’s body won over by Kal-El’s slow, expert loving of her breast. He would not stop. He would force the pleasure from her. With the growing hardness of his lips at her nipple, he would master her reticent biology, take from it what he demanded…

“You’re doing great, Kara!” Alura cheered, kissing the back of her neck. Her hands smoothed down the contours of Kara’s body as if polishing her, soothing her, moving all her doubts down out of her body, leaving only the good feelings—the thrillingly, scarily good feelings. “Look at his beautiful body, Kara—made to be with yours! Imagine that flat belly filled with your milk—your milk behind his soft lips—when he comes inside you, some of it will be your own milk!”

“Mother!” Kara gasped, outright shocked, then slamming her teeth shut to keep from speaking, gasping further. Opening her mouth had been like pulling her finger out of a dike. She moaned soundlessly, flushing with embarrassment at the unstoppable verbal response, but it came part and parcel with a warmth in her breast—an inner pull—a sudden pressure and an even more sudden release. Kara gasped aloud as milk—burning hot, wetter than a flood—rose in her breast, pushed and was pulled through her flesh, set her nipple ablaze. Release! It filled Kal-El’s mouth as he continued sucking, her receptiveness, his mastery only making him more eager. His hands groped at her body, gripping the back of her thigh, the curve of her shoulder as he sucked…

Great Rao, Kara thought—her milk had filled his mouth and he had swallowed.

Suddenly—too soon—Kal-El remembered himself. He pulled away, his lips stained, dripping, with the precursor to her pregnancy. “You’re receptive to him!” Alura said, almost moaning in pleasure. “Your genes will make a fertile home for his—your womb is already awaiting his seed!”

But Kara and Kal-El looked at each other, both knowing what she’d left unspoken. What if it was only a false positive? Was he right for her and she for him?

Kal-El backed away, looking down—his manhood fully hard (“A good sign,” Alura said, “a very good sign.”). It was time to see if Kara could stir him to his full potency, awaken the dwindling virility in this example of the Kryptonian race. Genetic modifying had done to males with semen the opposite as with females and their mother’s milk. The sex drive had been reduced, the constant cycle of arousal, congress, and recuperation stopped in its track. Now the male body only produced sperm when needed; a sudden demand, from the proper mate, produced vast new quantities. Kara already knew she responded to him. She now had to show he would respond to her.

Alura collared the back of Kara’s neck with her hand, pressing down so that Kara knelt before Kal-El, her pert ass resting comfortably atop the fold of her limber legs. The curve of her spine supple, showing the vague stirring of muscles as she reached up to run her hands over his sides, to feel the hardness of his spartan frame in his back and ass, his thighs, his legs. His manhood retained its hardness, even without his direct touch. She leaned in towards it. Feeling its heat. Its strain.

“Don’t just look at it,” Alura told her, petting Kara’s hair lovingly but also ripping through the tangles roughly, a way of needling her. “Put it in your mouth! Suck it! It’s the only way of knowing and—of course, you two are a match, of course, why won’t you just prove it?”

“But Mother, can we not—“

She gripped Kara by the hair. “Suck.”

It wants me, Kara told herself. It wants my mouth, my hand, my place. She tried to think it so hard she might force the thought out into the world. Vibrate with the intensity of her wish so hard that he would resonate with her want. And she opened her mouth and fastened it upon the head of his member, finding the taste clean, almost nondescript, but with a hint of something unknown. She sucked, as he had, felt a tremor go through his shaft. The mysterious taste strengthened. She moved up and down upon Kal-El’s manhood, letting her lips roll over all sides of the shaft, feeling how the small veins that marked its surface abraded her sensitive lips and fairly hummed inside her mouth. It wasn’t like any other part of the body. It wasn’t like anything she had ever touched, anything in her own system. It was uniquely male. And somehow she knew as well that it was uniquely his.

Kal-El.

She sucked—exercising her throat, flexing muscles she hadn’t known she had. They stirred powerfully; his manhood responded, enthusiastic, needful. It grew, hardened inside her mouth. The head touched the narrowness at the back of her throat and suddenly she was aware of a pungent taste, an acidic musk in stark contrast to the prior cleanliness she’d experienced. She didn’t dislike it, though, and he didn’t seem to dislike her sucking. She did it harder. He groaned as his hands stapled to her head, soft fingers hard on her scalp.

She thought for a moment that maybe she’d hurt him, that he was clutching to her for support, but when she stopped sucking, just for a moment, his grip pressed hard in back of her head. Forcing her back onto his shaft, the inescapable message to carry on. She did. The salty taste was stronger now. She sucked hard and felt something warm, liquid slip down her throat. It crackled with a certain vigor. She felt like it didn’t disappear down her gullet, but that she could trace it, pinging down her esophagus, into her belly, like molten lead slowly cooling. And there was more, its warmth joining the first’s in her stomach, the heat the same but the weight growing.

“Oh, Kara, I wish I was where you are now, once more,” Alura sighed, resting her steepled fingers on Kara’s shoulders, subtly urging her still further onto Kal-El’s manhood. “Meeting your father for the first time, knowing he was meant to satisfy me and I to satisfy him—a lifetime of satisfaction to look forward to. You don’t know how lucky you are, getting to taste his essence. You can taste it already, can’t you? That’s what you’re swallowing. His precum. It must taste so good, my lovely daughter… you must want more and more and more…”

Kara sucked harder and Kal-El gave her more. His hands prickled on her head, fingers steepling now, his unsure grip becoming certain. Now he pushed and pulled, working her upon his shaft as his lips had worked at her nipple. She went with the flow of his gesturing hands, pulling back, then forward, back again. As hard as his member was, it went easily through her mouth, even into her throat. She was able to accept it by adhering to the rhythm he set. By sucking hard and relaxing the same throat muscles she had just exerted, she could even take him deeper into her mouth—her gullet. It was unbelievable, feeling all that mass and hardness and musk down her actual throat, only to return, only to go back in.

Kara put her hands on Kal-El’s wrists, holding them where his hands had settled on her head. It felt like she was joining in on the rhythm he had set, approving of it. Kal-El groaned again, heartily, and Kara thought of how ashamed she’d been to verbalize these odd, new feelings he’d given her. It didn’t feel so bad now, knowing his reaction was as strong.

Now Kal-El actually spoke aloud. “Ahhh… ahhhhh…” His hands drove her down upon his manhood; Kara forced her throat to relax and his shaft bulged its down it, until the base of his member was kissing her lips, pubic hairs hard and brittle on her mouth. He was hard and hot and throbbing and all of him was inside her. He wanted her to stay there. From the ways his fingers clawed into her hair, he was desperate for it. Kara breathed through her nose and sucked, obediently, receptively, as her nipples stung and her womanhood was liquid, a feeling like her whole body was full of milk, being nursed upon. She sucked. His hands, soft and wet as her sweat-slick body, traveled her face. Feeling the delicacy of her young, pleasant features, the gentle curve of her soft cheeks, the overly rounded point of her chin, the neat little plug of her nose. Kara closed her eyes as his hands covered her face. He could feel the burning in her cheeks.

Mother, he’s going to come! She thought desperately. He’s going to come in my mouth!

She pulled away desperately, in her sudden panic unsure what it would be like—what if he came too much? What if he drowned her in it?

“You must swallow,” Alura said, a firm hand in Kara’s hair dragging her back upon the skewering presence of Kal-El’s member in her throat. “It’s tradition. When you love his taste, you’ll know it’s meant to be.”

A tear escaped Kara’s eye as Kal-El rutted dementedly into her maw, gasping, panting, hilting himself in the perfect scabbard Alura had made for him of her daughter’s mouth.

Kal-El came, his manhood a wet explosion, a burst of liquid force down her throat, an electric shock forcing her to swallow, flaming oil burning down to her belly, setting her stomach on fire, finding fresh fuel between her legs and consuming her, burning her to ashes at her womanhood but she wasn’t dry, she was so, so wet. Kara looked up as another draught from him invaded her mouth, but saw not Kal-El, but Alura—her face twisted, smiling, full lips parting to shout in exhilaration as more of her seed was forced down Kara’s throat.

Kara came awake, screaming. It was not in fright.

***

The General returned the crystal to its repository. Her little therapy, showing Kara the pleasures that could’ve been hers if only she’d been raised on Krypton, if only the General had ruled it instead of those doddering old fools on the Council, had been effective. And the girl had not been unprovocative. She’d inherited the looks of the General’s sweet sister, if nothing else, fortunately enough. In time, with more dreams, she’d learn to honor the House of El, with the General at its head. Her and her cousin. A breeding pair.

Perhaps the General would partake in their mating as well. It was not too late, with Kryptonian technology, for her to birth a child. Krypton had to be repopulated. If ‘Superman’ was set on not doing so, she would do it herself.

It was old-fashioned of her, but she believed nothing was more important than family.