Joslyn’s Fate Part. 2

The leader drove back into her with a heavy, possessive thrust, his tapered crimson length spearing deep into the slick heat of her core while two others pressed insistently alongside him, stretching her wide in a slow, deliberate claiming. Joslyn’s hazel-green eyes fluttered in shock as her soft body yielded to them, her plush thighs trembling where the pack held them open.

“P-please… no more… I can’t… it’s too much…” she whimpered, voice cracking, still trying to twist away even as fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. But the coyotes didn’t hear refusal the way she meant it. To them she was already theirs — the soft, fertile answer to every desperate howl they had ever uttered. The leader nuzzled her neck with surprising gentleness, licking away the sweat and tears even while his hips rolled forward in deep, claiming strokes. The others pressed close, their warm fur brushing her heavy breasts, their tongues tracing slow, reverent circles over her nipples as if worshipping the very curves that made her perfect for them.

They dragged her the rest of the way into their rough little clearing like a sacred offering, never once letting her empty. Every time one pulled free with a wet rush of seed, another took his place, slower now, almost tender in their hunger. They licked her swollen folds clean between breedings, noses nudging her belly as if already imagining it round and full. Joslyn sobbed quietly through it all, her body betraying her with unwanted flutters of heat even as her mind screamed for it to stop.

Weeks melted into months of that same strange devotion.

Her first pregnancy took root fast. By the end of the second month her once-flat stomach had begun to swell into a gentle curve that the pack adored. They would gather around her in the den, noses pressed to the soft skin, licking and nuzzling the growing life inside her while one or two of them mounted her from behind with slow, careful rolls of their hips. Joslyn lay on her side most days now, heavy breasts leaking thin streams of milk, whispering broken pleas that grew softer each week.

“Please… I don’t want this… take it out of me… I’m not yours…”

But they only answered with low, affectionate growls and warmer tongues across her belly. When the time came to birth the litter — six squirming pups after a long, aching night of contractions — the pack surrounded her like a living cradle. They licked her face through every push, held her thighs gently open, and guided each newborn straight to her leaking nipples the moment they arrived. Joslyn cried the whole time, exhausted and horrified, yet the coyotes’ amber eyes shone with pure, primal joy as they watched their new breeder feed their young.

They gave her only three short days of rest before the cycle began again. This time they were even more attentive, licking her aching folds until she was slick and ready, then filling her again while they pressed warm bodies against her still-soft belly. Her second pregnancy swelled faster and larger than the first. By the fourth month her stomach was a heavy, tight dome that swayed beneath her when they mounted her on all fours. The pack worshipped it openly now — tongues dragging slow, loving strokes across the stretched skin, noses sniffing the new life growing stronger inside her.

Joslyn’s resistance had faded into quiet, exhausted sobs. “I… I can’t do this again… please… just let me go…”

They never did. They simply loved her more fiercely with every passing day.