The Keltraxans planned it this way all along!

As they blur together, the very concept of "days" starts to lose any meaning beyond the word you once used for separate periods of light/dark. Words themselves seem less important to you now that you have no one to share them with. You and your pack communicate at a deeper level, one where marking the passage of time is unimportant. You live, instead, in every moment. Everything that is happening right now is what holds your attention, whether it's the taste of another female's pussy or the electric feel of Sir's cock grinding against yours.

Yet a small part of you cannot help but wonder where your captors are in all this. Surely they have noticed your escape, or at least your absence. Surely they would be monitoring this habitat and notice your arrival.

The answer is a long time in coming and a roundabout one, and it starts with you waking up and feeling sick.

You barely manage to squeeze yourself out of the cave before you vomit. It's gross, though probably not any more gross than any other of your bodily functions since you became an alien dog-slut.

Wait, why are you throwing up?

Squatting, you place a hand on your stomach. It's flat, was toned when you arrived from Earth and even if it lost some definition during your captivity with Toby it has now tightened up since you started running with the pack. Will it stay that way? Or is it possible...
... no. Could you be pregnant?

A familiar but long-absent, omnipresent voice must have noticed your distress, because it booms out, "WE SEE YOU HAVE REALIZED YOUR CONDITION."

You look up at the impenetrable sky out of habit. "What do you mean? You mean you intended for this to happen?" Your voice is a raw croak for not having been used for so long.

"OF COURSE. NOTHING IN THIS ZOO OCCURS WITHOUT OUR CONSENT."

You sense Sir coming up behind you; he notices your . "But why? Why this?"

"THE BREEDING FEMALES OF THIS SPECIES SUCCUMBED TO AN ILLNESS WE DID NOT DIAGNOSE UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE. THE FEMALES WHO REMAIN ARE BARREN BY THE SAME ILLNESS. AN ALTERNATIVE HAD TO BE PROCURED."

"So why not just abduct more fertile females?"

"THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE, FOR THIS SPECIES IS EXTINCT OUTSIDE THIS ROOM."

Your stomach is now a hollowed-out, empty pit. You turn and look at Sir, reach out and take his muzzle in your hand. He rubs it against you affectionately, as if he understands both the Keltraxans' speech and your gesture. The last of his species! Your other hand rubs your stomach thoughtfully.

"So, I'm breeding stock?"

"WE OFFERED YOU A CHOICE. YOU CHOSE THIS. WE SIMPLY MADE IT A POSSIBILITY." They were referring to the convenient "escape" from her habitat, to the doors. To her submission. She had never been **** down this path--just heavily influenced towards it."

"What now?"

"NOW THAT YOU ARE AWARE OF YOUR SITUATION, WE WILL ADJUST YOUR NEUROLOGY TO ALLOW YOU TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOUR MATE."

"What??" But you don't get anything else out, because you're hit by a sudden, seizing pain throughout your skull. You clutch your head and fall against the ground. Sir growls and yelps with concern. Then the pain passes, and you manage to sit up.

You look into Sir's eyes and suddenly hear the word Mother in your head.

"What did you say?" you ask, confused.

Mother. You will be mother to our pack. The words are unspoken, not even words, but concepts beamed directly into your mind. So that's why Sir never reacted to your speech! His species is telepathic, their mouths unsuited for verbal communication beyond the most basic noises. The Keltraxans must be able to communicate with him simultaneously while speaking to you.

Can you … can you understand me?

Sir moves closer to you, licks your face. Yes, my mate.

You break down, a mixture of hysteric laughter and crying, not sure how to process this. You can talk to your mate now! You reach out and hug him, enjoying the silky texture of his midnight fur. "What now?" you ask, directing this more at the Keltraxans.

"NOW YOU PRODUCE LITTERS FOR THIS SPECIES. WE HAVE MODIFIED YOUR GERMLINE CELLS FOR THIS TASK. YOUR LITTERS WILL BE PUREBRED."

This disappoints you. "So I'm just some surrogate."

"INCORRECT. YOUR DNA WILL BE PART OF YOUR LITTERS', ONLY MODIFIED TO ENSURE PHENOTYPICAL CONSISTENCY."

Yeah, OK, you were good in biology class but not _that _good. "Repeat that again for me, please, in language a lowly human understands?"

"YOUR LITTER WILL SHARE HALF ITS GENES WITH YOU, BUT WE HAVE SUPPRESSED ANY GENES THAT WOULD LEAD TO HUMAN APPEARANCE. WE ARE NOT TRYING TO HYBRIDIZE YOUR SPECIES."

Ohhhhh, that makes sense. So your litters will be Sir's and yours, but they will retain all the physical characteristics of his species instead of becoming a bizarre human-canid hybrid. That's actually … comforting.

"But wait, if I'm only Sir's mate--" you gesture to him, in case the Keltraxans don't know the pet name you gave him, "--won't there be, like, problems with inbreeding? Or do you fix that too?" At this point, you wouldn't put anything past them.

Sir gives a yip. Mine first. Then others. Necessary.

You sense other males of the pack coming up around you, and then the meaning of his thought becomes clear. You are Sir's breeding bitch now, but once you have delivered his litter, the other males will get a chance. Your body wastes no time informing you of how to feel about this though: rather than reticence or revulsion, the unmistakably dampness between your legs tells you to look forward to it.

"I … I understand." You bow your head.

"WE PREFER NOT TO INTERFERE BEYOND THIS POINT. DO YOU HAVE ANY ADDITIONAL INQUIRIES BEFORE WE WITHDRAW?"