Rejoice in being bred anew

You feel a strange emptiness without the eggs inside of you. It feels wrong, somehow, not to be carrying young, as if your body had found its true purpose. As you look at his cock jutting from his abdominal slit, you find your hands massaging your milk heavy breasts in the desire for motherhood.

“Yes,” you say. “I too would rut now.” You lean back, spreading your legs to reveal the engorged lips of your cunt. “Rut with me, my mate. Fill me again.”

Pleasure ripples down the wug’s fin like a wave of red. He stalks between your legs and aligns himself with your yearning folds. You groan as he pushes inside you once again, feeling whole once more. “Yes,” you gasp, your legs wrapping around his muscular hips to pull him close. “Please. Breed me. Fill me with your eggs.”

“Always,” the wug croaks and begins to move. You lie back. This is not the violent love making of before, but a slow, aching breeding of your fertile womb. His movements drive into you as if opening the way for his young with sparks of pleasure. You pant needily, undulating with the long heavy strokes of his cock within your channel, his tooth necklace jangling over your stomach with each thrust like the ring of a dinner bell. You are a creature of instinct. You move against him as you know you must. When he leans over you, you meet his mouth with your breast, moaning as his massive mouth closes over your palm filling tit flesh like a suction cup, his tongue lashing your engorged nipples and hands knowingly coaxing your milk.

“Yes. Drink from me,” you groan. “My bounty is endless.”

For some time the only sound is the low gasp and smack of flesh. Soon, too soon, the chief releases your breast with a throaty croak as he fills you anew. You feel his seed spill inside you and cling to him, at last feeling that completion you so lacked until then.

You are tired. You do not want it to end, and with **** **** you let the wug chief disentangle himself from your slender legs. He does not speak, but you could not hear anyway. You merely lie on the floor of the wug’s hut, staring at the ceiling and relishing in the feeling of being bred. You know his seed has taken, somehow, and as your hand slowly strokes the renewed curve of your belly as the eggs begin to form, you wonder if this, then, is your true purpose? Is the goddess you have lost more important than this sensation of serving your tribe? To be filled each day, bringing more life into the world rather than ****? You sigh in deep contentment, and when a shadow falls over you, you look up into the powerful face of your mate as he leans over you.

“My mate. Tokonga still waits for us,” he croaks. “What shall I tell her?”