How long will your pregnancy last?

"EVEN WE, WITH ALL OUR SCIENTIFIC CAPABILITIES, CAN ONLY ESTIMATE THE DURATION OF YOUR PREGNANCY THROUGH PROBABILISTIC MODELLING."

Is it just you, are are the Keltraxans sounding ever-more high and mighty? You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Give me a number."

"WE EXPECT LABOUR TO COMMENCE WITHIN FIVE MONTHS OF CONCEPTION."

Five months! That certainly means you'll be able to produce more litters much more quickly than if it were a human pregnancy. You wonder how many puppies you'll bear at a time.

Babies never used to get you going. Back on Earth, you'd grimace whenever people--especially your mother--asked you when you thought you'd have children. You wanted to tell everyone to back off, that you were busy living your life, that you weren't in a hurry to make spawn that would need you, depend on you. The idea of unwanted pregnancy so concerned you that you used birth control and condoms religiously.

Now the thought of becoming a baby factory is making you hot. The idea that you'll have one or more of Sir's offspring growing within you, that you'll give birth to his pups, that you'll get to nurse them and watch them grow into strong, lean creatures in their own right ... your fingers slide into your well-lubricated pussy. "Mmm," you whimper, more so to yourself than to anyone else in particular.

While you continue to stroke yourself, Sir comes up alongside you. His warm breath running along your thigh increases your arousal. He sniffs at you but does not join in, preferring, it appears, to watch. Or maybe he's just biding his time. Whatever the reason, he sits back on his haunches while you finger yourself. With no help from that quarter, you're left to your digits: slow, sensual strokes of your clit with your index and middle finger, while the others dip into your vagina and tickle the ceiling of your canal. You feel out every groove, every spot, experienced enough at this to know exactly which places to hit to give you, well, the hit.

Your other hand brushes against the bush covering your mons. You play with the hair there and lightly run your fingers against your belly. The tickling sensation feels good against your smooth skin, and your hand strays upwards to your firm and round breasts. You cup your right breast and give it a firm squeeze. You travel up the mound towards the nipple, seize it between your fingers, play with it roughly, imagining the touch of an invisible lover.

Your cunt is leaking so much now your fingers are just slipping in and out like you've dipped them in oil. Ragged, short breathes emanate from between your lips, sharp inhalations turning into sharper gasps. Sir stirs from his position, sticks his nose down between your legs, starts to lick. Your freed hand joins the other in stimulating your tits, and between this and the feeling of his tongue against you, it's too much. The orgasm overwhelms you, and you lean back and stretch out in all directions, letting it take you.