Faring deeper, you station yourself between a gap in some underbrush that the work of scurrying rabbits surely created. Flat on your stomach with your musket poised, head tilted, and one leg hiked up, focusing down the tip of the barrel.

A predator's eyes will dilate upon setting its sight on possible prey. In a full stance, hackles raised, its ears skim the sub-canopy of trees, but it may completely conceal its intimidating form in a low prowl when its attention is caught by a gathering of deer or something hidden in the bushes. On a solo hunt, one is more likely to ambush the smaller prey. To pounce before—

—a colossal-sized paw seizes the back of your head and pulls you onto your hands and knees with a harsh yank, its claws brimming around your temples and jaw. A brutish body tense from a successful catch hovers over you and its loud, snarling, breaths send vibrations down your spine.

"Please don't eat me," you snivel, meaning for it to be more of a silent prayer than a request, and a claw hooks inside your mouth. Sharply gagging you and using your cheek as leverage to crane your head back.

Past puffs of humid air making your eyes squint is a rasping werewolf staring right down at you. You paw at the ground shining your big, wet, eyes up at him trying to crawl free but only collect dirt under your nails. Trembling in fear while not even between any teeth.

The wolf juts his hips forward and his heavy, pre-cum-slicked cock glides over your ass, his carnal gaze snapping between your terrified little expression and your pristine pants dampening and wrinkling under his back and forth motions. He curiously prods around your face, your furrowed brows and flushing cheeks; presses on your tiny tongue making you drool and babble as you're humped like a dog. A second finger crowds into your mouth and lewdly fucks down your throat in sync with his unchaste thrusts, feeling out one warm, wet, hole while stiffening at the thought of the other.

If the king and queen want to let their high-born spawn run about the woods like a wild animal, they're going to be courted like one. Propositioned upon first glance and a single whiff of a fecund scent. Someone of your status should be well used to a suitor's grand gestures and their appetency for wanting royal heirs.

The werewolf humps the curve of your ass with so much strength and friction that it begins wearing away at your bottoms, ruining the layers of fabrics and splitting seam after seam until there's an opening that he can widen and expose your bare cunt to the air. You gasp as his clearly aroused, beast of a cock straining straight out bobs up against your stomach; the balls hanging full, all surrounded by a thick, fluffy, happy trail brushing your skin.

“Mmm~rmfhh—” you tearfully protest.

The wolf's sticky cockhead flits past your clit moving up to your hole and he lets out a guttural growl before you're stuck halfway on the bulbous tip.

"Hhh!" you heave greatly as gravity forces you to suck the rest of the head in all by yourself and give way for the varyingly girthier base to spread you open. You vehemently shake your head, face darkening while you hold your breath as inch after inch is stolen from you, more than you thought you could ever possibly give. Your walls throb violently with that veiny wolf cock touching every intimate bit of you. "Oh-o, fhu—ck."

Come the first thrust, the bulky knot slams against your entrance and those swollen breeder balls come down against your thighs. You absolutely sing for the wolf with high, cracking, moans and your hands dig into the grass till your fingers are tender as he hounds you. In minutes, his cock is entirely covered in a mix of your slick arousal battered out of you and his own; making each plunge wet and smooth to repeatedly meet the round knob at the very tip of his cock with your core. Doing best to pry your cervix open and purge any sense of protection.

It becomes impossible to think when the veins on his cock bulge and all of the werewolf's weight falls into the hips to have your cunt draw his knot right in. You chuff, sob, and squeeze your fists, your thighs twitching as the white-hot stretch makes your pussy numb. A fat load that you can hear pumping through the werewolf's cock immediately bloats your womb and manages to gush out around the inflated knot simultaneously.

It presses every one of your buttons, the pressure making you cum and squirt all over the wolf's fuzzy lap. He cruelly tugs the knot free and you squeal as he bashes it against your sensitive cunt, hammering your g-spot to make it rain and cover himself fully before slipping back in. You clit pulses against his tensing balls while the wolf pants; shooting ropes and drowning you in virile seed that froths around your hole.

Hot tears and spit run down your face. You weren't built to take so much, to have your belly round and distend in order to fulfill a beast's primal desires. For shame! You weren't some animal. Yet here were your legs parting for one as your stomach drops to nearly double your weight in cum.

With a sloppy tug, the werewolf pulls out swiftly and grips your neck with the tightness of a collar. The first thing you do once your mouth is free is whine like an undisciplined pup as your entire back gets covered with the rest of his load. From your legs, all the way to the top of your head, thick bursts of cum drench your body.

How on earth would you recover after this? First by finding a body of water to clean off in and then constructing a new outfit from sticks and leaves to hobble back to the castle in? And hope that you can just get by? But there was no need to fret, for the wolf can give the prince a new set of responsibilities...

——-

During copulation, a pair typically moves away from the pack to avoid interruption. The chances of conception are marginally increased by the amount of time spent together performing acts of courtship—and the likelihood of a big, strong, litter of pups becomes more achievable with repeated insemination attempts.

The best place for hot, feral, breeding sex was the den, of course. In a bed of nesting pelts and furs surrounding you with an intense, musky, scent that made your mind weak and submissive in a way you couldn't comprehend.

The werewolf's firm body lays on top of yours to keep your thighs back in a proper mating press, your hands engulfed by two large paws securing them at either side of your head while you're crudely kissed; the needy wolf gorging you with his long tongue and making your mouth open wide every time he pulls back out as he empties inside of you.

You very much look the part of an alpha's breeding bitch: hair sweated to your face, your sweet, molded, cunt embracing his knot with a tight squeeze so that each and every load gets pumped directly into your awaiting womb, leaving the wolf wondering when your greedy pussy is going to take so you can stay nice and plump. He'll breed you raw everyday until you fill this den with an entire pack of pups.

Swollen and fucked out, his home is now your place of rest before the sun rises and the wolf beckons you over. Your body demands that you crawl on your hands and knees to his stone throne, like one you'll never get to claim back home, and settle between his parted legs. Your face remains level with his sitting cock twitching to life and bulging out of the sheath to plap against your cheek, urging it towards your lips to ready it for another round.

That beating in the knight’s chest is traded in for full-on palpitations when he spots their figure making a straight path through the trees towards him. The orc stands at an imposing seven feet tall with stubby tusks and thick, flowing hair. Dressed in hardly anything except for some leather straps that hold up absolutely nothing but thick muscle, gold piercings in all of the visible places you can imagine, a basic war skirt, some boots with simple leg wrappings. And finally, a hulky, wooden club they were coming to collect.

The knight bravely stands his ground and moves between the splintered tree and the approaching orc. A smirk grows on their face as the distance between the two starts wearing thin.

“Did they send me a tough one this time? Obviously not a very bright one.” The orc raises their arm like they’re about to reach for their weapon.

With a strong ‘hrmph!’ the knight swings his blade upwards and collides with the orc’s outstretching hand. But instead of catching on any skin, it’s the sword that’s been caught; the blade gripped by the smooth middle with the sharp edge resting against the tough skin of their palm. 

The orc leans in. “I don’t have much time for games today. Unless you feel like giving me a good fight, hm? Is this the first time they let you out on your own?” The knight fails to respond.

With a quick tug, the sword goes flying far over the orc’s shoulder and frees up their hands for them to spin the knight around and vigorously drive him towards the club wedged in the tree by the back of his collar. He yelps as his hands come down hard against the bark of the trunk on either side of it and he stiffens with every fibre of strength in his being to avoid colliding with the sharp spikes. Now stuck between an orc and a hard place. 

The orc grips the knight’s helmet, their fingers making slight dents in the steel before flinging it off and revealing the tousled hair sticking to his hot face and his well-bitten lips suddenly parting at the same time his eyes shoot open, the fluster fading.

“You again.” The orc’s eyes narrow. “My favorite, little masochist.”

“N—I’m here to—put an end to your torments, you monster!” The knight struggles under the pressure while the orc’s free hand moves down his back.

“Mhm.” They kick his legs apart to step a bit closer and unnecessarily close the distance, their hips now brushing against his ass, to ransack through the small satchel attached to the knight’s belt before pocketing most of it. 

“Heyyy—”

“—Silence.” The orc grabs the whining knight’s face and shoves his cheek into their club right next to one of the thorns, letting it linger menacingly in his peripheral vision. “I always get what I want. You of all people should know that by now, pipsqueak.” 

God the knight was getting so hard; a tingling building up in his lower belly more intense than his arms stuck in their static push up position slowly losing their feeling.

“Anything else on you.” 

“N-no.”

*Click*

The chest plate is next to go, the straps on the sides and shoulders being hastily unfastened until the front and back pieces both drop to the ground and then every other layer from the waist up until the knight’s left in his flimsy, white under shirt riding up in every way possible. With no wrist guards, they’re much easier to tie behind his back. With less of a protective, outer shell the orc is able to manhandle and toss the knight over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes and press on toward their camp.

-----

The familiar, little tent doesn’t come into view until they’ve already stepped over the threshold and inside. The bulk of it is supported by one sturdy pole in the center with a single hook protruding out near the bottom at the perfect kneeling height. Beside it is a large, well-constructed bed with plenty of furs and everything else you’d expect in a camp. The crisp, forest air files out completely when the opening curtain drapes closed like water putting out a fire and only sparring a few embers, stealing away all the natural light and leaving only the faint glow of a torch. 

The orc lifts the knight from their shoulder and places him down face-first at the edge of their bed to strip the rest of him bare. Leg platings, boots, pants, every piece tossed carelessly to the side to expose his lower half to the humid air.

Two thick fingers invade the space between the knight’s legs and his stomach sucks in abruptly, his face digging into the soft furs to conceal a moan he wasn’t supposed to let out as the orc glides them back and forth along his cunt which is—to no one’s surprise—wet, almost drooling.

“Too, fucking, easy,” the orc snickers. The knight is hoisted back up and positioned on his knees at the center of the tent with his arms stretching uncomfortably behind himself so the aforementioned hook can slip through the layers of rope around his wrists and keep him tethered down. He sits there disheveled, hazy, and sore, his chest jutting forward with his undershirt barely clinging onto his shoulders. At waist height he’s free to admire how the orc’s carved out hip bones create a v shape and frame a nice happy trail leading straight down to exactly what’s to be desired. 

The orc grips the hair at the back of the knight’s head and gives it a pitiless tug. “So. How will you work for your freedom this time,” they demand.

The knight jumps to answer, “Ahh—please. I’ll do anything~” he begs, his mouth hanging open hoping that maybe a finger will greet his tongue in the same way a weary desert traveler begs for a drop of rain.

With their free hand, the orc unfastens their skirt and pulls the fabric to the side and their cock comes springing up right in front of the knight’s face, the angry-red head contrasting against their pale green skin. “Suck.”

The knight gawks at them with dewy-eyes and leans his head in gently. His lips are met with the tip of their cock far quicker than he anticipated as it pushes forward and pops right into his mouth. Trying to adjust to the girth is already enough to make his jaw ache. He moans and gags, breathes heavily through his nose as the hand in his hair guides him back and forth.

Back and forth, back and forth, back and far, far further when a boot suddenly sliding between the knight’s legs right against his needy dick bumps him up a notch and propels his head forward to take the entirety of the orc’s length. Back to just the very tip and all the way down to the base each time with their ankle flexing and moving against him ruthlessly. His legs tremble and a dripping ache grows between them; his wordless pleas for relief only add some vibrations to the already exquisite sensation of his wet mouth.

When the orc’s cock starts to thicken, they swiftly pull it and their foot away from the knight who gasps as his face relaxes.

“You going to keep putting on a little show for me?” they growl.

With a hint of frustration, the knight is hauled to his feet and pushed back towards the pole. Another rope is shucked from a bundle of kindling and fastened around the wooden tent base in the same fashion with the knight’s left leg bent and stretched up as far as it can go, the scraggly rope digging into the underside of his knee and his one foot barely on its tip-toes keeping him stabilized. A firm smack is delivered to his cunt and his head lolls back with a truly strained moan.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.” The orc’s hand finds its way back, this time pinching the knight’s tdick between their fingers. “Y’Not very good at fucking struggling.”

The knight’s hips jerk towards them. “Mmh! Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Taking a sturdy grip on either of his thighs, the orc lines up their cock with the knight’s soft cunt. He gnaws on his lower lip as his hole starts to stretch for the demanding fit and welcome the orc inside of him inch by inch. His brows furrow and his legs and abdomen tense, trying so hard not to let his dumb act totally slip away.

“Ahh, t-too big,” he whimpers, tiny tears gathering in his eyes as he looks to the orc with a real pleading face. They don’t see it though because their eyes are only on what matters: the sight of him split open on their big cock and the veins pulsing from the super snug fit before they set into motion. It’s not long before they’re speeding up like they’re nearing their first release, grip becoming even more bruising. 

“Don’t do it inside, I beg of you.” The knight braces, turning his face out of view in whatever shame he has left while in truth he’s preparing gleefully for it. Squeezing down like it’s uncontrollable and that he’s not about to cream all over them. 

“It’s really suckin’ me in. Are you sure?”

“Y-yes. Please have a—change of heart.” 

Their hips continue to clap together, so close, so hard, so ready to explode inside of him. But the wet heat the knight’s expecting to feel deep in his core instead sprays all over his crotch and stomach when the orc pulls out. With their cock still beating and dripping they rub the head all around the knight’s hole before sinking back in and forcing his pussy through the same tough stretch before the same song and dance. 

“In orc culture we wear little varlets like you around as accessories. You’re lucky a village is not nearby to witness it, but that can be arranged. How much do you think your king is willing to pay for this sweet cum hole. I doubt he’s getting any use out of it.” Their movements slow, thrusts reaching deeper and bumping his hips each time. “Not a brave—valiant—knight who can’t even take a good fucking.”

With a sharp tug the orc bottoms out. Giving one hard thrust before hot cum starts pumping out in loads and flooding his stomach with warmth, really packing it in good. The knight squeals as his own orgasm triggers and his clamping cunt starts spilling seed down his leg and onto the ground.

They won’t stop moving and he won’t stop cumming; the knight addicted to the cruel stretch and the orc addicted to the tight squeeze. A wicked grin spreads across their face as the knight fully loses himself as he does every time. No longer caring about how many times he gets off or how pathetic he looks doing so, he just needs that fat orc cock to keep plowing his insides.

-----

It’s slow-rolling, unforgiving hours that bring the day to nearly nightfall when the knight’s restraints are finally loosened and his feeble body sinks to the ground, a tired bliss on his dumb face and his poor hole throbbing, completely soaked and sore. But god was it all worth it.

“You won’t be so fortunate next time, little knight. Get out of my sight.”

-----

At the castle infirmary:

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I barely made it out of there with my life. Those orcs can be some real brutes.”

“I can tell,” the king sighs. “But if my most resilient of knights can’t take them time after time, then pray tell, who can?!”

The knight stutters a bit. “Oh, Your Majesty I assure you, I can certainly take them. Just give me another chance after I’m recovered, please.”

“Very well then. Shall I send you with reinforcements next time?”

“Spread,” they then command, and you do so immediately, your ankles coming flush to the back of your thighs.

With the hood of your tdick drawn back by the piercing, it leaves the little head exposed for the cold mouth of a glass pump to be placed over it. The minotaur’s muscly hand pushes and twists it down firmly and then gives one squeeze to the attached inflation bulb which makes you gasp as it suctions on tight. Again, they squeeze the bulb and the pump suctions down even further, manually pulling and releasing to begin milking it.

“Focus, release for me.”

Not your held breath or your still position, but your arousal from one hole until it produces enough lubricant for them to take the other. Your back arches as it sucks and sucks, the pump grasping around the most sensitive bits and building up a tight pressure in your core. Within a few minutes you’re already dripping down onto the pristine sheets.

Deemed ready, the glass pump remains but its attachment is removed, keeping you painfully on edge. The minotaur’s hands move to your legs and they bring their hips forward positioning their sheath, warning you, "Do not cum."

With a huff and a flex, their cock begins to emerge and the thick, warm, flare presses against your ass hole before the pure strength of their blood rushing through them fuels it forward and inside. The broad head spreads you open wide, getting stiffer and throbbing harder as it forces past any resistance. Continuously wetting their cock as it sinks deep into your stomach and till you two are fully connected.

Something to behold, the minotaur raises their hands up to display how they are fully sheathed within their partner and how their fat, flaring, cock can be seen distending the stomach, the buried tip making one of the branded marks below your sternum protrude like a cast of measurement, another goal reached.

Dragging back their cock makes your toes curl; clamping around its girth with each heaving thrust as they build up to the same peak that you stood at. And when they’re close, the minotaur beckons and is passed a small pitcher, tapping your lips with their finger and then waiting for the moment they climax to tip the spout. 

“Cum. Erupt from pleasure,” they snap, and your senses light on fire.