When it comes to being bred, the first step is to acknowledge that humans do not usually have any significant say in the process. You don’t get to pick who’s going to do it, or when, or how rough he’s going to be. All you can do is be prepared.

Remember that time you found yourself watching KNOTTED.com? You’d never known too many canines in real life, aside from your roommate. You didn’t have much of a connection and didn’t quite understand their anatomy. Flanked by spammy porn ads, a video of a human getting their brains fucked by a wolf twice their size took up the center of your screen. And just when the canine plunged into him one last time for the money shot—

You can remember the surprise on your face as he barged into your room unexpectedly, dipping his head under the doorframe as he stepped in. “Hey, can I use your…?” he’d started to ask, before noticing your screen. Most canines tower between 8 and 10 feet (2.5 to 3 meters) tall, a fact that seems unimportant as an average-height human. He didn’t exactly rub the height difference in, at least not outwardly, but he had admittedly always been a bit intimidating to you. But his chill demeanor made you feel mostly at ease. You weren’t best friends—or friends at all, really—but you coexisted.

You’d heard about human-anthro relationships, but didn’t personally know anyone who engaged in one. And now, your curiosity on a day when you thought you were home alone had basically led you down a rabbithole that culminated in a video of a human getting railed by a canine being prominently displayed on your monitor as your roommate stepped in. You’d mumbled out some frantic excuse and quickly closed the tab, but the damage was done. He didn’t look at you quite the same after that.

Whether you intended to or not, what you did effectively offered yourself up to your roommate. In other words, you made yourself available. He now knows how you feel about him, and how to get what he wants out of you. But a wolf’s methods depend on their personality.

If your werewolf roommate is gentle (a “good boy,” so to speak), he could attempt to seduce you. Kill you not with claws, but kindness. Werewolves can be very intimate, you know—in the past canines may have been referred to as “man's best friend,” but these days “man’s boyfriend” is much more commonly heard. He might return to your apartment with a bouquet of flowers that he swears he didn’t steal from the garden outside your complex. He might give you gifts that he believes humans like, though if he’s not the brightest, keep in mind it’s the thought that counts. You can expect him to start offering you random food and trinkets he thinks you’ll enjoy. Vegetarian dog food, for example—the kind he would never eat, but assumes humans are okay with. A box of Cheezits, a packet of Oreos. A really, really cool stick he found in the woods on a midnight run this one time. A raw steak that he’d generously offer to take off your hands if you say you’re not hungry for it. (His mouth waters when he hands it to you—that’s how you know it’s a true sacrifice!)

He could also constantly offer to take you on walkies—be prepared that it only takes a single yes for him to basically accompany you anywhere. Want to go on a walk in the park? He’s coming with. Headed to the library to study? Expect to bring a +1 (who doesn’t even really read, but is happy to be included). Meeting up with a friend? He’d love to meet them too! He just, you know, won’t let them get too close to you.

And if you ever tried to say no to him, he’d give you those very same puppy dog eyes you might expect out of a feral. Only now it’s more effective—there is something innately adorable about an oversized puppy like him trying to get your attention. Even on his knees he’d still be taller, with his massive dinner plate-sized paws curled up and his brows raised pleadingly. How could you say no to that face?

The most important change is that he’ll start to become touchy. Physical affection is a big deal for canines small and large. It might start simple—more high-fives and little things like that. Your hand gets absorbed by his—most human hands barely cover the width of a canine’s palm, without even mentioning their massive fingers. But it’ll slowly escalate from there: when you do something good, something he likes, such as preparing dinner, he’ll start to ruffle your hair. That massive paw on you is already fat enough when compared to your own; on your head it’s big enough to wrap around your entire skull. Warm and a bit sweaty, you won’t really be able to pull yourself away, just wait until he finally lifts it.

Then there are the hugs—the constant, relentless hugs. Werewolf embraces are not like human ones, mostly because of the size difference. He pulls you toward him and embeds your face between the two swollen pecs he prominently presents, which surrounds your nose in his canine scent. And he’ll wrap those gargantuan arms around you; his biceps are almost as wide as your torso. You’re not sure what causes you to almost choke more often; the tightness of the embrace, or the extremely pervasive scent of his musk. Weird how much he likes it when you struggle to breathe. Sometimes, if you did something extra good, he’ll even kiss your forehead when you’re wrapped up too tight between his sweaty pecs to escape, letting thick drool drip down your head.

By now you’re able to tell when he’s excited to see you, because he does these cute little tippy-taps as he runs to you. As noted before, there is something equally intimidating and adorable about a creature nearly twice your height being as excited to see you as a feral puppy. Whether it’s you coming home from class or him getting back from a workout, the reaction never gets old. His fluffy tail starts to helicopter, his big, expressive eyes widen, his huge tongue flops out. His pants seem to tighten too. Odd. Regardless, you have precious few seconds before he tackles you to the ground, so try to land somewhere soft.

Now, let’s assume your werewolf roommate isn’t so gentle. Let’s say he is… a bad boy.

His goal in that case isn’t quite to seduce you, but to influence you. To implant the very idea of being his deep in your subconscious and prevent you from thinking of things being any other way.

The first thing he’d start to do once he notices he has your attention is start to go to the gym more often. Constantly training each and every part of his body, and coming home to immediately tell you the results. He would make it clear that it’s all for you. He was in shape at first, of course, but now he has someone he’s not only trying to impress, but tempt. To that end, he’d invite you to touch his muscles when he inevitably catches you staring. You’d stammer out an apology, an excuse, or whatever, but be met with rolling his eyes. Wrapping a massive paw around your tiny arm, he’d “let you” (read: make you) squeeze his massive biceps and feel the contours of corded muscle rippling beneath his dark fur. Then your hand would journey down to his abs, admiring the firm strength down there. You get the feeling that if you punched his belly, your hand would shatter like glass. Finally you’d see the thick bulge in his shorts, and just when it would seem like he’s going to make you touch him there next, he’d change his mind and bring your hand somewhere else. But the thought would linger in your head.

His personality would begin to shift too, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have an effect on you. Over time his wardrobe seems to shrink—he really only wears shirts if they’re too small for him and accentuate his rippling abs. Otherwise, you note that he’s seemingly wearing fewer clothes as every part of him grows bigger. Walking around shirtless all the time definitely has a bigger influence on you (and your sexuality) than you expected.

But in addition to the sight, there’s also the scent. You know that, as a canine, his nose is much more fine-tuned than yours will ever be—yet as he becomes more physically active, even you can’t help but notice his musk permeating the apartment even more than usual. It’s like the second you return home after being gone, your nose is assaulted by his natural odor. It probably doesn’t help that he’s not showering all that often anymore. The official excuse he gives in that booming, baritone voice of his is that he’s too big for the one at home, and that he showers in the anthro locker room at the gym. Whether that’s true or not, you’re not sure, but you do know the more time you spend with him, the more fuzzy your thoughts seem to be.

He seems to notice this. He mentions previous conversations that you can’t really remember at all, but you’re inclined to go along with him since he could crush you like a grape if he wanted. Minor things, usually, like having you cook him dinner, or making you clean up after him. He’s not really aggressive—he’s not threatening to hurt you, thankfully. But anyone would feel small next to him. His presence in the apartment starts to shift too. He manspreads on the couch more often, granting you an unobstructed view of his masculinity. Thankfully he retains the decency to cover himself with shorts, or at least undies, but his bulge is regularly on display. (And you notice, embarrassedly, that it seems to thicken every time you enter his sight.) You’ve also got a nagging suspicion he’s doing something to your pillows, given how much they reek like him, and how much you’ve had to wash them recently.

Whether your werewolf roommate is gentle or not, he’s bringing you along for the ride. The timeline is his to choose, but you can generally expect all of this to take place within a few weeks to a few months.

And one day, you’ll see a certain look in his eyes and you’ll realize this is it.

You could try to make excuses to leave, but he won’t let that happen. Remember, it’s out of your control—all you can do is go along with him. When the time comes, he enters your room again, still not knocking. It would be as simple as him saying, “Can you help me with something?” and giving you that tried and true wink-and-grin he’d perfected on you. A brief glance down reveals that he’s excited to see you, a slow throb emanating between his legs. In seconds, the feeling is mutual. With how much his room reeks of his musk, it naturally starts to whittle down any significant resistance you still have within minutes. Maybe next time he'll do this in your room for once, deciding to corrupt the last bastion of clean air in the apartment.

But now that he has you trapped in his home territory, that’s when things kick into high gear. Werewolves aren’t usually known for their gentleness and patience in the bedroom (at least at first), but some might have some respect for foreplay.

You’ve spent a lot of time analyzing the space, and you turn around just in time to see him locking the door. He makes a face you haven’t quite seen before. His smile is uneasily satisfied, like this is the culmination of a long plan, a one-man conspiracy to break you. Both of you go silent as you take in each others’ appearances. Spiked armbands accentuate his wrists and ankles, along with a matching collar. (Note: most canines don’t usually wear collars out of subservience anymore, but instead out of some form of reclamation, or even a fashion statement.) A tight, sweaty tank top holds back a wall of pure bulk, and his gray sweatpants are clearly working overtime to hold something major between his legs. Despite how much of his body you have seen recently, his crotch is one area you’ve never really seen up close. Only bulges.

He takes one step forward, which for him is a lot of distance. You take two back, cheeks already reddening as he licks his lips. He walks you back until you hit the wall, then continues his approach until you barely have any space to breathe. One of his swollen, roughly-padded fingers arrives at your cute chin. He tilts your head up and forces you to look him in the eye. You attempt to stutter out some actual resistance. “I-I really gotta go,” you murmur, trying to stare past him. “Gotta, um… be at work…”

He rolls his bright eyes. Before you can do anything else, his thick python of a tongue unravels into your mouth. It makes itself at home immediately, bringing with it loads of sticky drool. You put your hands on him, struggling to push him off, but it’s really no use. The kiss is so heavy, so commanding, that you’re out of breath in seconds, just from him slurping your mouth. Dangerously sharp teeth clash against your face, though he avoids slicing you. A firm paw on your head holds you steady as he makes good work of your mouth.

As the kiss continues, his free hand gently slides up and down your chest. Massive fingers explore your body like a toy; the palm is nearly wide enough to hold your entire body like a toothpick as it leaves streaks of sweat across your shirt. The kiss becomes more hasty and frantic as he really gets into it, canine instincts really kicking in and causing him to rock his hips against your body.

You’re feeling a lot of things right now: fear, of course; a distant sense of confusion, maybe; and a growing feeling that this was inevitable, that everything since you were on the website led up to this. You might be thinking, “Is this wrong?” This is a fair concern—you’ve got a werewolf’s tongue going down your throat, so it’s understandable to have some hesitation. But maybe those sites you’ve browsed made some valid points. It feels natural, in a weird way, to let this happen. You don’t let yourself indulge these thoughts for too long, though. (Considering the things he has planned, it’s a little early to be doubting yourself.) It’s like he’s kissing and slurping the air out of your lungs—you’re breathless when he pulls away.

Now that the kiss is over, you have precious few seconds to take inventory of the situation. You’re not sure where your sweat ends and his drool begins on your face by the time he’s done. Your wet hair falls over your eyes and somewhat obscures your view. But he’s already moving onto the next stage, giving you barely any time to react. His huge hand comes to grab both of yours, and he drags you to the side of his bed.

He takes a seat there and spreads his legs wide, like he’s on the couch. He sort of just pushes you onto your knees, and just like that, you’re perfectly eye-level with the very thing you’d been hoping to avoid. His briefs are throbbing, concealing a monster that seems to have the width of your arm. Remember how werewolves tend to be about 8-10 feet (2.5-3 meters) tall? A helpful note is that their genitalia is usually anywhere between about ⅙ and ¼ their height. So when he grabs your little hands and makes you massage his bulge, know that you’re working with anywhere between 15 inches (38cm) on the lower side and 30 inches (76cm) on the upper.

“C’mon. Take it out.” He grins and adds, “Don’t be shy!” Easy for him to say, he’s not the one unwrapping his thick, throbbing cock like a birthday present. The second you slide his sweats and undies down, his shaft springs out in your face like a hyper-realistic 3D movie, already leaking. If you had quicker reflexes, maybe you’d be able to dodge it from smacking your cheek. But your brain is still reeling from the kiss, and so your reaction times are a little rough.

“Ever been around one of these things before?” he asks, so casually given the context it’s almost funny. He’s gently holding the shaft in one hand and smacking it into the palm of the other. Your eyes follow the swinging shaft like a pendulum. Dark red, it pulses with his heartbeat, and somehow still seems to be growing fatter. Thick precum drip-drip-drips from the tip of the crimson volcano. It’s silky smooth, like rubber, and you can feel the heat coming off of it even at a distance. It literally reeks of raw sexuality—masculinity in its purest form. You note with curiosity, amazement, hesitation, and concern that it’s more than just a ‘little’ bigger than your own equipment. All these little veins throb here and there as your eyes follow them down to the base. A swollen part at the bottom seems vaguely familiar to you from your “research”, though you’re not all that knowledgeable on the terminology. What’s it called? A knot, maybe? You’re not sure if that’s slang or the technical term, let alone what he intends to do with it. Beneath that, he’s sporting a pair of juicy balls that are collectively just about the size of your head. The heat from those alone in such close proximity is enough to leave you panting softly. They’re noisy. You’re not quite sure how much…liquid is actually churning in there, and even if you were in the proper mental state to ask, you’re not sure you would want to know. But suffice it to say, he’s a very productive lad indeed.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he replies. Wait, how long have you been staring at his cock exactly?

“I…I don’t think this is a good idea,” you mumble. Even the words you mutter under your breath cause his ears to sensitively swivel in your direction. You try to lean back. His meaty hand pushes you forward. “I’m not…I’ve never…”

Stating your inexperience probably wasn’t a good idea. Suddenly he huffs, his eyes fluttering shut. A splatter of precum barely misses your soft lips and instead collides with your chin and shirt. It looks like someone emptied half a water bottle’s worth of clear glue on your upper torso. “All the better, then,” he replies after the spasm, grinning yet again. “Proud to be the first. Time for you two to get acquainted.”

One of his hands continues to push your head towards his cock. The other angles the monster’s monster towards your lips. You get the feeling you should be struggling maybe a bit more than you are, but you can’t really find it in you, for some reason? By the time you muster up some hesitation, the tip has collided with your drool-coated lips and starts to push inside. At first you’re glad that he’s not going as fast now as he did with his tongue, but you realize his cock just feels like it’s coming, and coming, and coming. Not making a mess (yet), but it seems like there’s no end to how long it is!

It’s so inhumanly thick that your cheeks are bulged out with it, like you’ve stuffed a coffee thermos into your mouth. Like his scent, it is coated in masculinity, more than you’ll ever have. Each heartbeat causes your entire head to throb with it. You watch in a half-lidded stupor as he slowly pulls back, as if gearing up, and then thrusts forward, sending the tip towards your throat. And then he pulls back again, and thrusts in again. Over and over, each push forward slowly embeds more and more of his wolfhood into your mouth. “Just like that, there we go,” he huffs.

When you try to pull back for air, his thick legs close around you like a seatbelt, holding you securely in place and giving him leverage. “Nah. You’re staying here.” As if to complement his thrusts, he presses his hand on the back of your head as well, forcing soft gags out of you.

Overwhelming is the name of the game here. It’s an assault on almost all of your senses. Aside from your mouth being used as a personal fleshlight, your nose is embedded in the sweaty musk of his crotch. You must be doing something correctly, even if it is just… being used. Thick fingers cover your hair, coating you in sweat that starts to run down your face. The worst (best?) part is hearing the canine’s moans. His voice is just so much deeper nowthan any that you’ve ever heard, even from him—heavy and bassy, it makes you tremble every single time he speaks up.

He’s not really abusive. “Hahhhh, fuuuck,” he groans at some point, his huge tongue unfurling over your head. He slathers on so much praise, even though you don’t feel like you’re in control of, well, anything right now, that you almost feel happy to be here. …Extremely happy, actually, judging by your throbbing bulge. He hadn’t pulled down your pants, so the brief times you look away from him and at yourself, you can see a small lake of precum spilling into them, a continuous stream. But it seems so far away from your duty at hand.

Speaking of precum, you’ve no choice but to swallow his. The few times you can taste it before it gets pumped down your throat, it’s not particularly bad—it’s this warm, earthy, natural flavor, like a distilled essence of everything that makes him him, with the gooey consistency of syrup. And you’ve ingested so much by now that your stomach is not happy. It had let out a gurgle once or twice earlier—you hadn’t eaten today, so perhaps it was glad to get something—but as you press a hand to it, it feels just a bit round. That same warmth in his fluids emanates from your stomach as well.

His noises have been getting deeper and louder, so much that you think he might actually finish like this, but… he seems to change his mind. The thrusts gradually decelerate before he pulls the thing out of your mouth, slowly, and for a few brief seconds you watch the shaft glisten in the moonlight.

“Up on the bed, bud,” he commands. You don’t react; your eyes are still cock-locked. He sighs understandingly, shaking his huge head with a smirk. You get yanked out of your stupor when his massive hands land on your sides. Huge fingers sink into the skin of your thighs—well-worn, experienced pads rub rough against your soft skin. He lifts you with the casualness of a pillow and pulls you into his bed. Your partially-filled stomach to noisily slosh with his warm fluids.

Now that you can see them up close, you note that his sheets are a minefield of different white and gray stains. Most seem fresher than others, as if he’d suddenly started to get really excited lately. But all assault your nose equally. It’s sort of like the smell of your own cum, yet turned up to 11.

He places you face down. Thankfully your head rests in a pillow, and you manage to avoid the major puddles. He didn’t quite throw you down, but he was a bit more aggressive than you expected. He’s impatient, clearly; as soon as he can tell you’re safely in bed, he’s on you, starting to go for your hips again. Before you can finish the sentence “What are you…?”, he’s already pulling your pants down with one paw and raising your ass up just a little with the other.

The dots start to connect in your head. Lucidity rushes through you like a bucket of cold water splashing across your face. “H-Hey, hey, hey, whoa,” you stammer. “L-Listen, listen, I-I’ll jerk you off, I’ll go back to blowing you”—the offers you’re making right now seem less unusual than they should, for some reason—“but you can’t just…I’m not…let’s just talk this out!”

Your resistance fades as soon as you feel the heat coming off his wolfhood. You squeeze the pillow in anticipation. He hasn’t even plunged the thing in yet—he just slowly slides it between your cheeks, up and down, up and down. You note a couple of things: one—he’s loosening you up, given that his cock is drooling almost as much as the slobbering snout lolling over your back; two—he’s trying to shut you up. You don’t say much because, well, what is there to say? You’ve never been hotdogged by a cock thicker than your arm, but it seems to fit in rather snug with a lot of the other things you’ve done tonight that you can check off your bucket list.

He pulls back. For a few brief seconds, clarity returns again, and you have some time to take mental inventory before…well, your life changes.

You grip the sheets as soon as that red hot tip begins to slide between your cheeks, pointed and leaky as ever. “Ah! F-Fuck, fuck, hold on…” you pant, your voice breathy. The thing had been difficult enough to fit in your mouth, but your ass is a whole different situation. You know that there’s no way this should work, that this is either an insanely realistic fever dream or just an extremely long-winded prank; but whatever the case, the sensations you’re feeling do seem to be very real. Naturally you wince in pain, letting out a few pained grunts as the shaft starts to sink in. You can tell, even without seeing his face, that he desperately wants to go faster, but he seems to know that patience in these early stages is the key. You shudder to even imagine what might happen to you if he didn’t take his time here.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but you can tell he has really worked his way into you. It’s a strange sensation, really, but the farther he makes it, the faster he goes. You feel something prodding from deep within your guts. As you pant and hiss, you run a single hand down until you feel it. Your hand arrives at your belly as he’s just sliding in—it’s his cock. It’s so deeply embedded inside you that as he thrusts in and out, a visible lump pokes out of your stomach. The thrusts alone lurch your body forward, and when he pulls out you get tugged with him. The thought makes your cock jump, reminding you of its existence. You reach back there and find it is stiff as a board and drooling pre.

You’ve been so preoccupied with his needs that your own have become an afterthought.

And thoughts, at least coherent ones, are becoming farther and fewer between. You remember noticing his musk when he first brought you in here, but now that you are solidly trapped under him, you find that it’s truly inescapable. His pervasive stench surrounds you, as if you’re trapped in a noxious cloud, and the more he leans over you and crushes you, the blurrier your thoughts get. Both the physical exertion of having your guts rearranged, and the close proximity to a creature nearly twice your size, have left you covered in sweat. As to how much is yours and how much comes from the wolf, that’s hard to tell. One of his huge hands rests next to your face, while the other holds your ass and hips for leverage. You shiver as his heavy, guttural breaths waft across you, warm canine puffs gusting over your shoulders like a morning fog. It’s accompanied by the slow drip of molasses-thick drool onto your shirt, soaking through to your back and pooling under you.

He takes up so much space that you legitimately start to get buried under hundreds of pounds of wolf muscle. Even with your head elevated on the pillow, he’s so unfathomably heavy that you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress. If someone came in, would they even see you, or would they just think he’s humping his sheets? They probably would barely hear your little whines or desperate gasps for breath over his deep grunts, the heavy smacks of his swollen sack against your soft ass, or the wet squelching of every single thrust. The sweaty paw that had been on your hip now slides up toward your hand. He sort of holds your hand in his baseball mitt, again for leverage but also…what seems like a form of canine intimacy. The noises he’s making by now, the ragged grunts and growls of a beast deep in its heat, have convinced you that he is probably beyond the point of coherent language. Holding your hand seems to be the best he can do for now.

Tunnel vision starts to set in. You’re not even sure how long it’s been; all that you know is that wolves have stamina. Your brain is mush by now. You’re not quite sure you could construct a sentence if you tried right now either. The few times you've reached an arm out, maybe to pull yourself free, he’s swiftly tucked it back under himself and resumed his rhythm like nothing.

Every time his body crashes against yours, you can feel the liquids inside you shift around uneasily. A few times the urge to burp bubbles up, but it’s gone before you can do anything. You reach your hand under yourself again, and you realize that you’re not even fully on your hands and feet; your stomach has rounded out at some point, and you feel it gurrrgle every few seconds. It hangs low and rests on the bed, like a warm, swelling water balloon. You’re not exactly full yet, but if he keeps going at this rate, it won’t be long. What then?

The outside world seems so far away, like a dream. Whatever you did today, whatever you planned for tomorrow, none of it matters. But this, feeling the gargantuan shaft of a werewolf pound into you, this is real. It’s tangible. The job you’re doing for your buddy commands your attention because nothing else seems to matter quite as much. You get the feeling that nothing else ever will. Buddy doesn’t even like the right word for him anymore…

Some canine experts have estimated the average weight of a werewolf of his height to be around 750 pounds (340kg). This is one of the last rational thoughts that churns up in the messy melting pot that your brain has dissolved into. Base urges command most of your thoughts; everything you can think of is some variation about letting him have his way with you. All the while you feel every single pound weighing down on top of you right now. His sweat has soaked into every single part of you, seeping into every pore of your body. Being trapped under him is a bath itself.

Brief flecks of reality still hit you occasionally. While you’re pretty sure you might have some minor aches tomorrow, you’ve been convinced it’ll all be worth it. He’s not doing this out of aggression—he’s just… borrowing your body. Borrowing you. Can you blame him? A canine has needs just like you—it’s just that he happens to need some extra help with his.

You’re torn back to the present as his thrusts suddenly accelerate. Deepening growls hit your ears. The bed begins to slam into the wall as every individual heave has even more momentum. His fat cock doesn’t even make a dent in the rounded dome of your stomach anymore; it’s all just liquid. Your sweat-stained shirt sticks wetly to your belly, and starts to tear in a few places.

The amazingly thick cock plunges into you one last time, but this time he doesn’t pull out. It’s even deeper this time, like he embedded his cock under your ribcage, and you suddenly feel something swell at the base of his shaft. Oh! That must be his

Boiling hot seed suddenly rushes into you. He’s furiously rocking his hips as he pumps what seems to be at least a water pitcher’s worth of cum into you almost every second. His claws, the sharpest things you’ve ever felt, dig deep into your arms, but you’re too busy crying out in pleasure to care. The entire time you hear this loud roaring, and you realize it’s his howl, a noise you’re surprised you’ve never heard come out of him before. He’s not the only one rolling his hips though—you’re doing it too, involuntarily. Your cock releases what might be an average load for a human, but seems minor in comparison to the very real flood surging into you.

His climax continues way after yours starts and ends. One minute goes by. Then another, and then a third. No sign of stopping. Several distressing sounds emanate from your stomach as it gets inundated with what feels like an Olympic swimming pool’s worth of werewolf jizz. The mess even starts to pump outside of your ass, leaking out onto the sheets. He shows absolutely no signs of stopping any time soon, though you think each individual gush might be slowing down.

Your stomach rips through your shirt, glorping with warm, bubbly jizz. The world feels like it’s spinning, but as the mess of canine fluids continues to pump inside, the urge to burp suddenly roars back with a vengeance. And it’s exactly what you do.

It starts with little soft belches here and there. But then his cum, hot and sticky, rushes up your throat and fills your cheeks. A deep burp sends his jizz splattering across the sheets, and when you get ready to do it again, a heavy paw suddenly covers your lips.

“Ah-ah-ah!” the wolf calls from above. Despite everything, including his still-ongoing orgasm, his voice retains its low register. You’re only half-surprised that you’re already prepared to jizz again just from hearing him talk; you might already have, come to think of it. “Hold it in for me, babe. Just like that…Wouldn’t want you to make a mess, would we?”

There’s a part of you that wants to demand, Are you insane? Look around! It’s a little late for that! But a much louder, much more dazed part of you shakes your head and manages to keep most of it down, even if you do end up burping into his disgustingly smelly pawpad. You’re so overstimulated that jizz leaks from your nostrils too.

“Good boy,” he teases, his snout basically in your ears, you whimper. You literally only have to buck your hips once before more cum comes rocketing from your cock.

Your entire body is a mess. A mouth and nose that are both overflowing with gooey, slimy jizz and struggling to stay clear enough to breathe; a belly that is so heavily overstuffed that it seems more like fiction than fact; and an ass that you’re not sure will ever function again. The urge to burp keeps hitting, and you continue to unleash against his fingers. Some diffuses between them and adds to the stains, but you’re mostly forced to keep it down.

You keep sniffing that paw over your face, letting the deeply concentrated musk slip into your nose. The tunnel vision slowly surrounds you, until, eventually, you are engulfed in sleepy darkness.

—

Stupid sun’s in your eyes. You try to cover your face, but your arm’s a bit too sore.

“Hey.”

You try to lift the other arm, but it hurts just as much. Ugh. Where’s the pillow?

“Heyyy.”

Why does your bed feel warm and a bit stickier than usual?

Even your eyelids feel sore as they gradually open. You’re staring at… a pair of furry mounds jutting into the air? Your eyes slowly venture upwards. Pecs. And above those…

“Those are the beautiful eyes I’m in love with,” comes a familiar deep voice. You’re still dazed, like a hangover without too bad a headache. You crane your sore neck up just a little, and…”Good morning, little guy.” …A werewolf, grinning down at you. Only then do you realize the heavy weight on your back is not, in fact, a weighted blanket that you didn’t remember buying, but is actually his massive paw. Still caked in white.

“Ghhhhhn.” You try to respond, but your voice dissolves in your throat.

His look shifts to a bit more concern. “Oh, man, I really did a number on you, didn’t I? You okay?”

You can’t really roll onto your back and take inventory, so you settle for individually trying to tense and move each muscle. And each part you test stings in pain. What exactly happened?

The wolf reaches for a bottle of water on the nightstand. He doesn’t ask for permission before he tilts your chin up with one hand and gently tips the bottle into your mouth. It hurts to swallow, but it’s refreshing at least, especially when it lands in your—

Why does it feel like you swallowed a tire? Your stomach isn’t quite firm, but it’s noisy. The sound of gentle digestion finally hits you. A small finger slides in pretty deep. You’re not as unbelievably full as last night, but you are definitely not in the same shirt size. There’s bounce and jiggle on your formerly thin frame. Weight that wasn’t there.

The wolf chuckles a little as you examine yourself. He lowers his big triangular ears in a bashful way, though it’s unclear if he’s messing around or feels genuine remorse. “Yeah, uh, I’ll take credit for that,” he murmurs. The same hands that had thrown you into this bed yesterday now gently pick you up and roll you onto your back, your head resting between his pecs. You can really appreciate how big you are now when you see your reflection in the mirror across the room.

You try to talk again, but your voice still isn’t there. As he lets you drink from another water bottle, he rubs your stomach with the other. At the same time he explains what happened last night. “So, uh. Yeah. Well, basically, we’re mated now. I could sort of tell you were interested when I saw that stuff on your computer a few months ago. And also some other stuff.” He grins at you in a somewhat teasing way. Sharp pearly whites glare at you unsettlingly. “You’re not as subtle as you think!” He gently rubs your aching belly and pulls you in for a tight hug. “But, uh, yeah. You’re with me now. I would say hope ya don’t mind, but I think last night answers that.”

For a minute you two just enjoy each others’ company. You don’t have anything to ask—your brain still feels like it’s in low power mode. The smooth rise and fall of his fluffy chest is more than comfortable enough to rest on. The way he’s gently rubbing all parts of your body makes you suddenly really okay with the potential of never being able to stand again. He sniffs your neck a little and kisses it.

You sleepily sigh against the paw that’s massaging your cheek. He plays with your head with his free paw, twirling his huge fingers in your hair.

After a few minutes of trying, your voice comes back, though it’s pretty weak. Still, you feel you have to admit that you’ve “never been a mate before!” followed by a soft chuckle. Even his quietest, gentle noises are octaves deeper than your voice.

He chuckles. “You’re gonna learn what it’s all about soon enough, don’t you worry.”

You must have looked concerned about that response, because he replies by kissing you again. Not quite as rough as last time—it’s more sensual and gentle, though when you glance into his eyes in the mirror, there’s a hint of his other half in his gaze.

“…m-maybe we should get breakfast?” you ask softly.

He looks like he just snapped out of a daydream, and he responds by gently slipping one of his sticky fingers into your mouth. You whine softly and struggle a bit. “Mmmh! Mmm…” He shushes you and gently adds a second, and then a third for good measure.

He ruffles your hair again, hugs you tighter. “I had something else in mind.” You feel a telltale throb between your legs.

Maybe you could get used to this.