Very.

What had started out as a heat fueled roll in the hay, risking a litter with an old high school friend seemed to have taken a very serious turn. Some toms did become attached and possessive of their female, their queen, and it seemed that Peter is one of those males. "I'm not sure I'm ready to commit that deeply Peter," you say hoping he'll reconsider, that he's just speaking out from some sort of afterglow.

You get your answer when he bites down on the scruff of your neck, holding you in place. That is about as serious as a tom can get, using **** like that. He's not joking, he's serious, and you are stuck, unable to move or refuse. "Peter. Please. Don't do this. You want sex, we can have sex. Breed me if you want, give me a litter, but don't lay claim to me. Please, I beg you." Your voice is pleading, you want out, this is not how you wanted this afternoon to go, not how you wanted your first heat to go, claimed by the first male to breed you.