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"Ab-" The assistant stopped short and furrowed her brow at the tablet in front of her. "Abrielle... ell-ah?"

The lioness smiled and stood. The people on this station all had such trouble with her name, but seemed to work so hard at getting it right. At any rate, she was the only one in the waiting room. "Yes, this is me. Ah... usually I just go by 'Bri', and you may call me this if it is easier for you."

The young beaver, much shorter, looked up at her in astonishment. "My goodness, you sound just like a becker." Then her left arm twitched and her facial expression changed entirely. "Oh! I'm so sorry. That was a terrible thing to say. I just meant-"

Bri held up her hands. "But of course! It is true after all. But I only found out what a, ah, beck-air" (the word was thick on her tongue) "is this morning, so it is a... how do you say? Funny? Thing for me to hear you tell to me."

The assistant was visibly relieved. "Well all the same, I'm sorry. I've just never met a visitor before. Does everyone sound... like that, where you're from?" But her arm twitched again and she turned away before Bri had a chance to answer. "So sorry! We're on a schedule. Please come with me."

The beaver led her behind the counter and down a bare metal corridor without further conversation, moving rather quickly, Bri thought. Shortly they arrived at a door with a large numeral 4 painted on it, which parted down the middle and slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss.

The assistant turned to face her. "This is your coupling. Please wait inside and the tech will be with you shortly."

The inside looked like most exam rooms Bri had encountered throughout her life, devoid of much except for a terminal for the technician, a panel of lights and sensors on the ceiling, and a waist-high bed with a liner on it. Still, she hesitated before entering. "Thank you. But may I ask, what is this word, 'coupling'?"

"Oh! I'm so sorry," began the beaver. "That's just what we call it. Coupling. This is a coupling chamber. The father..." She froze, her twitching nose betraying sudden nervousness. "You do... I'm sorry, but you do understand why you're here?"

Comprehension dawned and butteflies took flight in Bri's stomach. "Ah. O __u_ i_-- that is, yes. I understand about this. I agreed as a part of coming here. But, I did not think so soon?"

The beaver nodded. "Well, my apologies for not making that clear up-front. Um... there's gonna be an exam first, so there'll be a little while for you to, um, prepare if you want?" She shrugged, then gestured toward the identical door at the far end of the room. "Anyhow, like I was saying, the father will enter through there when the tech is done. Oh!" She brightened back up. "This is your first time, then. Has to be. Well, good luck! I'm sure you'll do great."

"Thank you," breathed the lioness, still trying to come to terms with what was about to happen. These people certainly didn't waste time.

"Well," said the beaver cautiously, "Well, I'm really sorry and I don't mean to be rude, but there's a timetable and I can't leave until you go in. Sorry."

"Ah, of course." Bri willed herself to walk through the door. "Thank you again for-"

But the door was already closing behind her, giving her just a glimpse of the broad red maple leaf across the back of the assistant's white uniform.

She took a seat on the exam bed, then stood up again almost immediately, too anxious to hold still. Her tail flicked behind her as she began to pace. She was only out of quarantine that morning, and already they wanted to...

Her eyes fell upon the far door.

'The father will enter through there.'

The father.

Of her children.

Will enter through there.

For the first time since arriving on Ontario Station, Bri felt entirely in over her head. Suddenly dizzy, she staggered back to the bed before sitting heavily down upon it, head in her hands.

The door - well, not _the_door, but the one she'd come in - hissed open and in walked a rabbit in pastel-pink scrubs.

"Oh, good!" she said brightly. "You've already taken a seat. Most first-timers are too nervous to sit."

Bri stared.

The tech seemed to take no notice. "Welcome to coupling four. My name's Emma, and you're..." she glanced over at the terminal, "Aub... Abber..."

"Just Bri is okay," managed the lioness.

The rabbit grinned and started tapping at the screen. "All right, 'Just Bri'. Why don't you go ahead and lie down? There are a few boxes for us to check before everything gets started. Oh, gown off, please."

Bri did as asked, and found that the prone position seemed to be helping her get a grip on herself. At least the air was a comfortable temperature.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The rabbit shook her head, still smiling. "Well, this is just super-exciting! We've never had a visitor in here before. Or a lioness, for that matter. I mean, we see one every day in the mess hall, of course, but that's different."

Bri nodded to herself, remembering. "But you know, I am not really a visitor. The transfer is permanent. I am Canadian now, like you." She was glad to have found her voice again. Talking about other subjects was helping.

Emma stopped and turned to face her. "Well of course you are, hon. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to suggest anything else. It's just, that's our word for other people. You know, from other stations. And I'm sorry, too, that we're on a tight schedule and I can't apologize properly right now."

"Think nothing of it," Bri assured her. "Everybody here has been so gracious."

The rabbit beamed and got back to work. "Yep, that's Ontario for you! Best-kept secret in orbit."

"It really is," agreed Bri. Of the stations that hadn't gone dark, Ontario was easily the most reclusive and mysterious. "I was so surprised and happy to be accepted. I want to be a mother more than anything, which would not have been possible back on Pétain." She knew she was trying to remind herself that she did want what was about to happen, even if she wasn't thrilled about Ontario's... peculiar methods.

"Made any friends yet?"

"Not precisely? Everyone is very polite, of course, but I think they are afraid of me or something. The only one to sit with me in the, ah, the mess hall was another visitor. You know him? The, how do you say, kwee-yoat?"

"That First Nations boy from Cascadia Station?" She didn't really seem to be paying attention. "Mostly keeps to himself, that one. Maybe he was just happy to see someone else from the outside. I think the two of you are the only ones onboard right now."

"He seemed nice." Bri stared at the apparati overhead, wondering what unseen work they might be doing. "I still can't believe Ontario was willing to take me on. Your Computer must really value the research I was doing."

"Uh huh," said the rabbit noncommittaly. "I think I can shed some light on that, based on what this is telling me." She swiveled the terminal so that the lioness got a good view. "This here?" She indicated something that looked like a blank monthly calendar. "That's your schedule. You and I are going to be seeing a whole lot of each other."

Bri stared, uncomprehending. "But it is empty?"

Emma snorted. "Not empty, hon. Green means you're active that day. It's completely full!" She gazed at it a moment. "_Completely_full. Never seen anything like it. TIMBIT must be super-hot for your genetics."

Bri had no idea what to say to that.

"In fact..." mused the rabbit, "Yeah. Every parameter the computer's giving me is set to maximize your chances of conception. Somewhat at the expense of comfort, I'm afraid. But I'll do what I can. Hopefully..."

Tap. Tap. Tap. The screen changed. The only text big enough for Bri to make out was the word "Sire" in one of the headings.

"Mmmmmmmm. Oh, hon." The note of regret was unmistakeable.

Bri sat up partly, elbows digging into the exam bed. "What is it? Is there something the matter?"

"Nothing is ever wrong in Ontario," intoned the rabbit mechanically. "And I'm sure nothing's wrong now. Computer knows best, after all. Please lay back down? The scans are almost done but I need you flat."

Bri stared at her a long moment before complying. What in the world?

"It's just," the rabbit seemed to be picking carefully through her words, "Well, I can't see who the father is exactly. That would invalidate the whole point of what we're doing here. But I can see, shall we say, pertinent data about him? And, normally, under circumstances like these I'd give you something to help, er... cope." She hesitated. "With the... mismatch, you understand. He's canine for sure. But that'd have a small, but significant, negative effect on your chances of conception, and... like I said, the parameters from the computer are crystal-clear." Tap. Tap. "Crystal-clear." Tap. "Well, this should be a big help at any rate."

An arm descended from the ceiling, pressed coldly into Bri's shoulder, and hissed before withdrawing. Out of all the questions on the tip of her tongue, "What was that?" won out.

"Something to help maximize fertility. We don't often use it, since TIMBIT seems to prefer preserving some element of natural selection, but it's mandated in this case. Last time I gave it to a gal she got octuplets in her." Emma shook her head, the smile returning. "Such a little thing, too. Vixen. Ended up about as wide as she was tall. Got stuck in that door over there. Oh, the things cup 4 has seen over the years!"

Bri glanced back at the door she'd come through, uncomprehending. She opened her mouth to ask a question, then paused. Her abdominal muscles seemed to be tensing up with a peculiar tightness. "Pardon me, but why was she here if she was already, ah...?"

The rabbit glanced back. "Oh, well in cases like that - um, let me back up a little. Repeated coupling with the father, both before and after conception, helps improve odds of pretty much every favorable outcome. I'm not clear on why exactly, but it's well-established. Something about immune response? So for someone like her, she was in here a lot until she came full-term. Just like you're gonna be. Your schedule does taper off eventually, but like I said before, pretty much every slider on this thing is set to maximize your chances."

Tap. Tap.

Bri closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was sure, now, that something was happening inside of her. Her heartrate was up and a marvelous warmth seemed to be spreading throughout her abdomen. The sensation of lightheadedness that had seemed to have leveled off for a while now began to intensify once more.

"Scans're all done," announced the rabbit brightly. "Nothing we didn't already know, of course, but you're in fantastic shape and so're your lady bits. I'm sure you'll take in no time. And a good thing, too, since according to this today and tomorrow are peak times for your cycle."

Eyes still shut, Bri found herself needing to focus on breathing.

"Oh, just look at you." Emma was standing over her now. "Ready to do your part as the newest subject of the Crown. Tell you what, there's one thing I can do while we wait for the father to show up. Security first, though."

Bri opened her eyes a crack to watch as the rabbit took first one of her feet, and then the other, and guided them into the cold metal stirrups at the foot of the bed, then locked her legs up and into position, knees back almost to her breasts. And then her arms were being locked into metal cuffs at the biceps and wrists, and for some reason this troubled her not at all. Still, she had to ask. "This... this is necessary?"

Emma waved dismissively. "Oh, we can relax all this stuff once you've caught, but for now..."

"Of course," breathed the lioness softly. "The parameters."

Emma smiled at her pronunciation. "You sound just like... Mmm. Anyway, this ought to take the edge off a bit, and is just fine with the computer."

Another arm descended from the ceiling, this one with a long, tapered end tipped in what looked like a soft rubber ball. It settled neatly against the crown of her pubis and began to pulse rhythmically.

Bri gasped. The speed and intensity already seemed to be increasing, but she felt entirely too inert to do anything about it. Not that she wanted to in the first place; whatever had been in that injection was hitting her like a ton of bricks. Emma pressed another button under the bed and the section under Bri's pelvis inclined by several degrees, turning her mons up into the thing and eliciting a low moan from the lioness.

"There you are," cooed Emma in motherly tones. "And look, that indicator over there means the father's ready. So let's just get your mask on and I'll get out of the way."

"Mask?" wondered Bri dreamily.

"Oh, it's just a normal sleep mask. We try to keep your identities as confidential as possible, but of course the father's going to need to be able to see what he's doing. There'll be just enough directed light in here for that, and ideally he won't be able to recognize you, either. Which-- um, I know that you were informed of all this before coming here, but I need to remind you that neither of you is to speak. Too easy to recognize each other's voices. Although TIMBIT knows that some amount of, um, vocalization is to be expected. So don't be afraid to, y'know, express yourself." Emma's smile was audible. "I've done a few turns on the table myself, you know."

Even as she spoke the lights were coming down, and Bri obediently inclined her head as the elastic slipped over her ears and down her neck. The pulsing against her mons was starting to feel pretty good.

"Well that's enough of the vibration boom," clucked the rabbit, and abruptly the arm withdrew back into the ceiling. Bri wrinkled her nose, feeling bereft. "Scanner says you're somehow already within the acceptable range of readiness, so let's not fix what isn't broken. Let me just set the bed to the appropriate height for the father, and... Best of luck, hon. I know you're gonna be A-okay. And I'll be back in here to help you out afterward, so never fear about that."

Bri's head swam as she tried to work out how she should thank Emma, but the hissing of the door told her that she was already alone.

For how long?

A new streak of anxiety cut across her insides. Was this really happening? A few short weeks ago she'd been one of many scholars in the Grande Bibliothèque of Pétain, chafing against the nihilistic orthodoxy of the place and idly fantasizing about how her life might change if somehow, against all odds, the Canadian master computer decided that it wanted to sponsor her research.

Now she was blindfolded and shackled to a table in an Ontarian breeding chamber, her most sensitive places pinned back and bare, open to the assault of what sounded like an enormous dog dick about to take her maidenhead and flood her womb with puppies.

She found herself panting. Oh, yes, and drugged. She was surely drugged, on top of all the rest. And somehow she no longer had any frame of reference for distinguishing between fear and arousal.

Had that rabbit said octuplets?!

Her ears swung hard forward at the sound of a door opening.

_The_door.

She held her breath for a long moment, straining to hear his foosteps, movement, breathing, anything. But either he was completely silent or else was just standing in the doorway, taking in the sight of--

She released her pent-up breath with a shudder and again began panting, knowing what she must look like, _sound_like, wondering what he must think, if she was pleasing to him, if he was hard at the sight of her; wondering how many times he'd done this before, and where he'd first touch her and what it was going to feel like. Wondering if he would be good to her, or just use her and leave her ruined and pregnant, as was his right?

Most of the Ontarian men she'd encountered that day were enormous, towering brutes, polite enough in public interaction but almost uniformly covered in cuts and scrapes and bruises from their frequent engagement in the no-holds-barred game they simply referred to as 'puck'. And, reading between the lines of the material she'd been given regarding the custom in which she was now engaged, it seemed that the interactions that took place in the breeding chambers were expected to be rather impersonal and, for lack of a better word, efficient.

The muscles of her abdomen were completely locked up with nervous energy, and despite her anxiety - or perhaps because of it - she found her hips straining to roll further back. All this accomplished was a shallow flexing of her lower body against the pressure of the restraints, but it seemed to be enough to prompt action on the part of the male.

Footsteps now. She swallowed hard, knowing that he must be directly in front of her, gazing down at what was about to be his.

Touch. A warm hand on her knee, gentle but firm. Her breath caught in her chest again, then released slowly as a second hand joined the first, and ran slowly down her outer thigh. Slow and smooth and firm. She was sure that he must have meant it to be reassuring, and found her body relaxing all over in places she hadn't even realized were tense.

A hand on each of her knees, now, and running down the outside of each of her thighs. And on her inner thighs, was that heat she was feeling? Could that possibly be from his...?

She heard him shift position but couldn't work out how he'd done so until he planted a kiss on her right butt cheek, toward the outside.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, and momentarily felt guilty before remembering what Emma had told her about 'expressing herself.' She realized that he must be on his knees.

He seemed to hesitate at that, and when he placed another kiss on her it was more tentative.

"Oh," she said again, but this time took more care to make sure it was clearly an encouragement.

Was she really encouraging him? Was she really sure she wanted this, then?

Another kiss, harder, longer, and nearer. Her abdomen trembled and it occurred to her that the air he was breathing must be thick with the scent of her receptivity.

Another kiss, and another, and another, even as his hands continued to rub up and down her legs, her hips, and up to her waist. He grew bolder with each one. She favored him with another gasp when the tip of his tongue flicked briefly against her, so much closer to the source of her heat than he'd been a moment before.

But his next kisses were further out again. She wondered why even as she contemplated how completely irrelevant her understanding was. He would do what he would do, and that would be that.

And then his teeth came down on her flesh and she yelped before she had time to register that it hadn't really hurt. Or rather that, to the degree it _had_hurt, she had liked it. He didn't seem concerned, though, and applied himself to several long, slow, warm licks across the place where he'd bitten her.

She found herself helplessly trying to turn into those licks. She didn't get very far, of course, but he paused, and, even though there was of course no way for her to know it, she was overcome by the conviction that he was smiling.

Hands down her thighs, hands on her hips, hands gripping her waist.

He planted a warm, gentle, firm kiss directly on the center of her and she bucked and inhaled so hard she almost choked. He eased up a little without actually breaking contact, then leaned in again, the pressure building, unhurried.

She moaned and did her best to angle herself further up and into him, although of course she was already maximally locked in exactly that position.

His thumbs began to massage against her waist and for a moment he seemed to be sucking gently at her folds, which she could now sense were thicker with girl-cream than she'd ever felt before. She mewled in need and encouragement, and was rewarded with the sensation of the tiniest lap of his tongue possible against her heat.

Then another stroke, both longer and broader. She made a sound that she had no name for and hoped that, whatever the rest of his plans were, he did that again before he moved on to them.

Clearly he was on the same page, and before long he was lapping up the full length of her sex with his broad canine tongue. She shuddered and bucked and moaned, any question of her feelings about what was happening abruptly abandoned.

He slowed, and for a moment the tip of his tongue seemed to press at her entrance. "Ohhhhh!" she said loudly, trying to make her wishes as clear as possible, but he pulled back and she heard him climb to his feet.

Her eyes opened wide under the sleep mask. Was this it? Was he about to...?

She felt his weight lean forward against her upturned mons, the warmth of him pressing onto her. Not his manhood, though, surely.

And then it was his manhood, but pressing broadside into her pinned-back inner thigh. He must be pushing it against her with his hand, letting her get the sense of it, acquainting her with it, and she realized that the twin pressure points against her mons must be his balls.

That was interesting, but she was much more distracted by the impossible amount of distance across her thigh that his shaft seemed to be spanning. She had no way to gauge its girth, but the pressure of its length started just above her entrance and curved gently up and around to the top of her leg, much farther up than she would ever have imagined. She thought she could feel the flared head, too, and for a moment wondered whether she'd be able to distinguish the dimensions of his knot. But she wasn't sure where that would be, exactly, or if it was something that would happen later, or even if all canines had those. Before today it had never occurred to her as information that might ever be relevant to her life.

He flexed, or jerked, or something, and his balls jumped against her silken folds even as his shaft hardened and dug into her thigh. In that moment the ridge of his head was unquestionably defined against her leg.

It was exciting, but she found her breathing slowing, her mind growing soft and calm. It was a peace born of knowing that she was ready. That she could trust him.

It was a strange feeling to have, but she realized that, despite knowing almost nothing about this man, she would be pleased to carry his seed and bear his children.

He pulled back, their only point of contact his left hand on her right knee. And then it was his hardness again, this time laid across her belly. Again his heavy balls pressed against her entrance and his shaft pressed down into her soft flesh, but this time all she could think about was how far past her belly button that flared head of his was resting. It had to be because of the curvature of her body foreshortening the distance.

That's what she told herself, anyway.

He moved back and stepped away from her. Her whole world was black, of course, but he moved alongside her and she thought he must be in the darkness, too, outside of the pool of light centered on her exposed sex.

She sensed his hand on the exam bed next to her shoulder, then felt fingertips, and then his palm, on her upper arm. He ran it slowly down her arm from cuff to cuff, then took her hand in his.

Her addled mind was content to simply enjoy that feeling, but he prompted her with a gentle squeeze.

Ah.

She deferred for a moment, trying to take stock of the roiling emotions within her. She'd never been in love. Had never had a real relationship of any kind, really, since she'd never had any interest in the callow, androgynous men of Pétain. She was definitely feeling something for this male, this canine who was handling her so warmly and gently, exercising such restraint despite his obvious desire for her. But that was the thing. Her feelings were entirely mixed up with the tension in her belly, the ache between her legs, and the overwhelming demands placed upon her by whatever it was that the tech had shot into her system.

It was all too much, and she couldn't make any sense of it. But she did realize that he was under no obligation to offer her the choice in the first place, and knew that, whoever else the Canadian computer - TIMBIT -- might pair her with in the future, she couldn't possibly have wished for a better mate to give her maidenhead to than the man who stood beside her, patiently awaiting her decision.

She smiled. Not for his benefit - he surely couldn't see it - but because her heart was light. And she squeezed his hand. Softly, at first, and then much more decisively. He squeezed back, and bent low to place a single kiss where her shoulder met her neck.

Then he was apart again and she wished she'd thought to turn her head and kiss him while she could. But at least his kiss had brought him near enough for her to breathe fully of his scent for a moment.

Palms on her inner thighs, rubbing. And then the heat of his hardness was laid across the length of her slit.

He pushed gently, gliding effortlessly across her well-lubricated folds. Then a few more times, perhaps seeking to coat himself more evenly before attempting to enter her.

She wished her restraints allowed for her to reach back up for his hand.

And then he drew back, positioned himself at her entrance, and paused. She felt his hand slide up her hip, then his fingertips grazed hers. He didn't seem to be able to take her hand fully, but he turned his palm-up and their fingertips interlocked.

Yes. Yes, she could give herself to this man.

Her warm, easy smile gave way to concern, and then panic as he pushed forward. She remembered the girls at the académie talking about how men often looked like they'd be too big to fit, but how it always worked out much easier than expected.

She was pretty sure that wasn't what was happening here. His enormous head didn't even seem to be able to find purchase against her opening, so much greater was it than that of any mate her feline sex was evolved to expect. The pressure grew as he leaned his weight forward and she made a warning sound of concern and discomfort as his tip slid and pushed and bore down on what she knew was the wrong place, the wrong place entirely. He was too high! And--

Something slipped, and something gave, and the claws of her hands extended to their maximum length, crying out in place of her suddenly-mute voice.

Mon Dieu, he was inside of her.

She found her voice and groaned a long, low note of pain and helplessness. And he fumbled to extract his right hand from the claws that had pierced it, but thankfully had the presence of mind to not pull back at all.

When his hand was free he did his best to cover hers with it, even as he placed his other palm flat on her belly, trying to steady her.

It helped. It was the only thing that possibly could have. The initial agony of penetration was fading, but the burning sensation of her broken body stretched around his preposterous girth was only growing worse.

She got control of her claws, and turned her fingertips to interlock with his again, and did her best to breathe through the pain.

Before long it leveled off, and then somehow, miraculously, began to recede.

The steady pressure of his warm palm on her belly soothed her body, and the tenderness of his fingertips against hers centered her mind, until deep down she knew that, if that had been the worst of it, she was going to be okay.

Ever so gently, so as to not be misunderstood, she pushed against his fingertips with hers.

He took an audible breath - had he been holding his? -- and moved his hand from her belly to her knee as though to steady himself. And then, as gently as he could, he shifted his weight and pushed once again into her.

She flinched and whimpered as the burning intensified once again. But it really wasn't as bad as before, and receded much more quickly this time.

He seemed to sense her feelings and resumed his forward progress. She realized that she was pressing against his fingertips, again.

She smiled at the knowledge that he wasn't actually reading her mind, and then smiled again because she was smiling.

Once the thickness of his head was solidly past the tight ring of her entrance things got much better. Progress was painstakingly slow, and he occasionally had to pull back a little to adjust his angle, but before long the eroticism of the situation and the rabbit's drug were enough to overcome what was left of her panic.

She could trust him, after all.

And with that thought, the whole experience changed for her. The burning faded into the background and was replaced by the immediacy of the most wonderous stretching sensation as his enormous canine cock forced her inner walls to part around it. She was being _opened_in a way that she'd never imagined possible, and she never wanted it to end.

Which was good, because it was a long time before it did. There was no other word for him but colossal. By the time his tip pressed firmly into her core and his thighs pushed up against hers, she was adrift in a sea of warmth and pleasure, reveling in the sensation of unspeakable fullness.

The sensation of hard dog against her cervix was a new challenge, but one that she found herself relishing. It wasn't bad, she just... couldn't stand it. But that wasn't a problem, because she had zero ability to do anything about it, either.

She sighed in pleasure and contentment as his heavy balls settled against her tail hole.

He twitched, hard, inside of her, and his breathing suddenly accelerated.

Was he...?

She realized that she was probably the tightest woman he'd ever been with, and quite possibly the most willing. And who knew how long it had been for him? The sensation of her body wrapped around his manhood must be driving him absolutely insane. It was a miracle that he'd held on as long as he had.

She smiled an evil smile in the darkness and bore down on his fingertips as hard as she could, even giving him a hint of claw.

He needed no further encouragement, or perhaps he was out of resistance anyway. He grunted and ground as hard as he could into her, applying far more force to her cervix than she'd expected would be possible, and suddenly he was panting harder than she'd been.

This was it. Blindfolded, bound, and maximally spread for his pleasure, she was about to learn what it was to have life pushed up and into her by his enormous, magnificent cock. She felt him beginning to thicken and harden yet further within her, and moaned long and loud in her readiness to feel those heavy balls of his empty fully into her womb.

His hands flew to her waist, settling over the crests of her hips, and his thumbs bore down hard into the soft flesh of her belly. The message was unmistakeable: He was now officially beyond the point of return, or even control.

She loved the feel of his thumbs digging into her, and the sheer force with which he was grinding into her was amazing, but the pressure against her cervix was getting really hard to deal with, and she hoped that--

All thinking stopped as something incomprehensible started to happen just inside her entrance.

Pressure, then pleasure, then pain.

Oh dear God, she thought. He does have a knot.

It seemed to be far enough inside of her that it wasn't really stretching her battered entrance, which was good. But her inner walls were already at capacity, and as his knot continued to expand within her, they were pushed ever more cruelly apart to make room. He was lengthening again, too, only there was no more room in her at all, and now his knot was_pressing at her entrance, but from behind, and it was much, much too large to come back out. Which meant the only way his expansion could continue was _forward, his tip bearing brutally down upon her cervix.

She'd have screamed except he was so big that it was as though he was perpetually knocking the wind out of her. Bigger, and bigger, and bigger inside of her, and now her entrance was burning and her walls around his knot were stinging and her cervix was... giving.

Her upper body thrashed against the restraints even as her legs twitched futilely in an attempt to pull out of the stirrups. But this only opened her up further, and for every millimeter her body yielded, his hardness took two.

He leaned forward over her, straining to push yet deeper, until suddenly his pubic bone was putting pressure on hers and it was as though an electrical contact was closed.

Lightning leapt through her body and every facet of the unbearable agony she'd been in a moment before was instantaneously converted into its polar opposite as her brain rewired her, in the space of a heartbeat, into a machine for conceiving the babies of whatever male was doing this to her.

That is, she came. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was that everyone else had been talking about all this time. Or would have, if there were anything but a few scattered shards of her sense of self left to appreciate the experience.

Even as it happened, his balls drew up against his body and the first superheated pulse of canine cum shot out of him. It had almost nowhere to go but the dimple of her core, but by the time the second pulse came forth, that had yawned open around his tip so as to admit as much of him as it could up and into the sacred space beyond. Locked maximally inside of her, bolt after thick bolt of fertile dog sperm slammed up and into her waiting feline womb.

She keened and tried uselessly to wrap her legs around him, and her claws extended and set to shredding the mattress beneath her fintertips. She was only dimly aware of the deep growls coming from the male above her as he snarled out his ownership of her, asserting his dominance and ensuring that the girl beneath him would soon grow fat with his puppies and swollen with milk.

Part of her noted the uncanny sensation of her body apparently trying to suck him for every last drop, except entirely unable to do so because everything inside of her was so stretched to its limits and distended that there was zero muscle tone available for it to do anything of the sort. Even her core, having opened to him in the peak of her orgasm, found itself stuck in that position by the thick canine head lodged firmly within it.

On and on went the male's orgasm, and she was nothing at all except that which existed to receive it.

* * *

Abrielle dreamed in the afterglow.

Ever since the tech had told her that she'd be mated with a canine she'd resolved to keep him out of her mind. But her guard was currently down in all sorts of ways, and now his face swam effortlessly into her consciousness. She knew that she shouldn't fixate on him, that it almost certainly couldn't be him. He'd said as much himself. And she knew that, by all rights, she should just be happy with who she had, whoever that was.

But even if it didn't make sense, she hoped it _was_him.

That 'First Nations' boy, whatever that meant. The kwee-yoat. His ears tall and his fur closer to black than to brown.

He'd been an unexpected touchstone of... what? Sanity? In the mess hall of Ontario Station. She'd been in quarantine for two weeks, but it had taken only hours for her to realize that these Canadians were a very different breed from anything she was used to. Their minds were just... shaped in a way that hers seemed to have a hard time connecting with.

Between that and the unfailing, even strained cheerfulness, their oddly collectivist lifestyle, and their... well, there was no other word for it except _cultlike_veneration of their central computer, she'd been genuinely terrified that she'd never speak to a normal person again. Her transfer had been one-way, after all; no provision had been made for a return trip, and even if she'd wanted to - or been able to - request one, she had no reason to believe that Pétain would lift a finger to get her back. They were looking to reduce their population, after all, and had no shortage of scholars in the Grande Bibliothèque, most of whom were much better suited to the enforced ideological conformity of academic life.

So she'd been released from quarantine and shown briefly around the station, and then released into the cavernous mess hall to fend for herself. And as she watched hundreds of relentlessly cheerful women and hulking puck players swear their morning blood oath to the titanic leonine likeness of Queen Victoria which loomed over the dining tables, she had felt unspeakably, impossibly, forlorn.

"Hi," he'd said. "You must be new here. My name's Chris. Can I sit with you?"

After weeks among the Canadians, she'd been able to tell immediately that there was something different about this 30-something canine. "Abrielle. And please do. I sense that you are, perhaps, not from here yourself?"

He'd smiled. "Oh, man. The beckers are gonna be all over you. You'll want to discourage that."

She'd pondered this as he'd taken his seat, his plate containing only fish and vegetables. "Beck-air?" she'd asked. "What is a beck-air?"

"So like," he'd said, spreading his hands wide in front of him with a grin, "Every year, these people celebrate their victory over a splinter faction a few generations back. See, when Ontario was founded, there was a small but tenacious number of Quebecois who, for one reason or another, had decided not to go up in Montreal, but changed their minds when everyone left behind started to die horribly. You know, standard stuff. And the Ontarians-- hold on, you know about Quebec?"

She'd nodded.

"Okay, thought so. So anyway the Ontarians, who are a generous and good-natured people--" he said this part a little bit louder and raised his eyebrows at her significantly, "--were happy to take some of them in, especially because several of them were actually really useful scientists and engineers. And for a while everything was good. But the Quebecois were belligerent and ungrateful, and were constantly attempting to arrogate extra rights and resources to their own at the expense of everyone else. The Ontarians under TIMBIT showed an enormous amount of forebearance, but eventually a plot was discovered wherein the Quebecers - you know, 'beckers - were planning on taking control of the station by force and installing themselves as a ruling class. So TIMBIT called upon the best and bravest of the puck players to defend Ontario. They suited up, sharpened their sticks, and went and did glorious battle with the beckers, ending their threat once and for all. And now it's re-enacted every year in a big pageant on the central ice rink."

Bri had stared for a long moment, entirely unable to tell whether he was screwing with her. "And all of this... actually happened?"

Chris had laughed. "You know, as far as I can tell, it actually did."

"But Montreal fell out of orbit a hundred years ago, yes? How then are there beck-airs to be, as you say, all over me?"

"Oh, that. Well, see those kids over there in the corner?" He'd gestured toward a cluster of pale-looking teens in striped shirts and berets, "They're good kids." Again with the weird emphasis. "And I'm sure they'll turn out just fine. But you know kids. There are always a few who feel like they're different from everyone else, and want to show it by..."

"Rebelling?" Bri had guessed.

Chris had shaken his head vigorously and made a 'keep it down' gesture with one hand. "Not a good word for it. Not a good word. They're just... expressing..." he'd seemed to be stuck.

"I think I get it," she'd said. "My apologies if the word was wrong. My English is mostly, how do you say, technical? I learned to read it for my research but I have never really spoken it before these last weeks in quarantine."

"Well then it's very good," he'd said. "And the word you used isn't technically wrong, it just carries, uh, unfortunate connotations. And might rub some fur the wrong way." His face had grown serious. "And actually you probably shouldn't say it ever, ever again." He'd gestured ever so subtly toward the ceiling with his nose.

She'd frowned in confusion, but had decided that whatever he was on about she should probably take his advice. "Very well. So as I was saying, it is clear that you are not Ontarian. Where, then, did you come from? And what has brought you here?"

"Oh, I'm just a short-term contractor. From Cascadia. There isn't a lot of traffic to or from Ontario, but every now and then they'll contract someone to help out with some minor computer work. You know, filesystem cleanup, database maintenance. Nothing of consequence. TIMBIT's rock-solid. Rock-solid. Doesn't really _need_me, of course. But Cascadia's still known for having the best freelance coders, and when the RFB came up I thought it'd be interesting to stop in and see how this place runs."

Her ears had drooped. "Then... you'll be leaving soon?"

He'd scratched the back of his neck. "It's funny you should ask. My original contract is almost up, but I've recently been informed that an extension is available if I'm willing. Been giving that a lot of thought. Ontario is a wonderful place that anyone should be overjoyed to spend even a single day in. Obviously. And I don't have much in the way of family back home. But there is something to be said for what's familiar, and I haven't found much of that here. Plus, naturally, I can only ever hope to someday be able to live up to the inherent wholesomeness and community _spirit_of these people, and sometimes the challenge can seem so daunting."

Conversational English may not have come easily to her, but she wasn't dense. "I... think I see. As for myself, I am here for, how do you say, the long haul? And it is... so much more wonderful than I could ever have imagined." She waited, and he nodded. "But, it has cheered me to meet someone else who understands how, ah, difficult it can be for an outsider to live up to these standards."

"If it helps, you'll have your own wristband soon, and then you'll find out real quick what does and doesn't fly around here." He'd noted her blank expression and amended, "That is, what is appropriate. Anyway, perhaps we can help each other work hard to become more pro-social. That is, be friends." He'd smiled, and the easiness of it had reassurred her that, since he'd apparently found a comfortable way to exist among the bizarre mores and unspoken rules of Ontario, she might learn to do so as well, his inscrutable comments about wristbands notwithstanding. "Of course, you're the real mystery. What turn of events has brought you here from... Pétain?"

She'd confirmed his guess with a nod. "I'm what you call a scholar. My specialty is in researching historical social models and analyzing what factors made them relatively stable or unstable, whether in isolation or facing external pressures." She was much more confident in her command of English when discussing academics rather than small talk. "I am quite passionate about this! But as you know, Pétain is rather radical, and they have no interest in what I have to say. But apparently TIMBIT - ah, in its wisdom? - is very interested! And accepted my proposal to study and write here almost immediately."

He'd stared blankly. "Is that right? And there were no other terms? No obligations?"

This had made her defensive. "But of course there were, ah, details to be worked out. How do you say, technicalities."

His gaze had grown sharp. "Such as?"

"I will be a full citizen and subject of," her eyes had flicked to Victoria, "the Crown. And so I will participate in every aspect of Canadian community life."

"Every aspect," he'd repeated significantly.

"Oui! Yes. But this is well with me, because I very much want a family of my own, and almost no one is allowed this on Pétain. Even if they allow you to have a baby, it is taken away and raised in common."

"Oh, I'm aware. I did some work there once. If I may say so, your attitude is very unusual for someone from Pétain. Perhaps you developed these feelings in the course of your work?"

She'd considered this plenty of times on her own, of course, and shrugged. "Perhaps. Yes, I think so. But, I think this makes me a, ah, natural fit for Ontario, and I hope that I can someday learn to, ah...?"

"Perpetuate this wonderful way of life," he'd finished for her. "And yes, I daresay that you're a better fit here than you would have been there. But..." he'd glanced significantly at the ceiling and lowered his voice. "Do you... are you really okay with not knowing the father? That's a surprise to me."

She'd picked up enough in quarantine, and in this conversation, to know to try to keep the disappointment from her face. "It... is much better than what I had before. Than nothing. And I hope to find a good husband here, who will help to raise the children that the computer sees fit to give me. I understand that it is never wrong."

"No," he'd agreed. "It _never_is."

"And who knows? Perhaps my husband will also be the father of my children. I think I am permitted to hope for that, yes? But what about you? Do you also, ah, participate? As part of your contract?"

He'd leaned back and puffed out his cheeks. "My contract doesn't specify, and no, I've never been selected. But who knows? There's a first time for everything." He'd given her a long, appraising look. "Abrielle-"

"Bri, please." Even though he'd actually said it right.

"Bri. It's been a pleasure to meet you. It occurs to me that I have much work to do and a very short amount of time to do it in. It's my hope that we can meet again... soon."

She'd stood as he had, and leaned forward to shake his hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Mister, ah, Chris. I hope to see you again as well."

He'd grinned at her over his shoulder as he walked away, bushy tail behind him. "Until then... just remember to keep smiling!"

* * *

When she came back to herself, the male was slumped onto her, still fully tied, occasionally whining and making unconscious, infinitesimal thrusts with his hips. She realized then that she wasn't the only one to have been sucked into oblivion by their climax, and smiled, wishing only that she could stroke his neck and shoulders while he worked the last of his seed into her depths.

Next time. Hadn't the tech said that the next few months of her life were essentially going to revolve around getting as much of this canine's seed into her as possible? That had been such an outlandish idea at the time that Bri hadn't even tried to process it, but now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Maybe the Ontario computer did know best, after all.

She smiled. 'TIMBIT'. What was the deal with that, anyway?

The male stirred on top of her and she felt the exact moment that he regained his senses, for the muscles of his stomach grew rigid.

"Shhh," she said, trying to soothe him and wishing that she could tell him all the things on her heart.

He seized a little - a restrained laugh? -- and nuzzled his face into her chest, his hands finding hers and resting top them. He exhaled long and loud, and she wondered if he wished they could talk as much as she did.

Then there was an audible pop and a gush of warmth over her tail hole, and suddenly she was in pain again. She realized that he'd come loose.

Slowly, as if in regret, he planted a long, tender kiss on the center of her chest, and withdrew, keeping his hands on hers for as long as possible. Presumably he was not allowed to linger. She tried to turn her palms up to hold on to him, as well, but it was too late.

She had no way to make any kind of sense of the input she was getting from between her legs, so she just bit her lip and tried to remain still. Emma had said that she'd be in soon to help, and that was a comforting thought.

She strained to hear her mate as he left, her whole being hanging on every soft footfall. It was unbearable to not know who he was. But it was, perhaps, made bearable by the knowledge that, if his seed took, they'd be together again soon. And often.

The male heaved a labored sigh and the door hissed open to admit him, then hissed shut.

She was alone again. Except, not really alone, because he was still within her, wasn't he? Her stomach was tight in a different way than before. So much of him still inside of her, she thought. Probably not Chris. But even if not, she'd never know, would she? Even if she never saw him again, she couldn't assume that he'd gone back to Cascadia. He might just be on a different meal schedule because of his work. And after the pups were born, she'd presumably be able to focus on her work for a while before being paired with someone else, if that was the computer's plan. So it's not like there would ever be any way to confirm that it hadn't been him. And given that, was there any harm in pretending? Although, if it wasn't him, it didn't exactly feel fair to the one who'd been so tender with her.

The other door - _her_door - hissed and Emma whisked back into the room. Rising light poured in around the edges of her mask. "Everything okay, hon? You might want to keep that mask on for a bit to let your eyes adjust."

Bri, so full of words a few moments before, had nothing at all to say to the rabbit. But she'd figured out by this point that something was probably always tracking her behavior, so she'd have to manage. "Ah... A-Okay, miss Emma."

"Really? That's good to hear, especially given how worried I've-- oh my word. What a mess! Looks like we've lost some." The bed beneath her whirred again and her pelvis was inclined a few angles higher. "That should do it. Now..." Bri heard the snap of gloves and felt the rabbit's fingers on her inner thighs, pulling gently at her sensitive flesh. "Mercy me. You earned your citizenship tonight! And make no mistake. But I don't see any real cause for alarm. Though the two of you are going to need to take it much easier tomorrow. Or, possibly even resort to alternative methods." Bri heard what she thought was Emma removing her gloves. Tap. Tap. Tap. "I'm putting a note in here so that his tech tells him so. Now, then. Says here that you get your wish from before."

"My wish?" The sleep mask was removed and she squinted up at the inverted image of the rabbit smiling affectionately down at her.

"You seemed awful put out when I had to cut you off early. But good news! Contractions caused by climax should up your odds of conception, so..."

"Parameters," sighed Bri. "The, ah, boom again?"

"That's the one," confirmed Emma as the arm unfolded from the ceiling and implacably sought its place against Bri's mons. Immediately it began to pulse again, much more powerfully this time. After what she'd been through, it felt simultaneously overwhelming and wonderful.

She did want that man's pups, after all. This wasn't such a hardship, if it helped that to happen.

Emma seemed enthusiastic as ever about what she was looking at on the terminal. "You know, according to the scanner we didn't actually lose much. Percentage-wise anyway. He somehow got a really terrific amount inside you!"

"Yes," agreed Bri distractedly. "That injection you gave me was a big help, like you said."

Emma stared blankly. "The what? Oh, hon, like I said, that was just to help with fertility. You're dropping eggs like crazy right now, and they're all landing directly in," she gestured at the screen, which displayed Bri's uterus packed so full of cum that it was noticably distended, "that. But from your perspective there shouldn't be any noticeable effects at all."

Bri was having a very difficult time concentrating now but couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What? But I... this was not a, how do you say, aphrodisiaque?"

The rabbit chuckled. "Well of course not. If we had anything like that we wouldn't need the boom, eh? No, whatever you were feeling, that was all you. Sounds like you're a natural! But we're running late and I need to go. Would you like the lights off?"

"Off?" repeated the uncomprehending lioness, and the rabbit apparently took it as her answer.

"That assistant you met earlier will be here first thing in the morning. Now, I'd better get home. Tom'll be wondering where I am."

Bri was certain that she must have misunderstood. "What do you mean 'the morning?' You are not going to leave me like... like..." Tension and pleasure were rising rapidly within her, and she found herself unable to finish the sentence.

"Oh, hon," laughed the rabbit into the darkness as the door hissed open before her. "It's like I told you. The computer is _really_hot for your genetics!"