I lay him down on his side in the nest of towels while he wails, laboring hard on his first litter. My own litter is straining to be born, and I’m sure I’m about to start pushing.
“Lift your leg, baby,” I tell him.
“You need to start pushing,” I say.
“I can’t,” he whimpers. “I don’t know if I can whelp. I can’t, I can’t…oh…oh! Oh god!” He curls around his taut belly and whines as his body forces him to push.
I sit down at his ass and lift his leg myself, and prop the crook of his knee across my own knee. I pull his tucked tail from between his slick thighs and reveal his throbbing cunt. Then I spread my other knee wide to open my pelvis. I’m ready. He’s ready.
His body heaves on its first-ever pup. “Ow, ow, owwww, it hurts! Is it coming out?”
Of course it isn’t. I rub his hip. “Not yet, baby. You’re going to have to work harder than that. Push.”
His tail stands to attention as he puts in the work of a long, hard push, his eyes squeezed closed.
“Good boy,” I say. “That’s a good boy. You’re a natural.”
His contraction must end, because he stops pushing and starts panting. “Are, are you pushing?” he asks.
“I think I need to push…I, I need to push! Oh! Ohhhhh!”
His pussy begins to bulge, but his slit is still closed. When he lets up the pressure, the bulge recedes. He cranes his neck to try to see between his legs.
“It’s stuck! It’s not coming out!”
“It’s coming,” I say. “You’re making prog—“ I gasp as my first pup begins to squeeze through my cervix. “Oh!”
“Are you whelping?” he asks.
It hurts too badly for me to answer, other than to tuck in my chin and push.
“You’re pushing! You’re—ohhhh.” And he lays back down as a contraction takes over his body and he has to push. His cunt bulges out, and when he lets up, it only recedes partway.
With my first full push, my pup fills my birth canal and my pussy bulges.
“Can I watch you whelp?” he asks, his eyes large and curious.
I nod and shift onto my hands and knees in the blanket nest, my cunt facing him. In the new position I have to lift my tail high as the next contraction barrels through me. I moan and push. The burn begins.
“Oh, oh! Ohhhhhh!” I moan.
I can hear the eagerness in his voice. “You’re crowning! Oh my god, you’re crowning!”
The stretch continues—wider, wider. I stop pushing but keep a steady pressure on the pup while I pant. He whimpers, and I look over my shoulder to see him propped up on his elbows, his back against the edge of the towel nest, his knees spread wide and his eyes squeezed shut while he pushes. His slit begins to open.
“Good boy,” I gasp between pants. “Open your eyes, baby. I’m about to whelp.”
He opens his glassy eyes, agony written all over his face. I feel the head sliding out. I dip my hips low and give a heave and whelp my first pup onto the towels between his feet.
“You whelped,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I can do this…”
I turn around, my body quivering with effort, and hold out my hand. He grips it with a strength I did not know he possessed, and pushes.
His pussy bulges fully out and his slit opens. He lays his head back against the nest and howls. His firstborn pup begins to crown, his first crowning of many—both tonight and over the course of his budding life as a breeding wolf. His belly strains and his legs begin to shake.
I squeeze his hand. “Push, baby. I know it hurts, I know, he put some big pups in you.”
The pup parts his lips wider and wider until his pussy is stretched tight in a perfect O. It stays that way for a moment…several moments…his howls of pain continue. Then suddenly the head pops free and he curls over his belly. His howl fades to rough panting.
I squeeze his hand. “Good boy, the head is out.”
“It hurts,” he whimpers. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“One more push,” I say. “You’re about to whelp.”
“My first pup…” he says. “Help me?”
I shake my head. “You should whelp your first pup on your own.”
He changes tactics. “Hold me?”
I move to sit down beside him, but halfway there I feel an urge and I pause to push. “Ow…ow, ow, ow!”
“You’re pushing?” he says. “Push! Push!”
“Oh baby,” I moan, to him and to the pup pulling me apart. “It hurts, it hurts!”
His eyes are fixed under my belly, between my legs. “It’s coming out—it’s coming! Push!”
“Ohhhhhhhhh,” I groan. “I’m crowning! Fuck!” The head bursts out of me and I exhale. “Fuck…”
I maneuver carefully, mindful of the head of my pup dangling from my hole, and sit down beside him in the nest. I put my arm around his shoulder. He leans into me and holds my other hand.
“I think I have to push,” he says. His voice is tight with anxiety.
“Don’t fight it,” I say. “Let’s whelp together.”
He nods, his eyes fixed on the top of his belly.
Both our bellies heave as we bear down, arms twined together. Three seconds of strained moans…five…ten. He gasps.
“It’s coming—I feel it! I’m whelping! Oh god, I’m—I’m—AUGH.”
I hear his pup squelch out of him, followed by a rush of fluids. At the same moment my own pup drops out of me into the waiting towels. He clings to me, quivering.
“Oh my god. I whelped. I whelped! It came out!”
He sits up to look at his firstborn pup, but a moment later he’s back in my arms, pushing on his second. I’m pushing too; our laboring moans mingle together.
A few hours later our alpha finds us asleep in the nest, curled up around a double litter of pups. It’s hard to say whose is whose—but no matter. They’re half-siblings anyway.
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