Dr. Rebecca Morris wakes at 6:47 AM, thirteen minutes before her alarm. Her cunt throbs with need.
The dreams again. Being pinned. Stretched. Bred. Her fingers find wet heat between her legs before she’s fully conscious.
No. Stop.
But her body doesn’t listen. Two fingers slip inside easily. So wet already. Her other hand finds a nipple, pinching hard. She bites her lip to muffle the moan.
Just this once. Just to take the edge off.
She fucks herself desperately, but it’s not her fingers she imagines. It’s massive paws holding her down. A cock too big to be real splitting her open. When she adds a third finger, she pretends it’s stretching her wider than humanly possible.
“Please,” she whispers to her empty bedroom. “Please breed me.”
By the time she cums – back arching, cunt gripping her fingers, his name on her lips though she shouldn’t know it – her sheets are soaked and she’s running late.
The shower doesn’t help. Hot water sluices over sensitive skin. Her hands linger as she soaps herself – cupping her small breasts, thumbs brushing nipples that won’t soften. When she washes between her legs, she has to bite back another moan. Still swollen. Still aching.
She’s been like this for weeks. Ever since she started observing Lambda-3. Watching him through the reinforced glass. Taking notes with shaking hands as he mounted the volunteers.
The way their faces contorted. The sounds they made. The way they begged for more even as they sobbed it was too much.
Yesterday, she’d watched him knot a volunteer. Had to excuse herself when the woman’s belly began to swell with cum. Rushed to the bathroom, found her panties soaked through. Fingered herself in the stall, coming so hard she had to bite her hand to stay quiet.
She dresses carefully. But today… today her hand passes over the sensible beige cotton. Reaches deeper into the drawer. Black lace. Delicate. The kind that shows everything.
I just want to feel pretty, she lies to herself, hooking the matching bra. The material is whisper-thin, her pink nipples already visible through the delicate pattern. The panties are worse – barely there, already clinging to swollen lips that shouldn’t be slick with arousal at 7 AM.
Her work clothes go on over the secret lingerie – a pencil skirt that hugs the perfect peach of her ass, a size too small, bought in a moment of vanity. It outlines her soft thighs, shows the gap at the top. The kind of thighs made for spreading. White blouse, buttoned properly, but the black lace shows faintly through if you know where to look.
Lab coat. Hair in a perfect bun, not a strand out of place. Light makeup. Professional. Composed. The picture of control.
On the counter, her research notes lie open:
“Subject Lambda-3: Lycanthrope variant. Extreme aggression during mating cycles. Pheromone production increases 400% during arousal. Female researchers must maintain minimum 10-foot distance. Do NOT enter chamber alone.”
She’s memorized every word. Every warning. Knows what happens to the volunteers. Has documented every stretched hole, every mindless expression of bliss, every ruined woman who begs to come back.
She sprays perfume on her wrists – expensive, floral, civilized. As if it could mask what her body really wants. What she’s already decided to do.
Lambda-3 doesn’t sleep before a full moon. He paces his chamber, cock already half-emerged from anticipation.
The female’s scent has been growing stronger. The small one with dark hair who watches him fuck the volunteers. Who presses her thighs together and thinks he doesn’t notice. Who leaves puddles on her observation chair.
Yesterday, she’d watched him knot the volunteer. Had made small sounds – tiny whimpers she probably didn’t know escaped her throat. When he’d filled the volunteer with cum, the dark-haired watcher had gripped her clipboard so hard it cracked.
Then she’d fled. But not before he caught the spike in her arousal. Not before he saw the wet spot on her chair.
Today is different. Today, the moon demands. Today, she’ll come to him.
He knows it like he knows his own heartbeat.
His cock fully emerges, already dripping. Thick. Red. Angry. The knot pulses with each heartbeat. His body runs fever-hot, ready to claim. Ready to breed.
Today, he’ll have her.
Sarah’s heels echo in the empty corridor. Each step makes her soaking cunt contract. Each breath draws more pheromone-laced air into her lungs.
Turn back. This is insane.
But her keycard is already in her hand. Her panties already soaked through, the lace clinging uncomfortably to swollen lips.
She pauses at the observation window. He’s there – nine feet of muscle and dark fur. Pacing. Waiting.
His head snaps toward the glass. Those amber eyes lock onto hers. He KNOWS.
His cock emerges fully. The size makes her mouth go dry. Bigger than her forearm. Thick as her wrist. The knot already swelling at the base. Pre-cum drips steadily, each drop hitting the floor with an audible splat.
She thinks of her degrees. Her published papers. Her reputation. Dr. Patricia Lawson, lead researcher, respected academic.
About to throw it all away to be bred by an animal.
The thought makes her dripping sex release another flood of wetness. Her hand trembles as she swipes her keycard. Not at the observation room door.
At the chamber entrance.
The door seals with finality. The air hits like a physical force – pure pheromones, testosterone, alpha musk. Her nipples go painfully hard, pressing against the delicate lace. Her cunt floods so fast she feels it run down her inner thigh.
“Subject Lambda-3,” she manages, voice shaking. “I’m here for behavioral observation. Direct behavioral…” Her voice trails off.
He crosses the chamber in two strides.
She backs against the glass, clipboard clattering to the floor. Up close, he’s overwhelming. She has to crane her neck to see his face. His breath washes over her – hot, animal, tinged with hunger.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t understand her words. Only sees female. Fertile. Ready. The one who’s been watching. Wanting.
His massive paws grab her lab coat and PULL. The fabric splits with a sound like tearing paper. Her blouse catches in his claws, shredding. Buttons scatter across the floor like dropped pills.
Black lace. Delicate. Expensive. His claws hook through it without pause. It disintegrates like wet tissue.
She gasps – sixty dollars of French lingerie destroyed in seconds. Her hands move instinctively to cover herself, but he bats them away. Not rough. Just insistent.
He’s already gripping her skirt. The too-tight fabric fights him, requiring real force. RIIIIIP. The zipper screams. The seams burst along her hips, revealing pale flesh. Red lines bloom where the fabric scraped in its death throes.
He spins her, shoves. Her bare breasts flatten against the cold observation glass – small teardrops with dusky pink nipples already pebbled hard. The shock of cold makes her gasp, makes those sensitive peaks drag against the surface.
But it’s her ass that makes him growl.
Fuller than the pencil skirt promised. Two perfect handfuls of soft, pale flesh that jiggles with impact. A thin crease where cheek meets thigh, that sensitive fold that makes her whimper when his claws graze it. Between those cheeks, just visible, her pink asshole – virgin tight, clenching with fear.
Her dripping fuck-hole is already glistening. Bare except for a neat strip of dark hair, lips swollen and flushed. The inner pink gleams with arousal she can’t hide. Her clit peeks out from its hood, begging to be abused. When she shifts, trying to close her legs, he can see the wet already coating her inner thighs. Slick. Ready. Fertile.
The panties – those impractical, whisper-thin panties – disappear with a snap of elastic against skin. She yelps at the sting.
Naked except for heels and glasses. Her careful morning preparation destroyed in seconds. The black lace she chose with trembling hands nothing but scraps on the floor. His focus never wavers from her body. The lingerie might as well have been burlap.
He spins her to face the observation window. In the reflection, she sees herself – small, pale, naked. Vulnerable in a way that makes her stomach clench with fear and something else.
Behind her – massive, dark, predatory. The size difference is obscene. His bulk dwarfs her completely. Where she’s soft, he’s all coiled muscle and barely contained violence. His cock juts between her legs like a threat and promise.
“It won’t fit,” she says to her reflection, watching her cunt drip betrayal. “It’s physically impossible.”
But her body contracts, trying to draw him in already.
One paw between her shoulder blades. Pressing down. She bends forward, palms flat on the glass. The position raises her ass, presents her dripping hole. Makes her thighs spread just enough to show everything.
In the mirror, she looks like prey. Like meat. Like exactly what she’s become.
His cock slides between her thighs. The heat of it makes her gasp – burning like fever, inhuman. The head catches on her entrance. Bigger than her fist. This is insane.
She’s tiny. He’s massive. This will destroy her.
The thought makes her needy slit produce another wave of slickness.
He pushes forward. Just the tip. Her tight entrance resists, too small, too tight for something this size.
Then her body betrays her. Opens. Accepts.
The first inch splits her like nothing ever has. Her mouth falls open in a silent scream. In the mirror, she watches her pussy lips stretch obscenely, going white with strain.
“Oh fuck,” she gasps. “Oh fuck, too big, too much—”
Another inch. The stretch is impossible. She can feel every ridge, every vein. Can see the bulge in her lower belly as he reshapes her insides.
Another inch. Another. Her cunt floods desperately, trying to ease the invasion. The wet sounds fill the chamber. SQUELCH as he pushes deeper. Her broken moans keeping time.
“Can’t,” she pants. “Can’t take more—”
He pulls back. SLAMS forward.
Half his cock disappears inside her. The force drives her into the glass, tits squashing flat. She screams – pain and pleasure twisted together. The heat of him is shocking – his cock burns like fever inside her, making her tight tunnel squeeze at the temperature difference.
Now he fucks her properly.
No mercy. No gentleness. Just brutal claiming thrusts that punch the humanity out of her. His forelegs wrap around her waist, claws pricking her soft belly as he mounts properly. The position lets him drive deeper, his furnace-hot body covering hers completely.
Short, rapid thrusts at first – instinctive, seeking depth. Then longer strokes as her drenched slit learns to accommodate him. Pure animal need driving into her with mechanical intensity.
This isn’t me, she thinks desperately between thrusts. I have three PhDs. I’ve published papers. I’m not… FUCK… not this…
Each impact makes her ass ripple, that hidden curve bouncing with each collision. Her small tits swing wildly – so sensitive that each brush against the glass makes her gasp. Her soft thighs shake and quiver, marked with angry red lines where his claws dig in for leverage. The harder he grips, the deeper he can drive. Physics. Leverage. Need.
PLAP PLAP PLAP – his balls hitting her clit with wet sounds SQUELCH SQUELCH – her pussy gripping desperately, drooling arousal “UH! UH! UH!” – sounds punched from her throat
Her face contorts with each thrust. The pain is exquisite – she’s being split in half, reshaped, broken. But underneath the pain… god, the pleasure. Each thrust hurts SO good. Makes her dripping hole pulse and flood.
Why does it hurt so perfectly? Why do I want MORE?
She tries to crawl forward once, overwhelmed by the brutal pace. But he simply slams one paw down between her shoulder blades. The impact drives all air from her lungs. She’s pinned like a butterfly, claws leaving deep indents in her soft skin. Tomorrow there will be bruises. Evidence.
The terrifying part? The moment he pins her, relief floods through her. She doesn’t want to escape. She wants to be held down. Forced. Taken.
She goes limp. Total surrender. Let him use her. Break her. Whatever he wants.
In the mirror, she watches herself transform. Hair torn from its perfect bun, hanging in sweaty tangles. Glasses cracked from impact with the floor. Makeup destroyed – mascara painting black trails, mixing with tears of pain and desperate pleasure.
That woman in the mirror… that’s not Dr. Morris anymore. And she looks… happy.
The realization hits like a physical blow. She’s SMILING through the tears. Smiling while being destroyed. The shame of it makes her cunt grip harder around his cock, triggering her first orgasm. She cums screaming, inner walls spasming wildly around the massive intrusion.
His claws rake down her back as he adjusts his grip – not malicious, just seeking better purchase. She shrieks at the sharp pain. But her cunt clenches HARD, cumming again from the sensation. Eight parallel lines of fire down her spine. They’ll mark her for days. Good.
The knot kisses her entrance. Baseball-sized already. Growing.
“No,” she whimpers, feeling it stretch her wider.
It hurts. It already hurts so much. Can’t possibly—
But even as she thinks it, she’s pushing back. Trying to force it inside. Her body knows what it needs even if her mind screams in protest.
He focuses on forcing it inside. Shorter thrusts. Grinding pressure. Her entrance fighting the stretch.
“Please,” she sobs.
Too big. Gonna tear me apart.
He grips her hips with both paws, claws dimpling that soft flesh. Powers forward.
The resistance is exquisite. Her entrance straining, fighting the impossible stretch. He adds more force. Feels her defenses cracking.
Then—
POP
The knot locks inside with a wet sound that echoes off the walls. Her entire body goes rigid. Eyes rolling back to whites. Mouth frozen in a perfect O. Her cunt grips him like a vice, rippling along his length.
She cums with a broken wail, body convulsing as waves of sensation crash through her. The orgasm seems endless, her gripping depths milking his knot desperately, drawing him deeper.
“AHHHHHHH! FUCK! OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!”
She squirts violently around the massive intrusion, fluid spraying against his balls. Her whole frame shakes uncontrollably.
Now she’s truly his. Knotted. Claimed. Nowhere to run.
The knot swells even larger inside her, making her shriek again. Her inner walls squeeze rhythmically, trying to accommodate the impossible fullness.
His balls draw tight. The need to fill her overwhelms everything.
He pumps load after load of cum into her, her belly swelling with each pulse as she feels the hot liquid filling her. The first rope is massive – she feels it travel through his cock, past the knot, and EXPLODE into her womb with such force her belly visibly jumps.
“OH FUCK! TOO MUCH! I CAN FEEL IT! SO HOT!”
Another rope. Her belly starts to round, skin stretching tight. She can feel the hot liquid sloshing inside her with each pulse. Another. Another. Each one making her belly swell more, making her feel fuller than she ever thought possible.
She cums again from the pressure alone. And again. Each orgasm milks more cum from him, her inner walls spasming wildly around the knot. A perfect cycle of breeding.
What am I? The thought hits between waves of pleasure. Not a researcher. Not even human anymore. Just a… a…
“I’m your bitch,” she hears herself gasp, the words spilling out involuntarily. The moment they leave her mouth, shame floods through her – hot, visceral, overwhelming. Did I just say that? Out loud?
The humiliation of voicing it, of admitting what she’s become, triggers something devastating. She cums instantly, harder than before, her soaking cunt clamping down on his knot as waves of mortified pleasure crash through her.
“Your breeding bitch,” she sobs, unable to stop the words now. Each degrading admission makes her squirt harder. “Please… please use me…”
But he’s not listening. Doesn’t understand words. Only the squeeze of her cunt matters, the way her shameful orgasm milks his cock.
More cum. Impossible amounts. Her belly swells dramatically, making her look six months pregnant. Still he pumps more into her, each pulse accompanied by a growl of satisfaction.
The knot ensures not a drop escapes. Every rope of cum trapped inside her swollen womb. She’s never felt so full, so claimed, so completely owned.
This is true breeding. Marked inside where no one else can reach. Ruined forever for pathetic human cocks.
When his knot finally deflates, he pulls out with deliberate slowness.
The sound is obscene – SCHHHHLOOOORRRPPP – followed by a waterfall. Not a gush. A fucking waterfall. Thick ropes of cum pour from her gaping hole, more than any human could produce. It pools beneath her, spreads across the floor, keeps coming. Her belly visibly deflates as the impossible volume drains out, but still more follows. Rivers of it running down her thighs, pooling around her knees.
She collapses forward, catching herself on shaking arms. Tries to crawl toward the door, leaving a trail like a slug made of cum.
That’s when he sees it. Her other hole. Pink. Tight. Virgin. Twitching with each movement as she crawls.
Something even more primal awakens in him.
She hears it first – the wet crack of bones reshaping. A growl that drops lower, deeper. She looks back and her blood freezes.
He’s changing.
The hybrid form melts away. Bones crack and reform. Fur spreads thicker. In seconds, the wolf-man is gone. In his place stands a massive feral wolf. Four feet at the shoulder. Pure black fur. Eyes burning amber.
And his cock… still hard. Still enormous. Red and angry, jutting from his sheath.
“No,” she whispers, real terror now. Not the wolf-man. An actual wolf. “Please, no…”
But wolves don’t understand begging.
The wolf moves with pure predator grace. His weight slams into her back, driving her flat. Four paws pin her down – two by her shoulders, two by her hips. She’s completely immobilized under 300 pounds of feral beast.
His muzzle finds her neck, teeth grazing. Not biting. Just holding. The way a wolf holds its mate.
She can’t even struggle. Can barely breathe. Her face is pressed into the cum puddle, ass raised only because his weight forces that position.
His cock – still slick with cum and pussy juice – presses against her virgin asshole. The angle is different now. More bestial. The true mounting position of an animal claiming its bitch.
The size difference is even more obscene. His massive wolf cock against her tiny human hole. This isn’t just impossible – it’s depraved.
“Please,” she sobs into the floor. “Not like this. Not an actual… I can’t be mounted by…”
But the shame of it – the complete loss of humanity, being ass-fucked by a feral wolf – makes her needy hole drip fresh arousal. Her body betrays her even in this deepest moment.
He increases pressure. Pure instinct. No human reasoning, no capacity for mercy. Just a beast that’s found a hole to claim.
Her asshole clenches desperately, trying to deny entry. But he’s patient in the way of predators. Steady. Inexorable. Inevitable.
She feels her defenses beginning to crack. That tight ring of muscle starting to yield.
“No no no no NO—”
The tip breaches her.
The scream that tears from her throat is inhuman. Just the tip and she’s already stretched beyond belief. Her virgin ring gone white with strain.
He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t savor. Just steady pressure forward. Pure instinct driving him deeper.
“STOP! PLEASE! IT’S TEARING ME APART!”
Her face in the mirror shows everything – tears streaming, mouth twisted in agony, eyes rolling back. But her pussy drips steadily, betraying her even now.
Another inch. Her ass fights every millimeter, squeezing so tight it would stop anything but determined beast. The resistance only makes him push harder.
SQUELCH – the wet sound as he forces deeper SCHLORP – as her ass grips him on the withdrawal “Nnnngh! Ahhh! Please!” – her broken sobs
Three inches. Four. She’s panting like an animal herself, fingers clawing uselessly at the slick floor. Her ass makes obscene sucking sounds around his cock.
“Too deep,” she gasps, face contorted.
In my stomach. Can feel it… oh god, so deep…
Then he starts to swell inside her. Not forcing past her rim – he’s already buried deep. But the knot begins to grow. What entered as large becomes massive. Her ass stretched wider from within as the knot expands, locking them together.
The gradual expansion is almost worse than sudden penetration. She feels every millimeter as it swells, reshaping her insides, trapping his cock deep in her guts. The pressure against her inner walls makes her see stars.
When it reaches full size – impossible, overwhelming – something breaks in her mind. The knot in her ass presses everywhere at once, so huge it pushes against her clit from inside. Every pulse of it sends shockwaves through her whole pelvis.
She cums explosively. Her body convulses uncontrollably, wet cunt squirting, ass clamping around the knot. The orgasm goes on and on, each pulse of his knot triggering new waves.
“FUCK! FUCK! WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?”
Being turned into what you really are, some deep part of her knows.
Each thrust reshapes her. Opens her wider. The wolf’s hips piston with mechanical intensity, pure breeding instinct.
PLAP PLAP PLAP – his heavy balls slapping against her “UH! UH! FUCK!” – grunts forced from her throat
The reality crushes her. Mounted by a feral beast – pure animal, wild and unthinking. His weight pins her completely. His teeth grip her shoulder, holding her in place like caught prey. She can feel his drool pooling on her skin, marking her with his scent.
What kind of sick bitch gets wet from this?
The answer makes her slick entrance release another wave of wetness. Makes her push back against him despite everything. The humiliation of wanting it triggers another orgasm, her empty fuck-hole contracting rhythmically while her ass grips his cock.
“No, no, no,” she sobs, cumming again.
Not from this. Can’t be cumming from…
But she is. Each shameful thought makes it worse. Better. She’s squirting while a wild animal fucks her ass, and the humiliation of it makes her squirt harder.
Then something changes. The wolf shifts, starts to turn. The tie holds them together as he rotates, dragging her with him. She screams as her ass is twisted, the knot pulling her body around.
They end up ass-to-ass like mating dogs. The position makes her face burn with fresh humiliation – connected by her stretched asshole, unable to separate. She tries to crawl forward and realizes the truth.
Where he goes, she goes. Dragged by her ass.
The wolf takes a step. The knot tugs and she has to scramble backward on all fours or be torn apart. Another step. Another desperate scramble.
“Please,” she sobs, beyond humiliation. “Please just… stay still…”
But he’s restless. Pacing. And she has no choice but to crawl backward, following wherever his knot pulls her. Like a toy on a leash. A bitch properly tied.
The knot pulses inside her, still swollen huge. Every movement makes it shift, pressing against places that make her see stars. She cums weakly, repeatedly, just small shatters of sensation as she’s dragged around.
This is her existence now. Ass-locked to a beast. Dragged around by her hole. Unable to do anything but follow where the animal pulls her.
Minutes pass. Or hours. Time means nothing when you’re being dragged around by your ass.
The wolf finally stops pacing. Stands still. She collapses as much as the tie allows, ass still up, face in the now-cold puddle of cum. Everything hurts. Everything throbs. Her asshole will never close properly again.
Slowly, finally, the knot begins to shrink.
When he pulls out, the sound echoes – SCHHHHLLLLOOOORRRRPPPP. Her ass gapes obscenely, unable to close, twitching uselessly. Beast cum pours out in thick ropes, mixing with the mess already coating the floor.
The wolf pads away without a backward glance. Job done. Bitch bred.
She can’t move. Just lies there twitching, both holes destroyed and leaking. Her mind struggles to process what just happened. Not the sex – that’s seared into every nerve. But the complete abandonment of humanity.
“Both,” she whispers to no one, voice barely human.
Need both. Every day. Please…
She knows the truth now. No human touch will ever be enough. She’s been reshaped, rewired. Not just her holes but her soul. She’ll spend her days aching for this specific destruction – the knot, the feral claiming, the complete reduction to animal.
This is freedom. This knowing what I am.
Tomorrow she’ll try to pretend. Put on clothes. Style her hair. Play at being Dr. Morris.
But she’ll fail. Because her ass will ache. Her pussy will drip. And all she’ll think about is coming back here. Getting on all fours. Presenting herself.
Waiting to be mounted again.
The perfect breeding bitch.
Completely claimed.
Utterly destroyed.
His.
Forever.
Dr. Patricia Lawson shuts off the recording equipment with trembling hands. Her own needy cunt throbs, empty and aching. She came three times watching her colleague’s destruction.
Tomorrow, someone will need to observe Lambda-3 again.
Tomorrow, she’ll volunteer.
Her mouth waters at the thought.
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