Kass #2
“Yes, I do.” The second wave releases—twenty eggs this time.
My pussy clenches around both cocks, milking them desperately, trying to pull them deeper even though that's physically impossible.
“You saved me. Twice. The skirlings would have killed me. And then... then the withdrawal. I was dying. Could feel it. Everything shutting down.”
“Female is strong. Would have survived.”
“No.” Wave three makes me gasp—twenty-five eggs, the most yet in a single pulse. My belly rounds further, skin going tight. “I wouldn't have. My hands were shaking too hard to eat. Couldn't keep water down. The fever was...” I trail off as wave four begins. “Would have been dead by noon.”
He's quiet through waves four and five. My belly is visibly pregnant now, skin stretched drum-tight. I can feel the eggs inside, heavy and warm, dissolving slowly to release their chemicals. But there's no anger in me about it. Just relief that the empty ache is finally, finally quiet.
Wave six brings the first breeding orgasm.
Different from last night's surface-level climaxes that were just nerve endings firing.
This one starts in my womb where the eggs are settling and spreads outward like warm honey through my veins.
My pussy clamps down on both cocks with enough force to make him groan—a sound I've never heard from him before.
“Female is holding tighter than usual,” he says, voice strained.
“Body won't let go,” I pant through wave seven—another twenty eggs that make my belly expand further. “Scared you'll stop. Leave me empty again.”
“Won't stop. Female needs full breeding. All fifteen waves.”
Wave eight makes my vision gray at the edges.
The sensation of so many eggs filling me, stretching my womb, is overwhelming.
I can actually feel them moving inside, shifting as my body makes room.
Wave nine has me biting him again, but gently this time.
Not the savage attack of last night but something else.
Marking. Claiming. He allows it, even tilts his shoulder to give me better access.
“Ten through twelve might—” he starts to warn.
Wave ten hits like a lightning strike. Thirty eggs all at once, flooding into my already-packed womb. My belly stretches beyond what seems possible, skin shiny and tight. I feel my consciousness slipping, vision going black at the edges.
“Stay with me,” he says, but his voice sounds far away.
“Can't... too much...”
I pass out during wave eleven.
I drift in and out of consciousness, aware of sensations but not fully present. My body continues without me, pussy clenching rhythmically, milking his cocks for more eggs. I feel wave twelve as pressure, wave thirteen as heat, wave fourteen as stretching that borders on pain but isn't quite.
In my semi-conscious state, I dream or hallucinate.
I'm floating in space filled with warm spheres of light.
Each one pulses with life, with possibility.
They settle into me like stars being born, transforming me from the inside.
My body isn't my own anymore—it belongs to this need, this cycle, this creature whose cocks are reshaping me at a molecular level.
Wave fifteen—the last—brings me back to full consciousness.
The massive final deposit of eggs and breeding fluid floods into me all at once.
Fifty eggs? Sixty? I can't count. My belly is impossibly swollen, skin stretched so tight I can see veins.
I look nine months pregnant, round and full and satisfied in a way that goes beyond physical.
“How long was I—?”
“Hour. Kept breeding. Female needed full deposits.” His voice is steady but I can hear the strain. Breeding an unconscious female must have required incredible control.
I look down at where we're joined. His primary is still buried to the base, the swollen knot keeping us locked.
The secondary still has all seven loops engaged, creating internal bondage that won't release until my body has absorbed enough proto-eggs to ensure dependency.
But I can feel them beginning to soften slightly. Another few minutes.
“Did I miss it all?”
“Waves ten through fifteen. Body responded even unconscious. Clenching, milking, accepting eggs.” There's something like pride in his voice. “Female's body knew what it needed even when mind was gone.”
“Good,” I say, and mean it. My hand rests on my swollen belly, feeling the warmth of all those proto-eggs. “Good.”
The secondary begins to uncoil slowly. Each loop releasing sends sparks through my nerves.
When loop seven lets go, I gasp. Loop six makes me whimper.
By the time loop three releases, I'm trembling.
The final withdrawal of both cocks comes with a flood of fluid that seems endless.
Breeding fluid mixed with dissolved proto-eggs pours from my gaping pussy in waves.
My belly deflates gradually with each gush, returning to almost normal.
Almost. There's a slight roundness that wasn't there before—the permanent small swell of proto-eggs that won't fully dissolve, that will create tomorrow's need.
He carries me to the mossy bank—our usual spot now, I realize.
The place we always end up after breeding.
His coils wrap around me immediately, not restraining but supporting, sharing heat, providing security.
I'm shaking from exhaustion, from blood loss, from the intensity of finally getting what I needed.
“Female should eat.”
“Female should sleep,” I counter, eyes already closing.
“Eat first. Then sleep.”
He actually hand-feeds me. Not in a degrading way but practical.
My hands shake too hard to grip anything.
He tears strips of dried meat into small pieces, places them gently in my mouth.
Pieces of purple fruit that will help with the withdrawal.
Careful sips of clean water from a gourd he prepared.
I'm too exhausted to protest. Too grateful to want to. This male—this creature I claim to hate—saved my life twice in twenty-four hours. Fed me. Warmed me. Gave me what my body was dying for even when I'd run from him. My pride can take a back seat to survival.
“Can't run again,” I admit quietly between bites of fruit. “Can't survive alone. Body won't let me.”
“No. Female can't.” No judgment in his voice. Just fact.
“Seventeen more days until the portal.”
“Yes. Seventeen.”
“Will you...” I hate myself for asking but need to know. “Will you keep me until then? Even though I tried to run? Even though I—”
His coils tighten slightly. Possessive. Protective. “Female asks stupid questions.”
“Is that yes?”
“Female is mine to protect until she chooses otherwise. Portal doesn't change that. Female's escape attempt doesn't change that.”
I should argue. Should insist I'm not his, not anyone's. But I'm wrapped in his coils, belly still slightly swollen with his proto-eggs, alive only because of his protection and care. The facts speak louder than my protests could.
“I still hate you,” I say, but it comes out soft. Almost fond. Nothing like the venom of before.
“Known fact. Sleep now.”
I wake to him cleaning my wounds again. His forked tongue extends, each tip working independently. One fork cleans while the other applies fresh saliva. The sensation is deeply intimate—his tongue inside my wounds, tasting my blood, my pain, my healing.
The shoulder wound is holding well, already starting to properly scab beneath his biological bandage. The flesh is knitting together faster than should be possible.
“Healing faster than expected,” he observes, tongue still working along the wound edges. “Modification helps recovery.”
“Modification helps everything apparently.” I wince as he probes a particularly deep bite on my back. “Makes me need you, makes me heal for you, makes me—”
“Makes female survive. That's all evolution cares about. Survival and breeding.”
“And you? What do you care about?”
He pauses, tongue still extended, the tips frozen mid-lick. “Unexpected questions from female today.”
“Near-death experiences make me philosophical.”
He continues his work in silence, but I can feel him thinking. His coils shift in that subtle pattern that means he's considering something carefully. The silence stretches while he cleans each wound, applies fresh saliva, checks the seal.
“Care about female who throws rocks at shadows,” he finally says. “Female who builds useless traps while dying of need. Female who bites me during breeding but curls against me after. Female who says she hates me with no venom in the words.”
“That's not caring. That's entertainment.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps same thing for serpents. We are not human. Don't love like humans. But we... notice. Remember. Protect what interests us.”
The conversation feels too vulnerable, too real, so I change the subject. “The skirlings will come back.”
“Yes. Different pack claiming territory. But not today. Can smell their fear-markers. Pack is scattered. Three dead sends message.”
“You killed three in seconds.”
“Killed three that were killing you. Would have killed thirty. Three hundred.” His coils shift, agitated. “Female was bleeding out. Dying. The rage...”
He doesn't finish, but I understand. I've never seen him truly angry before yesterday. Amused, patient, sometimes frustrated. But not the pure fury of finding me being torn apart.
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For saving me.”
“Female is mine to protect or release. No one else's choice. Skirlings tried to take that choice.”
There it is again. That possessiveness that should make me angrier than it does. Instead, wrapped in his coils with my body still recovering from both attack and breeding, it makes me feel... safe.
By evening, I can walk. Sort of. It's more like controlled falling forward, but I insist on getting to the pool myself. Pride might be a luxury, but it's my luxury.