Skarg began to count, his voice a low, rumbling threat. As he did, Zac noticed something. The wendigo was becoming aroused. His earlier state, impressive as it was, was apparently just the prelude. The thrill of the hunt, the promise of the catch, was having a very visible, very significant effect.
Zac's eyes bulged. 'Holy shit,' he thought, his brain short-circuiting. 'He's a grower. Not a shower. He's a grower and a shower. He's a goddamn greenhouse.'
"Two."
Zac scrambled away, his movements slow and clumsy in the deep snow. He kept looking back over his shoulder at his soon-to-be hunter, at the magnificent, terrifying promise of what was to come, a giddy, terrified laugh bubbling in his chest. This was so much better than the real world.
Zac stumbled through the twisted birch trees, Skarg's mournful hunting howl echoing through the blizzard behind him. Every instinct he didn't have told him to run faster, to hide, to survive. A part of him, the logical, horny part, just wanted to stop and find a comfortable-looking snowdrift to lie on and wait for the inevitable. But if the hot caribou man liked to chase, then Zac could do that much for him. He owed him for the show.
The sound of crashing branches and thundering hooves grew closer with alarming speed. Zac didn't have time to look back. A massive, furry body slammed into him from behind, and the world became a blur of white snow and dark fur.
He was tackled into a deep snowbank, the breath driven from his lungs in a sharp gasp. He landed face-down, Skarg's immense weight pressing him into the powder. Instinct took over, and he began to flail, struggling against the antlered demon, but his movements were useless. A heavy forearm pressed down on the small of his back, pinning him completely.
The weight was immense, possessive, thrilling.
"You talk a lot, little whore," Skarg rumbled, his voice a hot wave against Zac's ear. The wendigo's breath smelled of musk, pine, and something ancient and wild. "But you are lucky. Since I know you are a virgin, I will not completely break you tonight. Consider this… a preview."
"Break me," Zac gasped, struggling uselessly against the demon's hold, the words muffled by the snow. "Break me until I beg for more."
Ha. Skarg's head moved away from Zac's ear. "Oh, you'll beg."
Zac felt a large, clawed hand grip the hem of his robe. With a single, powerful tug, the fabric was pulled up, exposing his lower back and ass to the biting cold. His muscles tensed involuntarily, goosebumps rising on his skin. Above him, he heard Skarg let out a low, guttural rumble of pure, animal hunger.
Zac, face down in the snow, felt the wendigo's warm breath on his butt cheeks. His eyes went wide. He tried to push his rear up, arching his back, trying to get closer to the caribou's maw, but he was still pinned firmly to the ground.
A wet, warm sensation hit his cheeks. Zac choked back a gasp as a generous amount of spit cascaded down, slick and hot against his cold skin.
'Such a gentleman,' Zac thought, a wave of blissful anticipation washing over him. 'I would have enjoyed it if he rimmed me a bit first, but beggars can't be choosers. At least he's not going in dry.'
He braced himself, every nerve ending on high alert, ready for the glorious, dream-fulfilling impact.
Zac felt Skarg shift his immense weight. A moment later, something impossibly hot and solid flopped onto his thigh and butt cheek.
Zac nearly bit his tongue off. 'Oh, fuck. It's big. It's really, really big.'
He desperately tried to crane his neck, to look back at the caribou demon meat extravaganza that was now spreading the small pool of saliva between his cheeks. The sheer size of it was breathtaking, a promise of pain and pleasure that made his head spin.
Instantly, all the fight went out of him. He went limp, every muscle in his body relaxing. That feeling… that glorious, heavy, insistent pressure against him… it was so close to…
Skarg laughed, a low, triumphant rumble. "Prey instinctively know when it's useless to fight," he growled, misinterpreting Zac's surrender completely. "I'm going to use you now, little human. I'm going to take what's mine."
Zac let out a quiet moan as Skarg began to slowly, deliberately push himself in. It was a tight fit, a glorious, stretching pressure that was everything he'd ever dreamed of. Zac was still trying to grind backward onto the caribou's cock, but it was no use. Skarg had him pinned, a living mountain of muscle holding him in place. Zac was now just a warm location for Skarg's prodding, and he was here for it. He was so, so here for it.
'All these years,' his mind reeled blissfully, 'and this is it. I'm finally getting it. From a hot demonic military officer in a wild, dubious-consent roleplay with full scenario immersion and a winter-wonderland set. This is the peak. This is my Everest.'
He closed his eyes, a grin spreading across his face, and decided to play along. He let out a faked, breathy whimper. "Oh… you're so big… I don't think I can take it…"
Skarg bellowed, a sound of pure, masculine triumph, and ground forward another agonizing inch. "I told you you'd take it! Not so funny now, is it, little virgin? You'll think twice before teasing us, won't you?"
"Oh yeah," Zac said enthusiastically, his voice full of genuine awe. "That big dick is definitely turning me into a good boy."
Skarg stopped. The rhythmic pressure ceased.
Zac's eyes snapped open. He looked around in the snow. "Uh," he said quickly, trying to recover the mood. "I mean… I'm sorry! I shouldn't have teased you! You're so strong! Please don't hurt me!"
There was a pause. Then, Skarg slowly began grinding forward again, sinking deeper.
"That's right, you little slut," the wendigo growled, his voice thick with lust. "And now… you're gonna pay."
Zac smartly stayed quiet, other than the occasional whimper of "fuck" and "so big" and "please." These, he noted, seemed to stroke the demon's ego beautifully as Skarg slowly, relentlessly worked him open. Zac was glad his vocabulary didn't need to be large; his mind was setting off fireworks. Even with this just being the warm-up, he was already on a knife's edge. He probably would have gone over already if his arms weren't pinned, preventing him from touching himself.
The demonic deer cock was just perfect. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, every incredible inch. It was smooth and tapered. When it first entered, it was almost deceptively small, and for a split second, Zac had been worried. But then it just kept going, getting thicker and thicker the further it made its way inside, a logical impossibility, a geometric marvel of pleasure. He sighed as he finally felt something wider press firmly against his entrance, presumably seating the demon completely within him.
"Oh no," Zac said dreamily, trying to wiggle his butt back and forth against the immovable object. "You're all the way in me. Please… please don't be too rough."
Skarg laughed again, a deep, triumphant sound. "Don't think you're getting away that easy," he growled. "I'm getting balls-deep in you, you fuck-hole."
"Uhh," Zac tried to turn his head, the logic-obsessed part of his brain briefly taking over. "Balls-deep doesn't actually mean you get your balls in me. It's a metaphor for-"
Splat. More hot spit landed on his ass.
"Shut up," Skarg spat.
"Aren't you already in?" Zac winced as Skarg tried to press even deeper, the pressure becoming immense.
"That's the medial ring," Skarg growled. He leaned over Zac, one massive arm wrapping around his chest, pulling him into a loose headlock bear hug that was both terrifying and incredibly intimate. "Now for the main event."
"But you're not equine," Zac whimpered as he felt a warm, sliding pressure deep inside him, a feeling like stretching a muscle that had been sore for years, like the clean, satisfying sensation of peeling dried glue off your skin. It was a feeling that unlocked a part of him he never knew existed, rewiring his entire nervous system. His back arched, and his leg began to shudder uncontrollably.
Pop.
Skarg groaned, a deep, guttural sound of release, and surged forward another few inches.
Zac's eyes went wide.
The sensation of the medial ring pushing past something deep inside him was everything. Zac saw stars. Zac saw God. Zac saw the Devil, and the Devil had just reached into his soul and milked his prostate with a single, expert twist.
His body convulsed. A wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure crashed over him, so intense it bordered on pain. He shuddered and seized, a wordless scream trapped in his throat. 'Oh, it felt so good. It felt so fucking good. Yes. Don't ever fucking stop. Don't…'
'…stop?'
Zac blinked his eyes open.
He looked around. The blizzard was gone. The twisted trees were gone. Skarg was gone.
He was in his room. The cold, sterile quiet pressed in on his ears. He was tangled in the single, rough sheet on the demonically comfortable bed, his body slick with sweat and other fluids.
Wait…
Wait.
WAIT, FU-