“Ready?”
“Just do it.”
He lowers me slowly, making me feel every inch. The entry is smoother tonight—my body shaped slightly more to accommodate him. But it still stretches me beyond reason. Each ridge pops past my entrance with a sensation that makes me see stars. By the time he's halfway in, I'm coming, pussy clenching around him desperately.
“Only halfway,” he observes. “Female comes so easily now.”
“Shut up and?—”
He drops me the rest of the way. The primary hilts completely, base stretching me wide. The secondary follows immediately, coiling faster tonight. Four loops. Then five. We're locked tighter each time.
“A storm’s coming,” he says as the first proto-eggs release.
I can smell it. Feel it in the pressure drop. “Again?”
“Season for storms.”
A second deposit of twenty eggs follows, pressing against my already full womb. The third wave brings the first thunder. By the fifth wave, rain pounds the pool surface. He extends his hood again, sheltering me.
“This is becoming a pattern.”
“Female needs protection during breeding. Natural instinct.”
Waves six, seven, and eight blur into a single, rolling climax, each one a direct response to the deposits. My pussy won't stop spasming, milking him for more. The proto-eggs fill me beyond capacity, my belly swollen tight as a drum.
“Why are you protecting me?” I ask through wave nine.
He’s quiet through waves ten and eleven. My belly is enormous now, skin stretched tight and shiny.
“Female is first in forty seasons to stay angry,” he finally says during wave twelve. “Worth protecting.”
“That's it? I'm entertaining?”
“Female is... unexpected.”
Waves thirteen and fourteen blur together. The final wave, fifteen, comes as the rain stops. My belly looks like late pregnancy, impossibly round.
His cocks begin to soften, but we're still locked by the secondary's coils.
“Too tired to move,” I explain when he starts to carry me to shore later.
“Observed fact,” he says quietly.
I'm too exhausted to bite him for it.
I don't remember him settling us on the moss bank. But I wake briefly in full darkness, surrounded by his coils, warm and inexplicably safe. My pussy still throbs with need, still drips constantly, but the edge is dulled by exhaustion.
The skirlings are calling to each other. Closer than before. I can hear at least eight distinct voices.
“Tomorrow they'll try,” he says quietly.
“Try what?”
“To take you. Pack is hungry. Female would feed them for days.”
“Let them try.”
His coils tighten slightly. Possessive. “No.”
