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The tail withdraws suddenly, leaving me feeling empty in ways I don't want to acknowledge.

Before I can process the loss, I feel the broad head of his primary shaft pressing against my entrance.

The initial contact sends conflicting signals through my nervous system—anticipation of relief from the burning need, terror at his size, shame at wanting something I should resist.

"Beg for it," he commands, the pressure increasing without actual penetration. "Let me hear those sweet omega pleas."

"No," I whisper, though the denial comes out breathless and weak.

His response is swift and decisive. His tail wraps around my throat again, pulling my head back while his other hand presses between my shoulder blades, forcing my chest down and hips higher. The position is textbook claiming posture—one I couldn't escape if I tried.

"Your pride is irrelevant," he states, the head of his cock sliding through my folds without entering. "Biology doesn't care about your dignity."

He's right, and we both know it. The heat is reaching critical mass, my temperature climbing toward dangerous levels.

Without claiming, my system will begin shutting down—seizures first, then organ failure, then death.

My medical training confirms what my body already knows: submission or death, no other options.

"Please," I whisper, the word torn from me by necessity rather than desire.

"Please what?" he demands, pressing just the tip inside, stretching my entrance without providing relief. "Tell me what your omega body needs."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, this one so intense my vision whites out at the edges. Rational thought fragments as biology takes control, stripping away everything except desperate need. "Please," I gasp, abandoning pride for survival. "I need... I need your cock. Need you to fill me."

"And my knot?" he pushes, still barely inside, making me feel every textured ridge as he holds position.

"Yes," I sob, hating myself for the admission. "I need your knot. Please."

The first thrust drives him deeper than I thought possible, stretching tissues to their limit and beyond.

The ridged surface of his shaft creates friction against my inner walls that sends bolts of sensation—part pleasure, part pain—radiating through my core.

I scream, the sound echoing through the chamber as he claims me with deliberate slowness.

He stops with only the head inside, letting me feel every spiral ridge as my body struggles to accommodate the invasion. The burning stretch is overwhelming, my muscles locked rigid with shock and discomfort.

"Relax," he growls, though it sounds more like a threat than advice. "Fighting only makes it worse."

Easy for him to say. My medical training tells me he's right—tension increases trauma—but my body won't cooperate. Every instinct screams to escape the invasion, to protect myself from further damage.

His tail moves to flick against my clit again, the unexpected stimulation sending sparks of pleasure through the pain. The dual sensation—stretching discomfort within, electric pleasure without—confuses my nervous system, creating responses I can't predict or control.

"There," he says as my muscles begin to relax incrementally. "Your body knows how to take me."

He pushes deeper with agonizing slowness, each inch bringing new awareness of his size and alien configuration.

The position leaves me blind to his intentions—I can only feel him claiming me from behind, mounting me like the animal he is.

The ridges catch on internal tissues, creating friction that borders on overwhelming.

When he hits a particularly sensitive spot deep inside, white-hot pleasure jolts through my system, dragging a cry from my lips that's pure omega surrender.

"Found it," he purrs, angling his thrusts to hit that spot repeatedly. "Your omega sweet spot. The place that makes you forget everything except how good it feels to be claimed."

His secondary organ, which I'd almost forgotten in the overwhelming sensation of penetration, suddenly presses against my clit.

Unlike his tail, this appendage feels wet, warm, alive in ways that defy description.

When it attaches—there's no other word for it—the suction is gentle at first, then increasingly insistent.

The dual sensation—his ridged cock stroking my inner walls while the specialized organ sucks rhythmically at my clit—creates pleasure circuits my brain can't process. It's like being touched inside and out simultaneously, every nerve ending firing in patterns evolution never intended.

"This is what Chimeric claiming feels like," he explains, voice rough with his own pleasure as he establishes a rhythm that drives me toward madness. "Everything humans can't give you."

I want to deny it, to resist the building pressure, but my body has its own agenda.

Each thrust seats him deeper, my arousal easing his passage while my muscles gradually adapt to his impossible size.

The pleasure builds despite my mental resistance, some primal part of my brain recognizing perfect anatomical compatibility.

"Such a good omega," he praises, the words sending another flood of treacherous satisfaction through my system. "Taking my cock so perfectly. Made for Chimeric claiming."

His rhythm intensifies, driving deeper with each thrust until I feel the swelling at his base pressing against my entrance. The knot—still unformed but promising further invasion, further claiming, further proof of my complete submission to his will.

The suction organ increases its pressure against my clit, the rhythmic pulling synchronized with his thrusts.

Pleasure builds in layers—deep internal stimulation from his ridged shaft, surface friction from the knot teasing my entrance, concentrated intensity from the mouth-like organ working my most sensitive flesh.

"Going to knot you now," he warns, though it sounds more like a promise than a threat. "Going to lock my seed inside you where it belongs."

When his knot begins to swell in earnest, panic cuts through the building pleasure. The pressure at my entrance increases exponentially, stretching tissues past their limits. "Wait," I gasp, my fingers clawing at the furs beneath me. "It's too big. You'll split me open."

"Your body was designed for this," he insists, the growing bulb catching at my entrance with each thrust. "Omega biology evolved to take alpha knots, no matter the size."

The logic means nothing when faced with the reality of his anatomy forcing its way inside me. Each attempt to seat the knot brings fresh stretching, fresh pressure, fresh proof that my body has limits his biology doesn't respect.

His tail wraps around my thigh from behind, holding me in position as he forces the issue with single-minded determination.

The restraint emphasizes my complete helplessness—pinned beneath his weight, unable to escape or even see what's coming next.

The suction organ increases its pull on my clit, flooding my system with endorphins that combat the discomfort of being stretched beyond belief.

With a final, brutal thrust, the widest part of his knot pops past my entrance. The sudden relief of pressure gives way to a feeling of impossible fullness as the swollen tissue settles inside me, stretching my inner walls in directions I didn't know were possible.

"Perfect," he growls, grinding against me from behind to ensure complete seating. The position leaves me utterly helpless—unable to see his face, unable to predict his movements, completely at his mercy as he mounts me like the predator he is. "My knot locked inside my omega. Where it belongs."

The claiming bite comes without warning—his teeth sinking into the junction of my neck and shoulder with surgical precision.

The pain is sharp, immediate, followed by a rush of sensation I don't recognize.

Something changes in my biochemistry, some fundamental shift that rewrites the basic parameters of my existence.

"Mine," he states, voice muffled against my throat as he tastes the blood he's drawn. "Marked. Claimed. Bred."

Hot seed floods me in powerful pulses, each surge accompanied by another wave of expansion as his knot swells to its full size.

The volume is overwhelming—far more than human anatomy could produce, filling me beyond capacity until my abdomen distends visibly.

I feel each pulse like a separate invasion, my body registering the claiming on a cellular level.

The secondary organ continues its relentless attention throughout his climax, the suction changing patterns to match his release.

Pleasure builds against my will, a tidal wave I can't outrun.

My first orgasm crashes through me with devastating intensity, every nerve ending firing at once while my muscles clench helplessly around his knot.

"That's it," he encourages, grinding deeper as my body convulses around him. "Come on my knot like a good omega."

The praise, the physical stimulation, the flood of his seed—it all combines to create responses I can't control or predict. My second climax follows before the first has fully ended, sharp and electric as the suction organ works my oversensitized flesh with mechanical precision.

Time fragments as we remain locked together, his massive frame keeping me pinned while aftershocks ripple through my hypersensitive system.

Each tiny movement sends renewed sparks of sensation radiating outward.

His wings fold around us, creating an enclosed space that concentrates our mingled scents and enhances the biological responses neither of us can fully escape.

"Breeding takes time," he explains when my breathing finally steadies. "My knot will keep us tied for an hour at least. Ensures proper seed placement."

An hour. The information penetrates the haze of endorphins still flooding my system. An hour locked together while his alien biology pumps more seed into me, while his knot ensures none escapes, while that secondary organ continues its intermittent assault on my sanity.

Time becomes a physical weight pressing down on me.

His massive frame keeps me pinned in the presenting position, my knees grinding into the stone platform through the furs, my arms shaking from supporting my upper body while his bulk looms over me.

The size difference is overwhelming—I'm completely dwarfed beneath him, his wings creating a canopy that blocks out everything except the reality of our joining.

The knot pulses regularly, swelling larger with each surge of seed he pumps into me.

My abdomen distends visibly as the volume increases, the pressure building until I feel like I might burst from the sheer amount.

Each pulse brings fresh heat, fresh fullness, fresh proof of how thoroughly he's claimed me.

"Take it all," he growls against my neck, his weight pressing me deeper into the furs. "Every drop belongs inside you."

The secondary organ never stops its torment, alternating between gentle suction and demanding pulls that drag unwanted pleasure from my oversensitized flesh.

Just when I think I've adapted to the sensation, it changes rhythm, sending fresh jolts of electricity through my core.

The combination of his knot stretching me impossibly wide and that alien mouth working my clit creates a feedback loop of sensation I can't escape.

Minutes crawl by like hours. My body shudders through smaller orgasms I can neither prevent nor control, each one wringing fresh sounds from my throat—omega cries that echo off the cave walls and shame me with their neediness.

His seed continues flowing in steady pulses, so much that it begins leaking around his knot despite the tight seal, running down my thighs in warm streams.

"Look how well you take my knot," he murmurs, shifting his weight but never allowing me to change position. "Such a perfect little breeding vessel. Made for this."

The praise sends another unwanted wave of pleasure through my system, my traitorous body responding to his dominance even as my mind rails against the captivity. I can't move, can't escape, can't do anything but endure the endless claiming while his massive form keeps me exactly where he wants me.

By the time his knot finally begins to recede, I'm trembling with exhaustion, my body wrung out from an hour of continuous stimulation. When he finally withdraws, the absence feels almost worse than the invasion—a hollow emptiness that my omega biology immediately mourns.

Seed pours from me in a rush, far more than my body can contain, pooling beneath me on the furs. The loss triggers another whimper I can't suppress, some primitive part of my brain recognizing the waste of valuable alpha essence.

I collapse forward onto my elbows, finally able to escape the presenting position that held me captive for so long.

My legs shake uncontrollably, muscles cramped from maintaining the pose while supporting his claiming.

When I try to move, fresh seed leaks from my abused body, a constant reminder of how thoroughly he's marked me inside and out.

I take inventory of my new reality, my body fundamentally altered—not just by the claiming, but by the bite that still throbs at my throat.

His scent clings to my skin, marking me as claimed property to any alpha within miles.

The volume of seed he's deposited ensures my scent will carry his signature for days.

"You have a name?" he asks, the question absurdly normal given our circumstances.

I consider refusing, but information can be a weapon too. "Amelia," I answer, voice hoarse from sounds I couldn't suppress. "Amelia Miller."

"Vex," he offers in return, settling beside me on the platform with casual possession. "Welcome to my territory, Amelia Miller."

The formality feels significant somehow—an acknowledgment that I'm more than just a claimed body, that some part of my identity survives the biological imperative that brought us together.

I am still Amelia Miller. The claiming has taken my body but not my mind, not my will, not my determination to find freedom when opportunity allows. For now, I'll recover, observe, learn the patterns of this mountain and its apex predator.

The heat has been temporarily satisfied, but it will return. And when it does, I'll face the same choice again: submission or death.

At least now I know what survival costs.