No further questions

"SINCE YOU HAVE NO OTHER QUESTIONS, WE WILL LEAVE YOU TO CONTINUE YOUR NEW LIFE IN THIS HABITAT."

With those final words, the Keltraxans closed that line of communications. You, your mate, and the rest of the pack are once again alone—well, as alone as you can be when you are silently watched by thousands of zoo-going spectators.

Sir, apparently excited by everything, is ready to mount you again.

You let him.

And then when he's finished, you think to him, I'm yours. You rub your still-flat belly, send him pictures of pups being born, of you nursing the litter. Both of you flush with more arousal.

Mine, Sir agrees.

But if I'm mated, you think, struggling to put it in terms his alien intelligence can understand, if I carry your litter, no others can mate with me. So why not let them … you trail off. You send him an image that, for you at least, is very compelling.

Sir is silent. Then he gives a strong, sharp yip. The other males, summoned, surround the two of you.

If you are already pregnant, there is no risk that someone else will supplant Sir as the father of the first litter—even if every single male in the pack takes a turn with you.

Share me, you tell Sir. Celebrate this new beginning. You turn around and present yourself to all these males. You shake your large ass, make it jiggle, make it clap. Your cunt is still wet and red, still dribbling with the seed from Sir's last mating. You grunt and raise your ass up higher, begging for it. You want this. The feeling that had been dominating your mind up until the Keltraxans’ interruption has returned: you are just an animal. You are a breeding bitch, have been for years now. Your body is made to make babies. And every moment you spend doing anything other than breeding is a wasted opportunity.

The males, unrestrained now by their alpha, cannot resist the scent and sight of your fertile hole. They race to mount you, bucking for primacy. Sir sits by on his haunches, unconcerned, amused even by this show.

You feel the scrabble of their canine-like paws against your back and your rear. Their snouts brush against your flanks, tongues licking the salt sweat off our hairless skin. A tongue caresses your asshole and cunt before being brushed roughly aside. Finally, one of the males achieves the upper hand, pushes the others away long enough to line his cock up with your hole and thrust into you.

With no hesitation, your wet cunt opens to this alien touch. The thick member, like the labia now engulfing it, is swollen with blood and need. Its barbs scrape against your vagina and you cry out in ecstasy. The sensation is everything and nothing like Sir's. You come, and then come again, barely pay attention as this male erupts inside you and is replaced by the next. As each cock pounds you mercilessly, you thrust your hips up and back, screaming. Tears run down your face and thick ropes of warm, white jizz drip from your impossibly slick fuckhole.

You rut like this for hours. Male after male, cock after cock, load after load. They take you, make you theirs, render you incapable of speech or even speech-thought. Their warm breath against your neck, their yowls of triumph. You are no longer just Sir's, no longer just his alpha bitch: you are the pack's bitch now. Their broodmare. And while they can't breed you now, with Sir's litter already growing inside you, this is a potent rehearsal for the real deal.

It's a scene that repeats often as the days go by and you sink back into your life with the pack, belly swelling and mind submerged in the deep oblivion of bliss.