The orgasm destroys me. Every muscle locks, spasms, releases, locks again. My pussy clamps down on him so hard it borders on pain. I feel him swell more, the knot beginning to form, and for a moment I think he'll give in. Think he'll lock inside and end this torture.
But he pulls out at the last second.
His own release sprays across my stomach, my breasts, marking me with his scent. The smell is overwhelming, alien pheromones that make my body recognize him as what it needs. His pleasure cock releases too, covering my thighs, my ass, ensuring every inch of me carries his mark.
He lowers me carefully, all four arms supporting me until my legs remember how to hold weight. They don't, not really. I slide down the tree trunk until I'm sitting in the moss, legs splayed, pussy still clenching on emptiness despite the thorough fucking.
“Female has what she needs for now,” he says, his cocks already retracting into their sheaths. “Orgasm will quiet the worst symptoms for a few hours. But only temporary. Body knows what it really needs. Who it needs.”
He crouches in front of me, one clawed finger tilting my chin up. Makes me meet his eyes again.
“Tomorrow, female can pretend this didn't happen. Can continue running. Continue hiding. But body will remember. Will crave. Will need specifically what I can give.”
He stands, turns to leave, pauses.
“My territory is the grove with purple moss. Where the three streams meet. Female knows where when she's ready to stop playing prey.”
Then he's gone, melting back into jungle shadows. Leaving me sitting in moss soaked with our combined fluids, skin covered in his seed, pussy already beginning to ache again despite the temporary relief.
The fungi's effects are fading, leaving me exhausted but clear-headed for the first time in days. I can think beyond the need, even if only briefly. Can process what just happened.
He claimed me but didn't complete it. Gave me enough to function but not enough to satisfy. Showed me what my body needs while maintaining control over when I get it.
Classic conditioning. Make the subject dependent on something only you can provide.
Except knowing the manipulation doesn't stop it from working. My pussy clenches at the thought of his territory, of going to him, of asking for what he denied me. The knot.The flood of seed. The biological completion that will end this torture.
I struggle to standing, legs shaky but functional. His scent covers me so thoroughly that no amount of washing will remove it. Other males will smell it, know I've been marked. Some will respect it. Others won't.
But that's not what terrifies me.
What terrifies me is the certainty settling in my bones. Tomorrow, maybe the day after, I'll go to his territory. I'll seek him out. I'll ask for what my body needs.
Not because I'm weak. Not because I'm broken.
Because he's right. My body knows what it needs now. Who it needs. The recognition is cellular, chemical, absolute. The tonic didn't just make me fertile. It made me compatible with him specifically. His pheromones, his anatomy, his genetic markers.
I've been claimed in every way but the final one.
And we both know it's only a matter of time.
The sun climbs higher, burning off the morning mist. I gather what remains of my supplies, my weapons, my dignity. The fungi pouches are empty but I know where more grows. The game isn't over. I'm still prey who can fight back.
But now I'm prey who's been caught and released. Prey who's been shown exactly what she's running from. Or toward.
My pussy clenches, already beginning to ache again. The relief is fading, replaced by need that's worse because now it has memory attached. Now my body knows exactly what it's missing. The weight of him. The stretch. The ridges dragging against walls that evolved to receive them.
His territorial marks are everywhere I look now. Claw marks on trees. Scent marks on rocks. The subtle signs of an apex predator's domain. All leading toward the grove with purple moss where three streams meet.
Where he's waiting.
Where I'll eventually go.
The knowledge sits heavy in my chest. Inevitable as gravity. I can delay it. Can fight it. Can pretend otherwise. But my body has already decided. Already chosen. Already surrendered in every way that matters.
The rest is just time.
I move deeper into the jungle, away from his territory for now. But every step is temporary. Every moment of resistance is borrowed against future surrender.
