He does. Another impossible flood of seed, adding to what already fills me. My belly hangs heavy beneath me, swollen withhis breeding. His secondary cock finds my ass again, claiming that hole too, marking me inside and out as his.
The second knotting lasts two hours. He doesn't let me collapse, holds me in position the entire time while his seed pumps into me. When I try to drop my hips, he pulls them back up. When my arms give out, he supports my weight. I'm not in control of anything except taking what he gives.
The third knotting happens with him holding me completely off the ground, my back to his chest, legs spread wide by his hands. The position lets him go even deeper, and I feel the tip of his cock pressing against the very depths of my womb as his knot locks inside.
“Perfect breeding position,” he tells me as seed floods into me again. “Female completely open. Gravity helping seed reach everywhere.”
I can only moan in response, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so thoroughly bred. My pussy milks his knot without my conscious control, body operating on biological imperative to take everything he can give.
By the fourth knotting, I'm barely conscious. He has to position me, move me, hold me in place. But my body responds eagerly, pussy clenching around him, demanding more seed even as my mind floats in a haze of overwhelming sensation.
“Good female,” he praises as I convulse through another orgasm. “Taking breeding so well. Body knows purpose.”
The fifth knotting happens with me draped over the remains of his supplies, barely able to hold myself up. He mounts me from behind, all pretense of human mating gone. This is pure breeding, animalistic and desperate. His knot swells faster this time, locking us in minutes.
“Mine,” he growls with each pulse of seed. “Bred. Claimed. Full of offspring.”
“Yes,” I agree weakly. “Yours. Bred.”
The sixth knotting, I'm on my back, legs pushed up to my chest, completely folded in half. The angle lets him bottom out with each thrust before the knot locks. When he breeds me this time, I can actually see my belly swell further, watch the skin stretch as he fills me beyond capacity.
“One more,” he says as dawn approaches. “Seven breedings for seven days of need.”
The seventh is gentle. Both of us exhausted, covered in blood and fluids, muscles trembling. He enters me slowly, each ridge a deliberate stretch. When his knot presses against my entrance, I whimper, not sure I can take it again.
“Final breeding,” he promises. “Then female rests.”
The knot slides in easier than ever before, my body completely shaped to receive him now. When it swells, locking us together one last time, the relief makes me cry actual tears. His seed flows into me steadily, topping off what already fills my womb.
“Bred,” he states with certainty. “Chemical markers confirm. Female carrying offspring.”
I can feel it too. The change in my body chemistry. The shift from empty vessel to breeding female. The transformation complete. My hand goes to my swollen belly, feeling the warmth of his seed through stretched skin.
“No more emptiness?” I ask.
“Never again,” he confirms. “Female bred properly. Body satisfied. Offspring beginning.”
As the sun rises on the eighth day, we're still locked together. His knot finally softening but not yet released. My pussy makes weak attempts to milk him for more, but there's nothing left. We're both completely spent.
When he finally slips free, the flood of seed that escapes is overwhelming. It pours from me in a seemingly endless stream, soaking into the destroyed bedding. But my belly remainsswollen, so much still trapped inside by my cervix, sealed there to ensure breeding success.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not sure what else to say.
“Female chose well,” he responds, hand possessive on my distended stomach. “Chose strong mate. Will have strong offspring.”
I'm too exhausted to argue about who chose whom. It doesn't matter. The breeding is complete. The empty ache gone forever, replaced by the certainty of carrying his young. My body finally, completely satisfied.
“Will we... again?” I ask.
“Daily,” he confirms. “Bred females need regular mating. Not desperate like before, but consistent. Body requires it.”
The thought should exhaust me further, but instead my pussy clenches weakly, already anticipating tomorrow's breeding. Not the desperate need of the past seven days, but genuine desire. Want rather than requirement.
“Rest now,” he says, pulling me against his chest. “Female did well. Took breeding perfectly. Strong female makes strong offspring.”
I drift off with his hand on my belly, feeling the occasional pulse of movement inside as his seed continues its work. Bred. Claimed. Full.
No longer empty.
